Coldmarch

by Daniel A. Cohen

  I nodded, swallowing hard so I didn’t let on how much my hand was suffering.

  ‘Camlish’ Split gave a meaningful chortle. ‘Go ahead and tell them.’

  Cam was sitting cross-legged, leaning towards the waters and checking his reflection. ‘What makes you think I know that sort of stuff, Split?’

  Split gave Cam a look as if he’d just called the Sun polite.

  ‘What?’ Cam said, prodding a blister on the back of his hand with a wince. ‘I don’t know. You tell them.’

  ‘Rules of the Coldmarch,’ Split said. ‘Don’t lie to your Shepherd. A High Noble spawn like you, I’d wager both my legs that you know the history of this city to the letter. You shouldn’t have quoted all the old Khat nonsense to me before and given away your smarts. Not real smarts, mind you. I always said it don’t take brilliance to regurgitate, only the fine ability to vomit. You probably spent most of your days in a blissfully cool library, memorizing things about the people outside. Am I wrong, Tavor?’

  ‘It’s okay, Cam,’ I said. ‘You can tell us.’

  ‘Shivers and Frosts, Spout.’ Cam shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to associate me with that kind of stuff.’

  ‘Please,’ I said, my eyelids feeling unnecessarily heavy. I’d had plenty of sleep in the slave cart, and shouldn’t have been so tired, but I had a feeling my fatigue was more in the mind than the body. ‘I want to know. I won’t associate anything with you.’

  Cam let out a long sigh. ‘Fine. But if I tell them, Split, you show us the traditional Crying Dance afterwards.’

  ‘If anyone would be in the mood to dance,’ Split said under his breath.

  Cam closed his eyes. His stomach gave a loud rumble. ‘Can I hold the Coldmaker?’

  I shrugged, looking at Shilah, who still had the machine’s bag slung over her shoulder. My mangled hand left me feeling very little attachment to the invention.

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Can I please just hold it?’ Cam asked. ‘It will help.’

  Shilah slid the bag over. ‘You’d better not let it fall in the water.’

  ‘I’d fall in first,’ Cam said, taking the bag and letting the canvas lips fall open. He ran his fingers along the bronze Eye. ‘You did a great job with the carving, Spout. And I can’t believe this metal is still so cool after—’

  ‘Quit stalling, Tavor,’ Split grumbled. ‘Can’t you see Shilah’s grass is dying.’

  Shilah closed her palm.

  Cam sighed, keeping his hand pressed against the machine. ‘The City of David’s Fall, originally called Ziah, was the site of the first Jadan rebellion after the Drought. This was their stronghold.’

  Shilah gave me a playful nudge with her elbow, trying to get me to look at her, but I kept my focus on Cam. Her hand slid back onto my thigh, but I was too tired to deal with both things at the moment.

  ‘So eight hundred years ago the Drought struck and Cold stopped falling in all the Patches of all the main cities, right?’ Cam asked to no one in particular, but seemed like he expected an answer.

  I nodded. ‘Except Paphos.’

  ‘Except Paphos and Ziah. The world began dying, and everywhere began to heat up, but not those two places.’

  ‘And Langria,’ Shilah pointed out.

  Cam nodded quickly. ‘Yes, but no one knows anything about Langria.’

  ‘Split does,’ Shilah said.

  Split swallowed hard. ‘I only know what I’m told.’

  ‘Keep going, Cam,’ I said. ‘Ziah.’

  Cam put both hands on the Coldmaker, his fingers shaking. ‘The first Khat was already declaring himself divine, making slaves out of all the other kings and queens of the time, offering chains or death. The Khat claimed to have received his Gospels while standing out in his Cry Patch at night. Instead of taking shelter, the Khat stood in the middle of the sands, opening his arms and closing his eyes. Not a single piece of Cold struck him. Instead, when it was all over he found a Frost at his feet, the giant piece of Cold covered entirely in Ice. The Khat touched the Ice and heard the word of the Crier, telling him the decrees. So the world kept dying and the Khat spread his Gospels across the land, enlightening all the Jadan people – mind you, everyone was Jadan back then – how he had been the only one deemed worthy, and how the Crier decided to let his brother Sun cleanse the world through heat. Right?’

