The Walls of Westernfort

by Jane Fletcher

  Natasha knew that her appearance would not attract the slightest attention on any street in the Homelands, yet she felt strange and awkward as she knocked on the door. When in doubt, polish it was certainly not relevant to the situation. A voice called out immediately, bidding her enter.

  Natasha found herself in another bedroom, considerably larger than the one she had just left. A square table stood in the middle, with two women seated at it. Both were dressed in civilian attire similar to her own, although judging by her close-cut hair, the smaller of the two was clearly a soldier. She was of middling height and had a thin, wiry build. There were etched creases around her eyes and mouth, though she was probably no more than in her mid-thirties. The other woman was larger, big-boned rather than fat, and she looked to be the older by a good few years. Her hair was liberally sprinkled with gray and far longer even than Natasha’s untrimmed crop, sufficient to cover her ears and reach almost to her shoulders.

  “Is Rohanna Korski here?” Natasha asked cautiously.

  “That’s me.” The larger woman spoke.

  Natasha drew herself up. “Ma’am, Corporal Na—” She was cut off abruptly.

  “No. You are my daughter, Jess Korski, and you should call me Mom. Always.” The woman smiled at Natasha’s startled look. “If we don’t know each other’s real names, there’s no risk of using them by accident.” She pointed to a chair. “Bring it over and sit down. We’ve got a lot to discuss and not much time to do it in.”

  When Natasha was settled, she went on. “I’ll start by introducing my lover, and your gene mother, Calinda Rowse.”

  The wiry woman grinned and said, “But I believe I answer to Cal.”

  Rohanna nodded and continued. “As you must have realized, we’re a family, and we must act like one whenever there’s the faintest chance we might be overheard—which, once we leave this building, will be pretty much always. We must immerse ourselves in the parts we’re playing so we don’t have to think about them, almost so that they cease to be an act. But for this time only, we’ll say a little about our real backgrounds, so we’ll understand what skills we can contribute to the mission. And I’ll start with myself.”

  Rohanna shifted back in her chair. “I’m a member of the Intelligence Corps, and have been for the last fifteen years. I’m better acquainted with the heretics’ lies than any daughter of the Goddess would want to be, and I’ve considerable practice at working undercover. I’ll try to share my experience with you, but it’s not possible to pass on all you need to know in the time we’ve got. If you’re ever in doubt about how to respond to a situation, try to follow my lead. And for my part, I’ll be looking out for you and trying to anticipate any pitfalls.” She turned to the woman on her right. “Cal, if you’d like to say something?”

  Cal pursed her lips for a moment. “I’ve been told one of the main reasons I’ve been selected for this mission is that I used to be a Ranger before I joined the Guards. The heretics will provide us with a guide, but it was thought that it might not be a bad idea to have someone who understands the wildlands. Although Westernfort is referred to as a town, the conditions aren’t what we’d expect from the term. My skills might come in handy if we have to start improvising.”

  Natasha looked at the woman with surprise. There was nothing in the rule book to stop someone transferring from the Rangers to the Guards, but she had never heard of its being done. “A Ranger!” she could not help blurting out.

  Cal nodded, clearly amused. “Oh, yes. An impious, immoral Ranger. And you know what is said about them. The only time I ever prayed was when I called on the Goddess to cure my hangover.” Cal drew a breath. “Yet even though I was unworthy, Celaeno had her own plans for me. One winter, my squadron was up north, chasing snow lions, and I got separated in a blizzard. I managed to dig myself a hole in the snow, but I knew I was going to die when...” Cal’s face twisted as she tried to find the words she wanted. “For the first time in my life, I felt wrapped in the love of the Goddess. I knew she cared for me, that she had a job for me, and if I just put my trust in her, I’d be okay. I was warmed by her glory.”

  Cal smiled and spread her hands. “As you can see, I survived. I couldn’t go back to my old ways, so I transferred to the Guards. And as I said, I knew the Goddess had a job she wanted me to do. Now I know what it is.”

  There was a second or two of silence before both of the older women turned to Natasha. Her feeling of awkwardness returned in a surge. She did not see that she had any skills to match those of the others; neither could she claim to have been hand-picked for the mission by Celaeno. She looked at Cal with something approaching envy and mumbled, “I think I was chosen just because I look like one of the heretics.”

  Rohanna smiled supportively. “Yes, and it’s not as trivial a qualification as it might seem. Yours was the hardest place to fill. The daughter of the family had just turned eighteen.” Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but Rohanna held up a finger. “I know you’re a couple of years older, but you shouldn’t have any problem carrying it off. However, there was no one in the Intelligence Corps who could even begin to fit the part. We tend to be a bit on the mature side. It wasn’t easy finding someone young enough with the necessary qualities. You come highly recommended by your captain.”

  Natasha’s eyes dropped to the table as she tried not to look conceited. She was caught by surprise when Rohanna deliberately reached over to rub her head; a casual gesture—a maternal gesture. Rohanna continued speaking, “And we’ve been even luckier with your appearance than I dared hope. I was expecting hair to be a problem. There’s only a month until we have to meet our heretic guide, but by then, your hair should be nicely inconspicuous.”

