Fire World

by Chris D'Lacey

  “Harlan?” Terance frowned. “What are you doing? He can’t speak. The pain would be unbearable for him.”

  “Please, let him try,” Harlan said. He touched Colm’s shoulder. One of the few parts of his body that still looked human. “Colm, do the Re:movers have any weaknesses?”

  “Harlan, in the name of Agawin, let the man rest.” Hugo Abbot had joined in the argument now.

  Colm opened his mouth and made a gurgling sound.

  “He wants to say something,” Mathew said.

  Colm nodded his head a fraction.

  “This had better be good,” Terance growled. He moved aside to let Harlan kneel closer.

  “Colm, is there any way to defeat the machines? You worked on them once. Can they be disabled?”

  A slight moan left the engineer’s mouth. “Water,” he croaked.

  “Water. He wants water,” Hugo said.

  Colm shook his head painfully.

  “No, he means water,” Mathew said. “Water: That’s what we attack them with.”

  “Attack?” said Terance. “What are you talking about? Why are you even asking him this?”

  “How, Colm?” Harlan asked. He bent his ear to the dying man’s lips and listened for a good half minit. By the end, Colm’s body was shaking badly and his lungs were making a dreadful rasp.

  “Enough,” Terance said, pulling Harlan away. Within moments, however, the rasping had ceased and Colm’s head fell sideways. And then he was still.

  The men lowered their heads.

  After a respectful period of silence, Harlan said, “Call a meeting, Hugo. Now. The whole tribe.”

  “What did Colm tell you?” Mathew asked.

  Harlan looked at the burning huts. “How to make our way out of here,” he said.

  8.

  This is madness! Madness, I say!” Terance Humbey struck his fist into his open palm and stared at the tribesmen around the circle. “We have just buried one of our strongest men. How many more are likely to die if we try to fight the Re:movers?”

  “I agree, it’s dangerous,” Harlan said. “All the same, I ask the tribe to consider it. The bird is possessed by a creature of darkness, an entity from another world. It has gone to Central with the claw of a dragon. Who knows what evil it might do there?”

  “So you are asking us to put our lives at risk to help those who’ve sent us here?” said Hugo.

  “Let us not forget that our wives and children are in Central,” said Roderic.

  “And the birds,” said Bernard. “Don’t we owe some allegiance to them?” He made a slight gesture over his shoulder. The closest of the green fields was right behind him.

  Several men grunted their approval for this.

  “We should at least hear Harlan’s plan,” said Mathew. “Then we vote. Harlan, if the vote goes against you, this is done. Are you agreed?”

  Harlan chewed his lip. “Agreed.”

  “Then tell the tribe what you propose we do.”

  “We light a fire,” Harlan said, without a moment’s hesitation. “A big one. High. On the Isle. In the tower.”

  “That would be a sacrilege,” Hugo said.

  “No,” said Harlan, turning to face him. “Agawin was born of fire. Even Colm sensed that when we gathered around the dais. Fire is the medium of the legend, Hugo. Agawin, or his dragons, will aid us. I’m sure.”

  “Fine sentiments,” said Terance, “easily forgotten in front of a Re:mover. You plan to use the fire to draw them here?”

  “Yes. They’ll come in a taxicar. We set a trap. Disable them. Steal the car.”

  Murmurs started up all around the circle. Hugo immediately called for quiet. “Tell us what you learned from Colm at the end.”

  Harlan pressed his hands together for a moment. “If the Re:movers are immersed in water and held there, they will malfunction.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that,” declared Thomas. “For a sec, I thought it was going to be dangerous!”

  The circle exploded in a riot of laughter.

  “I’ve always wanted a pond. I’ll get to it right away.”

  “We don’t need a body of water,” said Harlan, raising his voice above the guffaws. “We have the marshes.”

  The laughter trailed away into silence.

  Hugo nodded thoughtfully. “How would you get them to it?” he asked.

  “Please tell me you’ve got something clever,” whispered Mathew.

  Harlan shook his head. “One of us, maybe two, needs to lead them across the most treacherous of the bogs.”

