The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter

by Brent Hayward

  “I believe there has.”

  “We mark the unclean, make delineations. We prepare our city, chamberlain. Marking abodes, associates, haunts. We all need to prove that we are ready.”

  “Again, I caution you.”

  By the visitor’s side cowered chained cognosci; chains rattled.

  “You are not cautious,” said the chamberlain, eyeing the disgusting beasts with disdain. “I tell you again, there will be no more killing.”

  “I am bringing the gods back to Nowy Solum.”

  “Insolence. Gods return of their own accord.” The chamberlain’s words echoed faintly in Jesthe’s cavernous Ward. Above the gathering—set high into the walls, near the vaulted ceiling—ancient stained glass windows let in no light. Greasy lanterns burned in alcoves. The chamberlain glared silently, pressing his fingers together.

  “I mean no harm,” said the visitor, but his comment was interrupted by the sound of slippers on the stone floor.

  Turning from his council, the chamberlain watched as the chatelaine ran into the Ward from the Lower Great Hall entrance, looking flushed as usual, her outrageous robes billowing. Her hair, perched atop her head, teetered like yet another nervous animal.

  “I’m ready, Erricus,” she called loudly, her own words booming off the walls. She was clearly unable to locate him. “I’m here for our conference! Where—?” Then she noticed the palatinate and the bare-chested stranger with black pants and lash marks, cognosci huddled at his feet. She froze. “Who is this?”

  “He was just leaving.” With a slight movement of his flinty eyes, the chamberlain had given an order: two officers of the palatinate moved forward to escort the man—who stared, blatantly, coldly at the chatelaine—across the vast floor of the Ward and toward the main doors.

  Cognosci followed, half-dragged.

  The chatelaine stepped aside to let man and beast pass.

  Then, when the visitor had gone, the chatelaine made her way toward Erricus and the remainder of the gathered palatinate. “What’s going on? I don’t like the way that man looked at me. Don’t bring him in Jesthe any more.”

  “He is a citizen. He is within his rights to seek counsel—”

  “I’m bored with this already.”

  “Chatelaine, your city has been godless for too long. These are important times.”

  “What else is there to discuss?”

  “What else? This day might be the single most important day in the history of—”

  “What else?”

  The chamberlain was silent. His left eye ticced. None of his officers moved. Finally he said, “There has been an accident at the main gates.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “A tourist has died. The Black Arch, apparently, is now in need of repair.”

  “The Black Arch.” The chatelaine looked disturbed, as if she felt a sudden chill. “What happened there?”

  “Structural problems.” The chamberlain put his fingers together once more. His face had darkened. “Perhaps you have news of committees today? Bills of import to sign? Protection of the lizards that fly overhead? Or more additions to the plumbing?”

  She sneered. “I do have important news to share, so hold your comments.”

  The chamberlain and his officers had heard more than their share of news considered important to the chatelaine. They waited.

  She said, “I’m ready for reform.”

  He cleared his throat. “Reform?” he asked. “Reform of what? And to what?”

  “Security, for one. Inside the halls of Jesthe. Inside Nowy Solum. As of today. As of now. I want your palatinate upstairs, in all the halls.” The chatelaine pursed her lips. “You were right all along, Erricus.”

  The chamberlain lifted his eyes toward the gloom overhead. He said, “I have been a chamberlain without chambers. This auspicious day. We will turn this city around. We will navigate Nowy Solum from dark times.”

  “Don’t lay it on so thick, Erricus.”

  Now the chamberlain actually smiled; it was not a pleasant sight.

  At the first opportunity, Tina bolted from Cadman and the neighbour; either her husband was too stunned or too preoccupied with his own dim thoughts, because he just watched open-mouthed as she vanished down the street. Possibly, Cadman knew that he would be unable to ever say anything appropriate to his wife about what had happened, and that he could never truly relate to a mother’s loss. He watched her go, and was quickly left behind.