  Natasha felt her cheeks go red. “I was going to get it cut, but it—”

  Rohanna interrupted her. “Obviously, the Goddess intervened. She knew you’d be playing the part of a civilian.”

  “Is this a way of telling me I’m going to have to wear a wig?” Cal asked dryly.

  Rohanna threw back her head and gave a yelp of laughter. “No. The risk of having it spotted would be much too high. And we should be okay. It would have been awkward if all of us had turned up with crewcuts, but one out of three shouldn’t raise suspicions.”

  Her face became more serious, and she leaned forward. “Now, let’s move on. I’m afraid you’ve got me to thank for all of this, as it was my idea. When the three heretics were brought here for interrogation, it occurred to me that I matched the general physical description of one, and from a little questioning, I realized that it wouldn’t be hard to pass myself off as her. The family was from Clemswood, well to the east. They were newly inducted into the heresy, and to date, their contact has been solely with one of the heretics’ spies. As far as we can tell, no one we’re likely to meet in Westernfort has seen them, but reports describing them will have been sent back.”

  Rohanna’s eyes became harder. “These three heretics were helpful—far more so than usual. They needed very little inducement to tell us everything: where they were going, when they were due to get there, even the code words to identify themselves. Normally, we’d have sent Guards to capture the people waiting for them, but I’ve managed to get permission to try this instead.

  “The prize is high, and the Goddess has given us a great opportunity, but she isn’t doing everything for us. We’re going to have to work to prove ourselves worthy. We’ve got a tight schedule, and we have to leave Landfall tomorrow. It doesn’t give us long to learn our roles. So a few words about us—and remember that from now on, the word is us, not them.”

  Rohanna got to her feet and began to pace around the table. “I regret I must inform you that we’re degenerates, even by the standards of the heretics. Petty criminals; horse thieves.” Her hands fell on Natasha’s shoulders. “Despite her youth, our fine daughter here has already got a couple of convictions. Over the years, we’ve had to skip from town to town, keeping ahead of the Militia. Of course, we’ll be vague about it, s
ince we don’t want to worry our new friends, but with any luck, they’ll already know a bit about our background. So the good thing is that even if we make up things and contradict each other, it won’t be out of character.”

  She moved on to Cal. “We are lovers.” Rohanna bent down, planted a quick kiss on her lips and then stood up. Cal’s face went through a range of expressions, starting with astonishment and ending in amusement. Rohanna patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ve been together for twenty-three years, so no one will expect us to be too...enthusiastic.”

  Rohanna crossed to a small locker and pulled out a sheaf of papers. She returned to the table and sat down. “This is a copy of all the information we have about us. We’ll spend some time going through it. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that memorizing the facts is the difficult bit. The difficult bit is what I just demonstrated. We’re a family. We have to be happy joking with each other, arguing with each other, touching each other, and not looking self-conscious when we do it.”

  She spread the papers across the table. “Obviously, we won’t be able to take these with us when we leave, so let’s start reading...”

  *

  Night had fallen by the time Rohanna dismissed them. Natasha returned to the small bedroom. She had been told that she was now part of the Intelligence Corps and would sleep in the block. Her possessions had already been removed from the dormitory of the 3rd Company, although they had not been brought over. Nothing to link her with her old life could be taken with them on the mission. All she would have were things belonging to the young heretic she was impersonating—no more than the clothes she was wearing and the one large rucksack standing in a corner of the room.

  It was late, but Natasha did not feel ready to sleep. She stood by the window and stared out at the night sky. Both moons were visible, hanging low over the rooftops of Landfall—small, shining Laurel and the larger crescent of Hardie. The things she had learned that day kept running around her head. Rohanna’s instruction had covered more than just details of the family’s background; she had also instructed them in the heretics’ beliefs. Obviously, they could not be ignorant of the very teachings that had made them fugitives. Yet hearing the sacrilegious nonsense had made Natasha feel soiled. The claims were so absurd that she could have taken them as a tasteless joke, if it were not true that some people actually believed them.

  Natasha wished she had a copy of The Book of the Elder-Ones to read. It would have been comforting, but it was hardly likely that there would be one in the rucksack of the young heretic. Natasha closed her eyes and began to quote softly from the first chapter, reciting the words from memory:

  At the start of time, there was only Unsa, the spirit of life, who called the stars into being and cast them into the dark void and named them. Then, so she might better know her creation, Unsa took form and made of herself Celaeno, the mother, that Unsa might have material presence in her universe. For ten thousand years, Celaeno searched the depths of space, seeking a home for her children, and in her belly slept the Elder-Ones, who were not born of this world, who would arrange all things according to her design.

  The heretics did not believe that Celaeno was the physical manifestation of the Goddess and the holy mother of all the women on earth. They did not believe that the Elder-Ones were semidivine creatures with knowledge and abilities far exceeding those of ordinary women, who, now that their mortal toil was done, existed as spirits, watching over the children of the Goddess. They did not believe that Himoti was the greatest of the Elder-Ones, who had created the Imprinters and cloners with the power and sanctity of her prayers.