  I nodded again. None of this information was new to me.

  ‘But there was one problem, and this is something you won’t hear in the Gospels. Ziah’s Patch kept getting Cold. Every night the heavens Cried here, Cold falling vast and high on the plateaus. Nowadays it’s all Noble homes and shops and monuments up there. Apparently there’s a particularly decent selection of—’

  ‘So what happened?’ I asked.

  ‘So instead of bowing to the Khat, a lot of Jadans chose to come here to Ziah. They were questioned extensively, but as long as they didn’t work for the Khat they were welcomed in by King David. Given Cold and shelter and a place to pray. They built walls around the Cry Patch and dug homes into the land so there was more space’ – Cam gestured around the cave – ’and fortified up their surroundings, while the Khat amassed his armies and made slaves out of everyone else in the World Cried, claiming his divinity and making Paphos the capitol. Now, not all the books say this, and I’ve only found it in a few old scrolls, but apparently the more Jadans who came to Ziah, the more Cold began to fall in their Patches, almost like the Crier wanted to provide for all the newcomers.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Split added with a huff, but his eyes did flash to the Coldmaker, his fingernails digging into his thigh.

  Cam ignored the Pedlar, continuing on. ‘Some stories say the Patches here became crazy fertile, like dozens-of-Frosts-a-night kind of fertile, and thousands upon thousands of Shivers and Chills. Obviously there wasn’t enough space for everyone, but the Jadans spilled over the walls and made encampments outside. King David was beloved and revered.’ Cam took a breath. ‘And then the Khat arrived with his armies.’

  My body went stiff and my vision hazy as I stared at the swirling water.

  ‘But instead of attacking and destroying everything like he so easily could have, the Khat decided to prove to everyone that he was the divine one once and for all, and that Ziah was a false land of trickery, prospering only by the interloping of Sun. The Khat gave the resisting Jadans one last chance to come with him and declare themselves his slaves in Paphos. A lot of them buckled at the sight of so many swords, but some Jadans remained steadfast, not believing the Khat, since Ziah and King David seemed to have been chosen by the Crier as well.’

  Cam paused, tapping his fingers on the bronze Eye.

  ‘Don’t hold back now,’ Split said.

  Cam sighed. ‘So the Khat sent word to all that Ziah would burn, and anyone inside would be left to the Sun’s mercy for all eternity. He kept his forces sieging the city at all sides, but didn’t attack. Instead, he waited and watched, with all of his slaves and armies at his sides. And then Ziah began to heat up. It was only slight at first, but it kept getting hotter and hotter, and the ancient texts say that in a matter of days the streets were like fiery coals. All the plants and animals died and turned to ash. Cold finally stopped falling in the Patches, and their rivers and waters began to boil and the—’

  ‘Spout.’

  I sat up, the side of my head throbbing. ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘You passed out,’ Cam said. ‘Is it your hand?’

  ‘You okay?’ Shilah asked, more pity in her voice.

  I blinked away my confusion. For a moment I saw Cam’s father hiding behind his face, but the vision went away. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Your hand,’ Cam said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, a little too forcefully, touching the boilweed wrap and wincing.

  ‘Meshua!’ Dunes called from somewhere in the darkness, his massive shadow slinking between the rocks outlined by the Adaam Grass light. ‘Are you in need of anything? I will get it for you!’
/>   ‘It’s okay, Dunes,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s just get you some sleep,’ Cam said. ‘I can finish—’

  ‘No,’ I said, not meaning it. My hand was an endless pit of agony. ‘Please. Keep going. I need to know.’

  Cam looked to Split, who made a go-ahead motion.

  ‘Ziah was burning up, the land scorching from within,’ Cam said, giving me a strange look. ‘And the people— you sure you’re okay?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. Please, I need to know.’

  Cam sighed. ‘The people inside the walls tried to escape, but the Khat’s armies wouldn’t let them, trapping everyone inside. They bricked up all the ways out. There were pleas and screaming and begging, but the Khat claimed that the Jadans had sealed their fates. He promised them that the only way they might be saved was if they destroyed their beloved temples and sculpted the perfect Closed Eye from the rubble, proving their insignificance. So, as the air inside the city grew more and more stifling, the holy houses were destroyed and melted, and every Jadan in the city frantically tried their hand at making the perfect Closed Eye. They dropped them over the walls by rope, but the Khat claimed none of them were good enough, and that every soul inside was found wanting.