  The old neighbour, who had struggled all afternoon to keep up with the couple, was now starting to get seriously worried that the recent turn of events might mean his pint was in jeopardy. This would have severe impact upon the remainder of his day and upcoming night. His good mood had ebbed. He snarled. He had the shakes and was tired and thirsty. His swollen feet throbbed and, inside their cloth wrappings, they had begun to weep.

  Moving through the streets of Nowy Solum, a fleeing woman, wild-eyed and on the verge of hysterics, was not an unusual sight. Tina headed unimpeded along the same route she had solemnly walked not so long ago, toward the centrum, not really expecting to see the kholic boy again, but at least wanting to be near the spot where she had seen him, needing to be on the move. One thing for certain, she was unable to ever return to her home or to the life she’d led until now. Thoughts of the tiny room she and Cadman shared—the smells of the street outside, the small pile of cotton swaddling for diapering, the thin mattress on the floor—made her stomach clench and her legs move even quicker.

  Cadman was as good as dead to her.

  Would he be okay? Soon enough, most likely. He would have his ale, and the neighbour for company, and the men from work. With his steady job at the mill and his fading looks and passive attitude—maintaining a constant state of either exhaustion or semi-drunkenness—he would find another woman to live in quiet unhappiness with. They might even try for another child—

  Tina could have approached any kholic she saw—the tattooed, averted faces, toiling silently in the shadows of the city—and would be offered no stories of desperation, no revelations. Kholics accepted their rank in society. Maybe her son would, too? But Tina did not want that. She hoped her boy would grow up hating the palatinate and the city that had condemned him.

  She pushed through a small crowd—a demonstration of some sort, lots of shouting—and from there across the street, slowing now, her breathing starting to regulate—

  The kholic she sought was in the mouth of a narrow alley. He appeared to be touching the roof of a small house, pulling at it with both hands.

  He did not see her approach. Without thinking, Tina grabbed the boy’s arm and he spun, eyes wide, his own hands lifted to ward her off. His eyes flicked up, but just for an instant, before he lowered his head.

  Tina released his arm. She searched what she could see of the kholic’s face, of his tattoo. The boy was so remote from her, closed. When she embraced him, crushed his rancid body to her, he did not respond, standing stiffly, so she let him go. “We almost met, earlier today. . . . I want to help you. I need to . . .” There was a stone in her chest.

  Melancholy, she realized, had dried on the sides of the boy’s face, as if his mark was spreading. More flaked off his hands and arms. She was suddenly frightened, waking up to what she had already done and what she might have the capacity to do.

  There was blood on his tattered, crusty clothes.

  Red blood.

  From the rear of the tiny, dead-end alley, an amorphous shape—a pile of refuse—emitted a low, throaty moan and began to move toward her.

  “My name,” said path, hesitating as his identity vanished for an instant, or became confused with another, “is path.” He tried to roll on the cold, metal table, craning his head, twisting his body to see this naked man. “You’d better find my father or there’s gonna be a lot of trouble. You’d better take me back to him.”

  “I am the castellan of Nowy Solum,” said the man. “Welcome to Jesthe. But please refrain from exhalin
g in my direction until I get you cleaned up.”

  A second man, the one who had abducted path, leaned against a wall, by a window through which clouds could be seen. He was grinning.

  The castellan said, “Was this boy alone when he came into the city?”

  Tully laughed again. “Alone? How could he be alone? He got no legs to walk, no arms. He’s a worm. There was a man, a skinny, sick-looking man, but he fell over. I saw him.”

  “That was my father,” said path. “Where is he now?”

  Tully shrugged.

  The castellan said, “Leave us now, Tully. Go take three small coins.”

  “Three?”

  “Get them before I change my mind.”

  Incredulous, path said, “You’re buying me?”

  Walking toward a short cabinet, behind the table that path and the strange blue creature lay on, Tully chuckled and said, “Everything is for sale. Everything. You’ll see.”

  Path looked into the eyes of the man who called himself the castellan; they appeared warm, even sad.

  The beast next to path hissed and its claws scrabbled futilely on the smooth tin as the castellan stepped forward.

