by Claire North
“Good. I’m glad.” And when she said no more: “They said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes. Of course. You are Kadri Tarrad. I am Pontus. Of course.”
These words said out loud were the hard thump of the winter gale that fills your lungs too fast, too deep for breath. I half-closed my eyes, felt the blood in my fingertips. Remembered standing in front of the mirror, learning to meet my own reflection while Vae’s hand slipped from mine again, and again, and again. Looked up, and met her gaze.
“What would you like to talk about?”
“I was wondering when you knew.”
“Knew?”
“About me. Pontus.”
“I see.” She waited for me to answer, but I was slow, so slow, trying to fish the words from some distant, crumbling part of myself, memory slipping like dust. Finally: “I suspected you when I was in Vien. Right at the beginning. As a matter of course, you understand. When I first saw you, trailing along behind Jia, I was excited, terrified. Someone I knew – someone who could know me. A single word from you would blow my cover, but at the same time, it was… I wanted to reach out to you, so of course had to question my own assumptions, practise the paranoia that the inquisition taught. Had to be safe. Then Nadira told me that your clearance wasn’t high enough, that the inquisition didn’t suspect you, and I was so relieved that I didn’t stop to check the obvious assumptions – that my clearance wasn’t high enough either, and I was still tearing Georg to pieces.
“I wanted you not to be Pontus. And then when you told me how you knew Georg, it was so damning, such a compromising thing to say that I thought, well, there you go. She can’t be Pontus. Pontus would never have said something like that. And besides, if you were stealing intelligence, you would have stolen from Krima, the person nearest you, not Pav. Pav seemed out of your reach – until I saw his devotions on Kirrk. Then everything went wrong, and I didn’t have much time to think about these things. I should have been executed in Bukarest. Georg should have executed me. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t. Vanity, of course. His… need for power, a playmate, a confessor. All of that, perhaps. But still. He is also a pragmatist, at the end of the day.
“Then I saw you, that night you came to negotiate, and the thought crossed my mind: for Yue. He’s keeping me alive for Yue. I am leverage. It seemed inconceivable, but then why had he dragged me to Kirrk? A display of power, of course, game-playing, time-wasting, but what else? Why were you responsible for me on the island? And why had you of all people come to find me in the forest, alone, your military escort still shuffling around in the snow? I thought perhaps you had come for friendship, that you’d seen something in my file, seen my real name – but no. You didn’t know it was me until the moment you saw my face. Georg sent you. You had come for Pontus. You were meant to kill me, out of sight, a quiet ending to this little dance. And you didn’t.”
A little shrug, a little nod. “Georg didn’t understand why you were still alive. Why I hadn’t put you down. He wanted you on Kirrk to show off – always showing off – but he mainly dragged you there for me. To see how I’d react when he put you in danger. To work out why I hadn’t killed the man who had tried so very hard to destroy me. It didn’t take much for him to solve it. When he realised that he could use you against me, hold your life over mine, he did. He didn’t need to. He already owned my every breath and bone – but he does enjoy power.”
“How did Georg recruit you?”
“We met when I was eighteen – I think I said? The same university – he was a little older, on the sprinting team; a brilliant runner. He had interesting friends, with lots of opinions. They talked the usual revolutions. How Temple was bloated, blind and old. How it existed to make sure that nothing changed. No one had seen the kakuy for years. What he said wasn’t attractive, but how he said it – that was hypnotic. The first time we made love I couldn’t believe someone this remarkable might be interested in me, might take the time to care for me. Nothing he ever does is casual. But when his course ended he went back to Vien, and we drifted apart. We tried to make it work for a few months, but you know how these things are. He encouraged me to go for Council work. He was supportive. Believed in me. I trusted him. I joined security; things fell into place. Georg was working for the Brotherhood, watching me rise – helping me, even. He would feed me titbits from Maze, bits of gossip and things he called “secrets” to make me feel like we were part of some mutual exchange.