  Among the grunts of incredulity Roderic said, “It’s not possible, Harlan. Even if you didn’t put a foot out of place, their scanners would bring you down.”

  “Not if the distance was right,” said Bernard. “The scanners are short-range devices. Harlan’s plan could work, but the timing would need to be perfect.”

  Terance Humbey sighed and slapped his hands to his thighs. “If we fail, we all die. You realize that?” He flicked a stone into the circle. No one made a comment.

  “Then we vote,” Mathew said. “Those in favor of Harlan’s plan, stand up.” Mathew was off his tree stump first. Then Harlan. And Bernard. Until eventually, every man present was on his feet.

  “Carried,” Hugo said, with a nervous gulp. “I move we draw lots to determine which men will run from the machines.”

  “I volunteer,” said Mathew. He raised his hand quickly to quash the muttering. “I’m the youngest and the swiftest. I know the marsh well. It would be foolish to send in anyone but me.”

  “And me,” said a quiet voice. Surprisingly, Terance stepped forward.

  “But you’re our medic,” said Harlan.

  To which Terance replied, “A medic who will be of no use to anyone if the Re:movers survive. I ran for pleasure before I was sent here. I’m fitter than most. Like Mathew, I’ve studied the layout of the marsh. We might as well make use of that.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said Hugo. “Harlan, our lives now rest upon you. What would you have us do?”

  Harlan pointed to the Isle of Alavon. “Gather dry grasses. As many as you can carry. Take them to the tower. We need to make a beacon. A light that can be seen all over the Dead Lands.”

  “It’s going to take several days,” said Roderic.

  “Time is not something we are short of,” said Hugo. “Begin.”

  The men peeled away, leaving Mathew to speak alone to Harlan and Bernard. “You realize the Re:movers might not come? And even if they do and we get our ride back, this alien creature you speak of may have done all it needs to by then.”

  “At least we’ll know that we tried,” said Bernard.

  Harlan nodded and clapped a hand to Mathew’s shoulder. “Have faith, there may be a twist to this yet. Now, let’s find something that will burn.”

  9.

  Little did Harlan Merriman know that there would indeed be a strange twist to come. While he and his tribe were building their pyre, the black firebird was flying in haste through the night, crossing over the Dead Lands and the imagineered security zone around Co:pern:ica Central, back to Bushley and the librarium there. It was an exhausting flight; the firebird was hampered by the need to take in air through the nostrils while the beak was clamped around the dragon’s claw. It could, of course, have carried the claw in its feet. But after days of occupation and lack of vital nutrients, the muscular structure of the body was fading. The risk of losing the claw was too great. The answer, the Cluster told itself, was to fly through the physical discomfort, find another stupid bird, and take control of that. Fresh wings would take it anywhere it needed to go, and there were plenty of those in the aerie.

  As it approached the colossal building, stabbed like a giant spike into the earth, it was surprised to see a room on the lower floor on fire. Higher up, a dozen or more birds were beginning to flock, possibly getting ready to deal with the flames. The black bird tipped a wing and circled a moment, using the clouds to keep itself hidden. This could
be a useful distraction, it thought. An opportunity to scrutinize the roof of the building where the auma of this world seemed to radiate from. Then again, how much effort would it take to glide down to that room and see what was happening? This failing body still had strength enough for that.

  So it landed on the sill and immediately observed three prominent life-forms: the girl who seemed to inhabit the building and two more firebirds, including one that spoke. Aubrey? it said in a questioning manner. The black bird caarked in its throat, and quickly wished it hadn’t. It had made itself known. That was foolish. This cream one was clever. It was sure to come looking. Unless it could be the Cluster’s new body …

  But just as the Ix prepared to transfer, one of the transport vehicles appeared. Out of it jumped the life-form, David, who had sometimes lived in the building, too. The black bird cursed and took to the sky, hiding itself in the plumes of smoke. It landed on another sill twelve floors up. From there it watched the flock come swooping down and follow David into the burning room.