  “I can tell you weren’t born here,” he said. “You wouldn’t have lived out your first year. Streets of this city are harsh for those like you.”

  Path was watching the blue creature, lying in its own blood, panting. The thin limbs had been jabbed with rods, punctured by jagged pieces of metal. “What have you done to it?”

  “Have you ever seen a cobali before? They cannot be trusted. Nor do they feel pain. Not the way you or I do. They are happy to surrender to research, though my daughter thinks me a butcher.”

  Over by the window, the large man let out a bark of laughter.

  Now the castellan’s fingers lightly touched path, rubbing the area where most boys would have a left arm; path squirmed but could not prevent the cold hand from remaining there.

  “Leave me alone . . .”

  The castellan did lift his hand, but only long enough to stoop and rattle around under the table. When he stood again, he held a large, stoppered bottle, inside which writhed gases, like trapped spirits.

  Three of the flattened ambassadors dropped from overhead to gather now, hovering, before hornblower’s face.

  Anu, they said, requires you to eat the host now. This is a great honour.

  Between his knees, a flying metal beetle shot up, whistling from an aperture. Hornblower held out his hand and the beetle landed. From its shell, numerous threadlike tendrils wavered. Hornblower took this beetle, this host, in two of his fingers: the size of a nut, glistening with many colours, warm to the touch—

  Eat it, said the ambassadors.

  So he ate it.

  There was an oily taste, somewhat bitter. A hard, spiky lump in his mouth. The host scurried to the back of his tongue—

  Where it exploded.

  Hornblower clutched at himself, feeling sharp stabs of pain in his throat. Gagging, unable to draw breath, he tried to pull the host from his mouth but it was gone, burrowing through him.

  He felt tiny movements under his skin.

  Then a chill, a cool expanse, and he could breathe again.

  A voice he had not heard before said, Your fucking vision is terrible. You have no peripheral at all. Not much of an improvement over those damn drones. Look about.

  Hornblower did as he was told, glancing throughout Anu’s interior. His eyes brimmed. The host was everywhere inside him, flesh of the power. He had commingled with Anu.

  “Great power,” he said, words catching in his throat, “you can rely on me. I am yours.”

  No answer.

  After a moment, feeling oddly calm and secure, hornblower got up from the chair to explore. There were several other seats like the one he sat in, arranged in two rows, and many strange devices around the perimeter of the power’s insides. The yellow lights, as he approached them, became figures, or illuminated texts he was able to walk right through. Entire doors made of some form of metal, but oddly soft to the touch. These, near to the rear of Anu, were sealed, almost seamless. He ran his fingers gingerly over them. Great mysteries and treasures—

  On the rearmost facet of Anu was another slot. For a while, hornblower stood, looking out. Dim clouds, receding. Nothing but clouds out there. What would become of his settlement? Surely Pan Renik had not survived. All hornblower saw were grey clouds. Was the power still descending? He could not feel the presence of the host anymore, nor had Anu spoken again, if indeed the earlier voice had been his.

  Maybe there was only the world, the sky, and the clouds. Perhaps the universe was a simpler place than any padre had ever suspected. What did it matter, hornblower wondered, if there was nothing but an eternity of cloud?

  Anu began to gently rock.

  Returning to the chair, hornblower deliberated if he should ask for something to eat. Something that would not come alive in his stomach.

  A moment later, he entertained an image of the branch where he had spent most of his childhood. He was being instructed by padre teachword when a sudden, bitter taste filled his mouth—

  Good morning, cupcake! I let you sleep to regain strength. Wake up now, wake up!

  Had he slept? Surely he had just sat down? Confused, hornblower peered out the slot—

  Everything had changed!

  Below was a vast, dark expanse. Only a few thin, wispy clouds were visible. A thousand settlements could exist here, without nets or precautions. There was no edge in sight, and no sky!

  “Anu!” he cried.

  We’re through the clouds. So keep your eyes open. I don’t want to hit anything. My perspective is totally hopeless. Those bitches messed me up good.