  ‘Inside, the heat became too much to bear, and all of Ziah’s Cold stores were used up, Chills and Shivers, and every last Wisp, and apparently the Frosts all dissolved to dust, so one by one all the Jadans went to the cliff on the South side of Ziah and jumped to their deaths. King David himself was last to fall.’

  I tried to move my fingers, but my arm wasn’t responding. ‘Hmm.’

  Cam looked at me with deep concern. ‘I thought that story might strike you as pretty rough.’

  The swirling water at my feet was quite pleasant to look at, and I couldn’t take my eyes away. ‘For sure.’

  ‘And those Closed Eyes on the top of the walls,’ Shilah said, ‘are the ones that the ancient Jadans tried to make to save their lives.’

  Cam nodded. ‘Yes, but remember. Don’t associate any of this with me.’

  Shilah licked her dry lips. ‘But now it’s cool here. In the city. Back to normal.’

  ‘If you can call it that,’ Cam said.

  ‘It must have been Desert,’ Shilah said, snapping her fingers. ‘The Khat must have done something with Desert to kill the land here, and then done something to take the heat away afterwards.’

  ‘You know the rumours about Desert?’ Split said aghast. ‘How? Did you read the book? Do you read Ancient Jadan?’

  Shilah’s back straightened to its characteristic rigidity. She blew the dull grass from her palm, letting it fall to the pool. I watched the warm ripples carrying away the blades, spelling something out, something important, something that I might be able to read if only I could see it from another angle. If I disrobed and slipped away from the shore. I’d let myself be carried under the waves, discovering the message on the way down.

  My eyelids grew too heavy and I finally let them close.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I woke up to Dunes stealing the Coldmaker.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, completely disorientated by the candlelight. I tried to grab at the bag. The inside of my head was swarming with scarabs. Everything was happening too fast. I could hear my barbed tone recoiling against the cavern walls and buzzing in my ears. ‘Stop!’

  ‘Apologies,’ Dunes said, stiffening, nearly dropping the bag. ‘It was too close to the waters, and you were shouting and kicking in your sleep.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, nursing my arm, glad that it hadn’t actually been ripped apart. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean—’

  Dunes put the machine down next to me and backed away, bowing so low I wondered if he might get stuck. ‘You never have to apologize to me, Meshua. I just didn’t want your miracle to get lost in the waters.’

  I sighed, my head throbbing. I touched my fingers to my lips and found them dry and blistered. Glancing around the ominous rocks of the cave, I found that the two of us were alone. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘They went to get supplies,’ Dunes said, still maintaining his bow. ‘Food, medicine. What your Pedlar called “decoy goods”.’

  ‘You don’t have to keep bending like that,’ I said.

  ‘By your command,’ Dunes said, righting himself, but then curling into his slave stance.

  ‘On second thoughts,’ I said, my mouth dry. ‘Why don’t you sit next to me?’

  Dunes looked as if he might swoon with gratitude, a large smile drifting across his face. ‘Are you sure that I deserve such an honour, Meshua?’

  I sighed. ‘Just come sit next to me. Don’t be so dramatic.’

  Dunes gracefully sat and crossed his legs all in one motion. ‘After all Hamman has done to your people. For his remaining body to be treated as equal by the holy son—’

  I waved him off, sourness filling my stomach. ‘You’ve got to stop with that. I made a discovery, that’s all. And my name just happens to be Micah. It’s not some divine conspiracy to bring an end to the Drought. I’m just a normal Jadan like everyone else.’ I brought my injured hand into the light. ‘This doesn’t happen to saviours.’

  ‘Of course it does,’ Dunes said, giving me a blank stare. ‘That and worse.’

  I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I am reborn so I can’t claim to know much about the World Cried yet,’ Dunes said matter-of-factly. ‘But I can guess.’

  I sighed. Shilah was right, Dunes’s declaration of being a blank slate was going to go stale very quickly.

  ‘And?’ I said.

  ‘May I?’ he asked, gently gesturing to my hand.

  I offered my wrist, and he began to unbind my shame.