  It was a trivial setback. Nothing more. Rest, recover, relocate. The Ix prepared themselves to fight another day. But as they folded down the firebird’s wings, the Cluster grew aware of another presence. A potent source of fain, looming right behind it. The bird whipped around, with every intention of flaming the stalker, but the claw it was carrying in its mouth prevented it. (Design!) By the time the claw had been spat, it was too late. A sack, imagineered from the strongest fireproof material there could be, was over the bird’s body, knotted with rope of a similar strength. And though the Ix Cluster tried to escape and overcome its captor’s mind, the captor had prepared for that, too. A powerful neural emission put the creature’s fain into immediate stasis.

  Aunt Gwyneth bent down and picked up the claw. Dragon. It spoke to her from every fiber. Not a bad result at all, after the disaster with those useless twins. Extending her fain, she lightly probed the consciousness in the sack.

  “Well, well,” she whispered. “So, that’s what you are.” Pure fain, inverted. Wickedness — in a bag.

  She pulled back as the creature tried again to possess her. She must be careful. This thing was clever. And strong. Already she could sense it splitting and regrouping, trying to find any source of weakness in her mind.

  Trust me, that won’t work, she told it. A somewhat hollow threat as it happened. In truth, it was all she could do to maintain the delicate balance of power. If she let down her guard, this being would kill her. A tricky situation. Her only option was to negotiate.

  Keeping up the arrogant front, she said, I’m prepared to make you … an offer.

  What is your proposal? the Ix replied.

  Aunt Gwyneth turned to the daisy fields. Not since her time in the Aunt Academy, learning what was right and what was wrong, had she been so entranced by the concept of power. A union, she said.

  A commingling?

  A union. Under my command.

  There was a pause. The Ix said, We agree.

  And the most unholy alliance in the history of Co:pern:ica began right there.

  Though it nearly didn’t.

  As Aunt Gwyneth slackened her grip and let the Ix merge with her neural pathways, an almighty struggle began. The Ix was a thing that possessed no conscience. What else could they do but betray her trust, even though that trust was admittedly misplaced? They swept through her mind and tried at once to assume control. It was a close-run thing. Her assessment of the Cluster had been quite accurate. Powerful. Ingenious. A dedicated killer. But she, an Aunt Su:perior, the Aunt Su:perior, had not risen to that rank through kindness and courtesy. She had power — and cunning — in abundance, too. Turning her fain to near maximum, she broke the Cluster, as Harlan had done, and subjugated the Ix in different parts of her mind. Try that again and I’ll eliminate you, colony by colony, she told them.

  Wisely, the Ix flattened off a little.

  Now you will tell me why you are here.

  We seek control of the nexus, they said.

  Aunt Gwyneth relaxed her fain into theirs. A nexus. An entanglement of time. How interesting. There is a time point, here? Where to? she asked.

  The Ix floated into her consciousness. The nexus triangulates between three worlds. On Co:pern:ica, within this tower of stone. On a thought dimension called Ki:mera, colonized by the spirit of dragons. And on a low-level physical plane, where it resolves at the battle of Isenfier.

  What is the name of the last world? said Gwyneth.

  The Ix pulsed and seemed unwilling to answer. A blue planet of rock and water, they said, once used as a dragon breeding ground. Its name is Earth.

  PART FOUR

  WHICH HAS ITS

  BEGINNINGS — AND ITS PECULIAR

  ENDINGS —

  IN A REMARKABLE REORDERING OF

  THE BUSHLEY LIBRARIUM MARCH 11, 032

  1.

  In the aftermath of the librarium blaze, David carried Rosa into the daisy fields to make sure she was able to breathe clean air. The firebirds, their job complete, dispersed. As she watched them heading back toward the upper floors, Aurielle glanced at Azkiar and saw the despondency in his eyes. He needed a task, she thought, to take his mind from the lingering smell of burning paper. She fluttered to his side and suggested he fly off in search of Aubrey. Azkiar crossed the tips of his beak. He was keen to make amends for the damage he’d caused, but he could see no point in scouring the aerie looking for Aubrey.