  An impossible distance away, hornblower saw what looked like a huge stream of water. Speeding beneath him were replicas of the world, complete with braches and leaves, hundreds of them, clustered together. Beginning, then, to understand the scale of what he was looking at, hornblower pushed himself as far back into the seat as he could, all good feelings vanished.

  You must remain alert. Understand? You are now my exemplar.

  Hornblower nodded. “I understand.”

  From now on, I’ll tell when you can sleep and when to wake. I’ll shut you down and bring you back. Don’t get too comfortable, cupcake. You’ll be going out there soon.

  “Out there?” Hornblower squeezed his eyes shut.

  I said keep your eyes open!

  An agonizing spasm made hornblower sit up, alert, eyes wide.

  There are faint signals from mother’s seegee, but I think I have a lock. Don’t make me regret my choice.

  Hornblower just stared ahead; beyond the slot, the dark world seemed close enough to touch.

  Octavia had brought nothing with her to Jesthe, and had no packing to do, no need to collect personal items, no reason to linger. She could merely walk away from the polishing cupboard, up the narrow staircase, and along the Secondary Hall.

  Diogene called after her, “Oi! Where you think you’re going? Shift ain’t over. Off to talk to your friend again?”

  Turning at the end of the Secondary Hall, into the Great Hall, she saw two more servants—cleaners—headed her way, and cast her eyes down.

  “Excuse me,” Octavia said quietly, stopping. “A thousand apologies to address you. May I make an inquiry?”

  The women had also stopped. They said nothing in return.

  Staring at the wooden floor, Octavia hesitated. “The chatelaine,” she said, “has called for me. Do you know if she is in her chambers?”

  “No,” said the woman on the left, disdain in her voice. “She’s in the Ward still, with the palatinate. They’re discussing the return of the benevolent sisters.”

  “Who’ve come back,” said the other woman, “to put things right in our city.”

  “So she must have forgotten about you.”

  Both servants made snorting sounds of laughter.

  “That’s right. You�
��ll see where you stand when the smoke clears. You’ll fucking see.”

  Octavia nodded a brief thank you and hurried away. She heard the women talking, heard their muffled, bitter comments.

  The area of the Great Hall directly in front of the chatelaine’s bedchambers was deserted. No servants, either way. Octavia listened at the double doors, heard nothing within, and pulled them open. She slipped into the now-familiar room.

  The key was there on its hook, next to the cages. Though Octavia tried her best not to look at the pets, she was convinced as she lifted the key from its place that the beasts were actually amused at her antics.

  The limbless boy watched every move, as excitement continued to brim in the castellan. With two fingers, he picked up the corpse of the cobali, intending to dispose of it, at least temporarily, to clear the area, but hesitated before starting to pull as many of the thin rods as he could from the stiffening limbs. This proved a difficult task, gory and time consuming, and it was a while before he was able to drop the body down the chute in the floor, where it tumbled down the shaft to the ground far below, landing in the small refuse chamber attended by a grubby kholic known as Cyrus.

  As the castellan rinsed his hands in a tub of rust-coloured water, the boy glared with those clear, burning eyes. After removing the stopper from the bottle, vapours slowly rose toward the glass mouth, trickling over the sides and down.

  “I only wanted answers,” path said, his voice breaking. “I had visions. There is someone else, or some thing, that’s taken me over. I used to be a drooling idiot—”

  “Shhh.” The castellan stroked the boy. “Trust me when I say I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take care of you.” He poured several drops of the bottle’s contents onto a small rag, which became cold against his skin. He sealed the bottle once more. The rag in his hand made a quiet, hissing sound. “Path,” he said, “in my family—my daughter and I—we believe in destiny and fate. Do you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “No? You should think about it. Everyone needs something to believe in. Meanwhile, I’m going to give you a bath. And then you’ll take a nap. You know, when I was a younger man, still tossing and turning in the chambers below, nights of fitful sleeps, I dreamed I had a beautiful daughter. She was ten or so. When I woke, I went down to tell the fecund. She was my only friend.” The castellan sighed. “You have no idea what I’m saying, do you?”