  ‘From what I understand, you are an Inventor,’ Dunes said. ‘You create things that never were.’

  ‘Haven’t done much creating lately,’ I said, thinking about all of the people who had either been hurt or killed since the ‘miracle’ machine came to light.

  Now I was one of them.

  ‘That is because of circumstance, not because of desire, Meshua. You have been run out of your home and hunted down and spun around like a wooden top with no place to land.’ He gestured to the luminous Adaam Grass at the back of the cave. ‘You have been plucked and have been in no position to shine, Crierson.’

  I paused, too distracted by my pulsing injury to deal with Dunes’s choice of name. ‘Fair. But what does that have to do with my machine betraying me and taking away half of my abilities?’

  ‘The Crier is a creator, too,’ Dunes said, examining the black stain that had crawled even further along my skin. He didn’t look at it with pity, however, but with a curious resolve. That made me feel a little better. ‘The Crier is the greatest Creator. He made land and Cold and even life in his image.’

  ‘And?’

  Dunes cupped my wrist like a piece of art, taking it in from all angles. His touch was surprisingly delicate for someone with fingers like cudgels. ‘Have you ever thought that perhaps the Crier hadn’t wanted things to go back to the way they were?’

  ‘Why would the Crier not want that?’ I asked it with an edge, wondering if this was some sort of twisted Hookman logic. ‘There’s barely any Cold that falls any more, and everything is dead and sand and worthless. Why would he not want everything to go back to the way the world was, when it was beautiful?’

  Dunes sighed. The scar on his cheek had healed up, but it was still very stark on his face, even against such dark skin. ‘Because destruction is a whole lot easier.’

  ‘Is it?’ I asked, although I knew the answer. A younger, angrier me had destroyed everything I had ever invented in a matter of minutes during a crisis of faith. I took all the inventions out to the sands behind my barracks and smashed them against the bricks, caught in a spiral of rage and fear. Things that had taken me years to bring to life, countless hours bleeding from the heart, gone in a flash.

  ‘It is. I learned that a long time ago,’ Dunes said, the corners of his eyes gro
wing damp. ‘And giving in to destruction was the easiest choice Hamman ever made.’

  ‘You have to stop this reborn stuff, too,’ I said. ‘I promise I’ll only call you Dunes, and I’ll keep you by my side, but it’s not like you’re a completely different Jadan all of a sudden. Life doesn’t work like that.’

  Dunes let go of my wrist, giving me a sad nod. ‘You will feel much pain, Meshua. This is only the beginning.’

  ‘I already feel plenty of pain, thanks,’ I said, annoyed, wishing Split might hurry back soon and join me in my new-found disdain for the Hookman. Maybe the Pedlar could actually sway me to leave Dunes behind.

  ‘What I mean is this,’ Dunes said in a serene voice, once again pulling his shirt loose to reveal the rows upon rows of scars. ‘I have broken one hundred and forty-five hearts. I know the sound when it happens. And I can say with absolute certainty that this world has a broken heart. I hear the eternal pain on the wind. I can hear it in the crumbling of stone and sand. I’ve even stood in the Cry Patches of Paphos like the First Khat and listened to the night sky. I could hear the weeping in each gracious piece of Cold falling from the heavens, the final gift of a soul with nothing left to give. The Crier has been in pain for so long. He’s so broken. So lonely. Scraping from the bottom of an empty bucket. Sun has been winning in its destruction of the world. I think for the longest time the Crier had given in, contemplating the end of this great invention. Easier just to let go. It is the reason Hamman let himself become a force of destruction. It is the reason why he helped bring demise where he could, to speed up the process of mercy. To finally let the Crier find some peace.’

  I looked back into the waves, and I swore I could see Dunes’s words being echoed in the ripples.

  ‘So the Crier wants us to suffer and die?’ I asked.

  Dunes shook his head. ‘No, Meshua. Just the opposite. The world is the way it is because of circumstance, not because of desire. The Crier has been in no position to shine, either.’ With a shaky finger, he pointed at the Coldmaker. ‘Until now.’

  ‘It’s just a machine,’ I said, fiddling with the lid so the machine might open. I couldn’t use both hands, so I wasn’t able to get the bow-rings to slide properly. ‘It’s just a damn machine!’