found it relieving, in a way, to defer all thought and responsibility to their betters. Massur wasn't one of those people, and took pride in the fact. Still, orders were orders, and this order couldn't be countermanded. Yet, over the past few days, he'd found himself taking an odd shine to their prisoner. It had been inevitable, really. As soon as he'd convinced Zar Mittander to let him wear a Speaking Ear, and to provide her with good food, he knew he'd start to build an attachment. The Zar had capitulated on the principle that being able to communicate with her would lead to more effective information gathering, and the good food would mean she wouldn't be weakened when she was put in the Mouth of the Rift.
Unfortunately she was bound for the Mouth tomorrow. This was the source of Massur's current heartache. How could he consign someone he'd fed and watered, and even helped out once or twice in a strictly off-the-record way (he'd given her a linen wrap when her blood had come yesterday evening), to the horrors of such a device? Yet he knew it was all part of the plan, and had known it for years. She was a key element an incredibly bold narrative, possibly the greatest narrative in Manu history. Was he going to let his base feelings get in the way of the future, of the coming Hegemony? Kindness is an animal emotion, so he'd been taught in his teenage years in the Pillar of Valor. The strong must overcome the weak, and the ultimate strength is Manu. Only slaves desire peace. So every neophyte sentinel recited at waking, noon and just before sleeping.
That familiar weariness washed over him. He'd seen over forty suns so far in his life, and recently he'd felt himself getting sick of all this hate. He'd done things when he was younger he wasn't proud of, and of late they'd been coming back to visit him in the lonely hours of night, and in the dull moments of the day. If one action could atone for all that wrong... if only. It was probably too late for that now. He'd imagined taking Amin on a trip to the North and setting him free, but if discovered, that would be death for the both of them. Subverting the natural order of Master and Slave, a Manu with a Slave mind, a disease in our holy ranks. Doing something for their prisoner was even more impossible.
He'd come to the decision that, if all this went to plan, he'd go on a journey to somewhere far away, to the othertime if possible. He'd take a Speaking Ear and a few days' supplies, and see among which slave races or animal-savages he found himself.
His train of thought was broken as a sentinel hailed him. From their high voice it was clearly a woman, fourteen or fifteen years old at the most, her form and face concealed by the bulky armor and mask. What horrors would she go on to commit, in the name of Manu? What acts of violence had she made already? Her fervor was palpable. He knew the feeling: he'd been caught up in the same excitement, the same feeling of self-importance, the same spring in his step. The thrill of power in running down escaping slaves, massacring savages, having your way with any non-Manu you chose. The intense, heady feeling of knowing you are part of the strongest force in the world, that you are the might of Manu embodied, infallible, omnipotent and perfect.
'There's been a development at the Mouth,' she announced.
Massur was on his feet at once. 'What exactly?'
'I cannot say. A disturbance of some sort.'
'I will be there at once. Run to the Zamanutec Blood Yard and tell them to dispatch a detail of Immortals to the Mouth,' he ordered. 'And be as quick as you can. The coming Hegemony may rely on it.'
'By the will of Zaloth Zar!' the young sentinel cried, her voice quivering slightly at the mention of the Immortals.
'By the will of Zaloth Zar,' Massur responded, grimacing.
Fifty
The morning had risen. The day had come. The smell of the cave's musky dryness caught in Elra's nostrils. This was the moment of truth.
The indescribably ancient mark in front of her was illuminated by the glow from Morwen's fist: she felt for its quality and character, reaching back through the eons to the time when a hand, no different from her own, had daubed it on the timeless rock of the cave.
She was surrounded by all the others. Morwen and Kai were standing to her right and left respectively, waiting for the rift to open, waiting for their first glimpse of the past. Olympia was to one side, an anxious expression etched on her face, seeking the barest hint of a connection, any tiny detail or overlooked fact that could spell trouble. Singoro was standing in the cave's mouth, ready to inform Tsonge, who was back at the tree, if anything should go amiss.