“The first time I betrayed Council, I thought I was doing the right thing. Greasing the wheels. Solving a problem. Then I did it again. And again. And one day Georg laughed and said, ‘Good thing no one knows about this, otherwise they’d arrest you on the spot,’ and it was a joke, a silly little joke; and just like that, I was his. I understood in that moment what I had done, how deep I’d gone. He owned me. He laughed, one arm round my shoulder, chatted about nothing – some sport, perhaps – said, ‘Same thing next month?’ and it was done. I had become a traitor without even noticing. After a while, he stopped pretending. We stopped having our little dinners. Stopped with the smiles and the solicitations. He would ask me for information and I would do it. Like a dog trained to fetch, I fetched. Fetch, puppy, fetch. Go fetch. He’s always seen the animal in people.”
“Did you ever believe? In what he said – the kakuy, humanism?”
“Believe? I never really thought about it in those terms. But this I know: one day, the kakuy will wake. They will come from the forest again, some day, and when they do, we have to know how to kill them. It is the only way humanity will ever be safe. Georg was right about that, at least.”
She was not looking at me, at anything, not moving, her face a barely living thing, blood turned to crystal ice.
“Why did you sleep with me on Kirrk?” I asked, and at my question Krima stirred, and Yue did not.
“Because I wanted to. Because it was nice. You were available and I knew… well, perhaps this is the last time. When Jia is dead and Georg has won, when he no longer has any use for Pontus, he’ll put me in some apartment somewhere with guards to watch over me, and sometimes we’ll have sex and dinner because he has me. He has my mind and he has my body and that’s all there is to it. That is what my future holds. I had spent so long looking for Kadri Tarrad, so long trying to find you, I could feel you, see the shape of you without knowing your face. And when I found you, I already knew you. All such a mess. I was meant to kill you, and even before I knew you were Ven, I didn’t think I could. I don’t know which you I spared – Kadri or Ven – but I couldn’t do it. What mercy would there be for Pontus? What mercy for me? What would Vae say, if she saw what I had become?”
“Who’s Vae?” Krima’s voice, hard from the door.
I ignored her. “Why did you come to Bukarest?”
“Jia sent me – peace talks. Nothing would ever come of them, of course, but Georg does like to string the old woman along. And he always insists that they send me.”
“Why did you really come?”
“To see you, idiot. To make sure Georg had kept his promise. Kept you alive. He asked me, Why does this man matter? Why do you care? I told him we were lovers once; he likes it when it’s about sex. He understands that sex – love – these things make people vulnerable. It is much easier for him to comprehend than the truth. I tried to get you out. I did. But he would never let you go.” She smiled, held out her hands. I took them. Her fingers were cold, tipped with blue. I squeezed them tight, pressing a little warmth into her. “What a mess!” She nearly laughed, eyes shining, chin twisted high. “What a stinking mess.”
“If I asked you, would you help me destroy Georg?” Her eyes lowered back to me, and there was a smile on her lips, tears on her cheeks. “In Maze, the kakuy are waking. The rivers carry plague, swarms of black flies that sit in the corner of the eye and lay their larvae in pink flesh. Fires leap from the furnaces to the schools, the streets, the forests. This war can never end, because the Brotherhood cannot turn back. They have burned everyt
hing they have to take what was never theirs.”
She looked away and did not answer. I sighed, spoke to the sky, to the earth, to her bare toes pressed to clay. “Temple teaches that the kakuy wake not because they are angry at humanity and the things it has done but because the cycle must not be broken. Anger, shame, guilt – such human things. It is hard to teach that the sky doesn’t care. Destroy ourselves, or live in peace – all this will someday end, and the earth will endure, in one form or another, whether humans breathe or not. In Tinics, the forest burned, and then the forest grew, and we were taught to give thanks that we lived in a world where that which is lost can grow again. Give thanks, they said. We are of the forest. We are of the earth and of the sky, boundless and eternal. So give thanks.” I pressed my hands around hers, tighter. “Yue – sister of earth and sky; kin of sun and moon. Thank you for saving my life.”