  Natasha shook her head in horrified bewilderment as she reflected on what the heretics actually did believe. They held that humans were native to another planet, somewhere else far across the galaxy. On this world, the people had practiced a miraculous science that had enabled them to make ships that could fly between the stars, and Celaeno was merely one of these ships. The ship had been made to take a colony team to a new planet, but it had malfunctioned and stranded the crew far from the world that had been their goal. In the teachings of the heretics, the Elder-Ones were no more than these lost crew members.

  The teachings became ever more bizarre. They claimed that like wild animals, humans originally had two sexes, but the males had been unable to function in the new, alien environment, so Himoti had engineered the healer sense, using no more than the preposterous science of the mythical home planet.

  Natasha’s face grew pensive as she thought of the healer sense—the extrasensory ability that allowed women to manipulate the bodies of others. Natasha herself was totally devoid of the gift, but many were able to use it to good effect, curing illness and repairing injury. Those who had the gift to a greater degree could induce domestic animals to clone themselves, and a few—Celaeno’s chosen—could mentally step inside a cloned cell and imprint new patterns on the DNA within, so that the child would also carry the genetic code of the birth mother’s partner. The healer sense was the sacred proof of Celaeno’s love for her children, and the heretics reduced it to a mechanical contrivance made by human tinkering rather than divine grace.

  The teachings of the heretics came from Gina Renamed, who alleged that she had discovered these truths while working in the temple library. The woman was clearly mad or evil, and probably both. The same could be assumed for her followers. However, Rohanna had said that the three Guards needed to immerse themselves in the roles they would be playing.

  Natasha left the window and sat down on the bed. How could she even pretend to believe such foul lunacy?

  She pulled the rucksack over and began to empty the contents, hoping for an insight into Jess Korski, the woman she would be impersonating. There was nothing—just the pathetic, cheap belongings of a small-time thief on the run. Natasha looked at the boots she was wearing. The hard brown leather was creased and cracked. Remnants of the lining stuck out in tufts around her ankles. The soles had been worn down and patched repeatedly. She tried to imagine the roads the woman had walked along—the journey, both physical and spiritual, that had brought her to Landfall and to her death. Natasha’s frown deepened. Rohanna had not given any details but had spoken of the young heretic in the past tense.

  Natasha began to repack the rucksack, trying to silence the sudden doubts assailing her. Executing the heretic was the only sane and proper action that the Sisterhood could have taken. The blasphemy could not be allowed to spread, corrupting still more of Celaeno’s children. But Jess had been a young woman, younger even than Natasha herself. She should have had a full life ahead of her.

  Natasha pulled the drawstring tight and tossed the rucksack aside, her face grim. Jess’ life had been ruined and wasted, and it was the fault of the leaders of the heretics. They were the ones who were responsible for the death of the real Jess Korski—dispersing their lies and infecting others with their sickness. In executing them, she would be avenging the death of the young heretic and all the others who had fallen in the battle between good and evil.

  Natasha pulled off her outer clothes and knelt beside the bed to pray before sleeping. Jess Korski had died a heretic, severed from the love of the Goddess. By the teaching of the Sisterhood, her soul would be lost forever, but it did not seem fair to be deprived of both this world and the next. Maybe even after death, her soul could re-enter a state of grace.

  With a simple intensity, Natasha prayed to Celaeno to forgive the heretic and show her mercy, and to grant success to the mission so that no others might suffer Jess’ fate.

  *

  Natasha awoke before dawn the next day and joined Cal and Rohanna for a quick breakfast. The sky was just lightening to washed gray as they crossed the gravel paths of the Guards’ headquarters and reached a little-used side entrance. They stepped into the narrow street beyond, where two sentries stood on duty. Civilians leaving in such a furtive manner should have been stopped and questioned, yet neither of the uniformed women moved a muscle. It seemed to
Natasha that they were making a deliberate point of not seeing her.

  The sounds of her footsteps echoed sharply from the blank brick walls of the alleyway until the side street joined a larger thoroughfare. The first carts of the day were rumbling over the cobbles, and the shutters above their heads were being flung open. Rohanna led the way toward the docks in search of passage downriver. Following her, Natasha thought about the inaction of the sentries. It was a small thing, but the memory left her feeling strangely uneasy, a feeling that intensified as the people on the street passed her by without a second glance.

  To say that she felt invisible was too simplistic and not quite accurate. Natasha knew she would be playing a role and had expected to feel like an actress, but instead, she felt as if she were the only real thing, and the world around her was the part that was false. She viewed the familiar street like a detached observer. Nobody knew what or who she was, apart from Rohanna and Cal. They were her only link with the truth.

  Rohanna looked back at her and smiled. Something in her eyes said she understood Natasha’s sense of displacement, but all she said aloud was, “Come on, Jess. Don’t dawdle. We’ve got a long way to go.”

  Chapter Four—The Vigilance of the Militia

  The town of Newsteading looked dreary in the light of a gray late-September afternoon. Natasha jumped off the back of the farm cart and turned up her jacket collar against the fine mist of drizzle. Rohanna handed the driver a few coins as a token of gratitude for the ride before joining the other two Guards on the cobbled main square. They huddled together as if for mutual protection from the rain.