Trying to make a time-rift was very different from making a spatial rift, Elra found. No way near as easy. Even making one to that universe she saw through the mask was simpler: at least she had already seen and experienced it with her own eyes and mind. This was shooting in the dark, and it was making her uncomfortable.
'Anything?' Olympia asked tensely.
'It's hard to say.'
'We could try another mark if you want? There are plenty more from the right time period.'
'No it's okay, this one seems to be particularly... evocative for some reason.' It was painted in red ochre, and was shaped vaguely like an animal, with various swirls and appendages that made it look spirit-like and ephemeral.
'There was one back over there, the stick-man one?' Olympia continued.
'Give the girl some room to concentrate!' Morwen reprimanded, much to Olympia's visible dissatisfaction. Thankfully, nothing more was said.
There. An image leaped into Elra's mind: a man, young like she was, thick hair, the overpowering stink of sweat and piss and butchered animal, a feeling of wonder as he made his mark on stone. Completion, satisfaction, fulfillment. Reverence for forces he knew he was part of, the beating heart of his world...
She made the rift, eyes closed. A collective gasp from Morwen, Kai and Olympia...
Gingerly opening one eye she saw the same mark, fresh as day, the red of the ochre as vivid and deep as the surface of Mars. It glistened with moisture.
Then something unexpected happened. Elra felt the rift spasm violently as an external force vied for control over it.
'What's happening?' Olympia demanded, her voice tense as a bowstring.
'I - ' Elra began, before the rift destination changed to a scorching red desert, not too dissimilar in color to the painting that had just been in front of them.
'Close it!' Olympia screeched. She grabbed Morwen and Kai and thrust them out the way.
'I'm trying!' Elra cried. She couldn't think of anything else to zero on, so she defaulted to the universe she saw through the mask. The ancient painting reappeared, vandalized with graffiti in a script she didn't recognize. Behind her she was vaguely aware of Morwen and Kai taking up a defensive position.
The interference intensified, but she tried with all her might to keep the rift locked on the mask universe. To her horror, she found she had no way to close it.
'Why won't it close?!' Olympia cried.
'I don't know, Olympia! Something's interfering!'
'I should have seen this coming! We tried this under-prepared! What was I thinking?'
'Morwen!' Kai piped up. 'Can't you make an anchor mark under this rift and – I don't know – put the other one somewhere, anywhere, so it locks on to it?'
'That won't do any good now,' she replied bitterly. 'That requires Elra making the initial connection, and by the looks of it it’s out of her hands now.'
It was slipping, oh god, it was slipping. Inch by inch, the rift was gradually being dominated by the interfering force. A flash of the desert. Back to the graffiti. The connection was becoming more nebulous with every second, less palpable, less concrete...
'Guys, it's going to overcome me,' Elra gasped. 'I can't hold it much longer!'
'Shit!' Olympia cried.
She heard a crackle of electricity behind her as Kai sparked up his fist. Morwen's light grew brighter.
Olympia dashed over to Singoro, who was deep in a mental conversation with Tsonge. 'Tell him to get everybody in the village up here,' she shouted, hitting his chest. 'Marked and unmarked. Get people from nearby villages and towns
. Anyone with a gun!'
She drew a revolver from her pocket, her hands trembling as she rejoined the group.
A few more seconds. That was all they had.
'What do we know about these people, Kai?' Morwen asked.
'They fight with antique weapons,' he replied. 'Oh, and they have silly hats and masks.'
That was it. Elra could do no more. She gasped and fell to her knees as the rift was ripped out of her control. She felt Kai pull her back into safety, his muscles strengthened with Body Knowledge lifting her as easy as a child.
There wasn't a desert on the other side of the rift. There was a courtyard packed with a hundred towering men, clad in red robes and swirling white marks, staring at them with hate in their eyes.
Fifty-one
Amin came tearing into Cali's enclosed courtyard, dashing across the black sand in his oversized wooden clogs, his bag trailing behind him.
'Quick!' he screeched, 'get up!'
At that moment Cali wasn't feeling too great. Her period had come the day before, and the combination of the cramps and the heat had left her feeling like a sweaty, sticky, achy, forlorn mess. She hadn't got a pad or tampon, so for the first few hours her blood had slicked down her legs in strings, before Massur had paid her a visit, noticed her predicament, and slipped her a linen cloth through the bars.