  So Aurielle told him what she had seen. The black firebird. The blood. The distance in its eyes. Firebirds are never black, said Azkiar. Aurielle recalled the image on the sill. I know — but it looked like Aubrey, she said.

  Azkiar blew a heavy sigh. Aurielle’s visual sensors had surely been smoke stained. She’d seen a silhouette, nothing more, he thought; it happened in a window in the aerie every day. But she had that fretful look in her eye, the one that always made him want to do things for her. He preened a loose feather and said he would try, even though he was sure that Aubrey had simply fallen into hibernation somewhere. A firebird could sleep for half a spin, if it wished. But it would do no harm to run a quick check of the lower floors. Especially if it stopped Aurielle pitying him.

  He found the body on Floor Twelve. On the floorboards, underneath the window, lifeless. Dropped there like a discarded rag. For several moments, Azkiar couldn’t approach it. He had seen a dead firebird twice before, but never in a state like this. Carefully, he tottered up. He extended a foot and tilted the flaccid head toward him. He studied the glazed and faraway eye. The ducts had opened, the tear had discharged. Some days ago by the look of things. The blood mark was recent (and a concern), but it was the condition of the plumage that made his toes curl. The feathers lacked color, just as Aurielle had said. But they were a uniform gray, not a midnight black. Their shine had disappeared, leaving them brittle, ugly, and dry. He rocked the body lightly under his foot. Even with pressure, it did not break down. That puzzled him deeply. Normally, a firebird’s body would disintegrate shortly after its tear had been shed. Something was preventing that from happening here. It was as if poor Aubrey had been frozen in a kind of undead form, hovering, as it were, between two worlds. Azkiar took a pace back. His first impulse was to burn this abomination flat. But Aurielle would have his ear tufts for nostril cleaners if a fire kicked up again as a result. So, with a gentle rrrh of respect, he left the body where it was and spiraled to the ground again to make his report.

  By now, the girl Rosa had started to recover. She was sitting up against the wall of the librarium, being closely attended by David. Aurielle and Aleron were perched on a window ledge nearby. Azkiar landed in the daisy field, staying well away from the man he’d once attacked. Rrrh! he called, to get Aurielle’s attention. I’ve found Aubrey. He’s dead. Upstairs.

  “Uh?” The sound of Rosa’s voice made all three firebirds look her way. Pushing David aside, she scrabbled to her feet and took a pace toward Azkiar. The red firebird poddled back, looking confused.

>   “Hey, Rosa. Sit down. What are you doing? You need to rest.” David was at her shoulder in a moment.

  “I heard it,” she said.

  “Heard what?”

  “Heard it talk.”

  David glanced at the birds. All three had taken off by now and were flying for a window ledge higher up the building.

  “Floor Twelve,” Rosa muttered, counting the floors. She turned toward the librarium door.

  “Rosa, wait. Slow down.” David twisted her around.

  “Get off,” she responded, flinging him aside. “Did I ask you to come back and start interfering?”

  “Look,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets, “I know you hate me for running off, but I had to leave the way I did. My father passed me secret information, something I could only see on his com:puter. If the Aunts had found it, I would have been sent to the Dead Lands with him.”

  “And this is a bad thing?”

  “That’s not fair.” He took an angry step forward. It brought him closer to her than he’d meant to be. So close that his breath made waves in her hair. “I care about the librarium, just as much as I care about …” But there the sentiments seemed to fail him and his words trailed off into silent ambiguity.

  Rosa gulped and turned her face a little farther from his. After a pause that seemed like forever she said, “One of the birds is dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The red one told the others. I understood what it said.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going in to find them whether you come or not.”

  And so together, they hurtled through the librarium, letting it guide them straight to Floor Twelve. As they burst into the room where Aubrey lay, the firebirds scattered away from the body. Azkiar was quick to spread his muscular wings and make himself look as fearsome as possible.

  “It’s all right,” Rosa said, raising her hands for calm. She made a rhhhing noise in the back of her throat. All three firebirds sat up straight, their ear tufts springing out like antennae.