She pulled herself to her feet, holding the blood-soaked cloth between her legs. Her head pounded.
'Something's happened! All the sentinels are running to the Mouth!' he exclaimed.
Sure enough, Cali saw that her perennial guards on the high walls had vanished. 'What?!'
'They're moving! Now is our chance!' Quick as a flash, he removed a pair of wooden clogs from his bag and slipped them through the bars. 'Put these on!'
Cali complied. 'How are we going to get me out of this thing?'
'Hang on!' he cried, excited and fearful in equal measure. He was pulling something from the sack.
A small, complex-looking device emerged. It looked like something between a wand and a miniature radio mast: it bristled with thin wires and carefully-calibrated appendages, the majority of which pointed forwards towards its tip. Amin jammed it in the cage's lock.
'What's that?' she asked.
'Something that picks locks on its own. The Dalari Underground stole it from the Pillar of Valor's stores a few years ago, and have been waiting for the right moment to use it. And this is the right moment!'
'How long will it take?'
He seemed stumped. 'I... I don't know. But it will work!' He grabbed the cloth covering the top of the cage and tore it in half. The scorching sun immediately hit her and she felt a wave of nausea pass over.
'Wrap your lips in this!' he said, passing her part of the cloth.
'My... lips?'
'Yes! Your lips! Their moon-blood has come, and the Manu hate it: they think it's unclean, we must hide it from them!'
She realized he meant her period. Not really knowing what to do, she roughly wrapped it between her legs and around her waist. It looked like she was wearing an oversized brown diaper.
He winced at the sight of her, but passed her the other half anyway. 'Put this one over your head and let it cover your body!'
To her relief, this improvised shawl was long enough to hide her ridiculous undercarriage garment.
The lockpick clicked and whirred. Amin looked at it anxiously. 'When we are out, you must pretend you are a Dalari, or another slave. Always keep your eyes on the ground! Stay by my side and do what I do.'
Fifty-two
The lock clicked open. Cali felt her heart leap.
'This is it! Follow me!' Amin cried.
A massive rush of adrenaline hit her right in the temples as she pushed open the door. Freedom! It felt perfect, regardless of the sweaty, bloody, achey mess she was in.
'Careful on the sand: It will burn your skin!'
She took it gingerly, one step at a time. Its fiery heat was tangible even through the clogs' thick wooden soles. When they were halfway across the courtyard she took the opportunity to look back at what had been her home for the past week: it looked so small and cruel, a cage that a decent person would be loath to keep an animal in, let alone a human being. The high walls made its containing courtyard look like an amphitheater, as if the sentinels on the ramparts had been spectators in some strange gladiatorial show in which the caged prisoner (her, as of about a minute ago) was to be thrown to unknown beasts.
'Hurry!' Amin called in front of her. They made it to the squat gate in the wall and yanked it open. 'This way,' he beckoned, leading her down a wide corridor that led to a cavernous thoroughfare, a good twenty meters wide and hundreds of meters long. At regular intervals along its length stood burning braziers whose fires emitted a curiously red glow; other corridors branched off its main trunk in various places, but for all its expansiveness it seemed an oddly empty place.
Not that empty, they found out. After walking down its length for not more than ten seconds, an echoing tumult grew at its far end. Running footsteps, and lots of them.
'Look down,' Amin hissed fearfully.
Cali pulled her makeshift garment over her head. She could hear the people up ahead shouting. Most short-lived escape ever, she thought to herself angrily. Still, she kept pace with Amin, not letting her gaze wander more than few feet in front of her.
The roar got louder. Running footfalls, frantic calling and armor plates clashing. This is it, isn't it? A part of her couldn't help but laugh at her ridiculous situation. Running around with a kid, dressed in a big brown diaper. Well, at least I'll die a humorous death. She threw caution to the wind for the briefest of seconds and chanced a glimpse of her impending doom.
Unmarked Journey Page 24