Her smile broke into a grin, a laugh that dislodged the tears that ran down her face. “Ven – I’ve made a total mess of mine.”
“On that point in particular, we have something in common. Will you help me?”
Chapter 64
Three days before the end of everything, Jia came to the temple to pray.
They sent me to the main hall a little after breakfast bell, and there she was.
They’d brought out a chair for her to sit in before the altar. The altar carried images of a hundred kakuy, spirits of the cypress tree and the fish creatures that still played in the darkness of the cistern beneath the streets when no humans were there to see them. But the largest image, moulded from ancient sea-smoothed plastic pulled from the deeps, was the kakuy of the water, the place where two seas meet. It had tentacles woven in plastic bags, a crown of metal shards dug from the landfills, eyes of black opal. It was neither beautiful nor ugly, kind nor vengeful. It had clearly been created by someone with a great deal of piety.
The Medj slipped from the hall as I settled down on a wobbly pile of cushions stacked up next to Jia. She prayed a little longer, or pretended to pray – a woman of her profession must be supremely skilled at demonstrating piety while wanting to pee. Finally she said: “I suppose it’s sacrilegious to discuss war in a place of contemplation?”
“When I last checked, the falcon didn’t care about the scenery if there was something to eat.”
A little nod; she found this satisfactory. “Farii is up and about and has done us a lovely little speech about the tyranny of the Brotherhood. We’re releasing it this afternoon, and have established contact with Merthe in the north. As soon as the message goes out, she is bringing her divisions over and Kun Mi will have a hostile army in her backside. It has all the hallmarks of a bloodbath. I trust you’re satisfied.”
“Not really.”
She nodded; neither was she. “I had a long chat with my advisers. They are, disappointingly, desperate. We are all desperate. None of us have slept enough. None of us have time to sleep. It makes for terrible judgement.” A slight bristling; a tilting of her chin at an unwelcome thought. “How does Mestri do it? You were his assistant for months – does he drink a lot of coffee? Stimulants and hard drugs? How does he run his war?”
“He likes washing in icy water.”
“As if I didn’t despise him enough.”
For a while we sat in silence as the smell of incense drifted on the air with the out-of-tune calling of a novice new to the sacred songs. At length, Jia said: “When this is over, there will be a trial. Quiet, of course – it would be embarrassing to have to admit in public how far Pontus got. But it will be imprisonment, parole at fifteen years if she keeps her nose clean, shows remorse. Five years’ probation, never hold any meaningful position ever again and so on. If she co-operates. If your little scheme works.”
“I understand.”
“She betrayed you. She betrayed your handler. She is directly responsible for the deaths of countless people. She can’t argue ignorance. She knew what she did and understood its consequences. Would you forgive her?”
“My forgiveness is mine to deal with on my own terms. You cannot mandate it or enforce it with a court order. That’s not what justice is for. I’ll deal with it when I’m ready, in my own way.”
A little sigh, a little shrug. She’s heard more laughable things, in her time. “Why did you join the inquisition, Ven of the Temple of the Lake?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You could have worked for Council.”
“Council is too political. You come, you go. You have short memories and short-term goals. It’s all necessary, of course. Society, culture, all evolve far faster than our genes do. But Temple measures its objectives in the erosion of the valleys and the churning of the glaciers. It is fantastically dull, very hard to emotionally engage in and entirely necessary. I saw the forest burn, when I was young. I would like to see it grow, before I die.”
She thought about it, nodded. “Bit self-important, but not completely inane.”
“I was taught that when you thought people were talking absolute nonsense, you should always say, ‘You are partially right.’ It allows everyone to feel that their views are valid and worth consideration, even when they’re categorically wrong.”
Jia laughed. It was such an unexpected sound that I nearly jumped, held onto my knees and wondered if this was a cackle too far, whether someone so frail should be allowed so much merriment. Found that I was smiling, didn’t quite know what to make of the feeling. She patted me on the shoulder, stood up slowly, still beaming, exclaimed: “I like that. I will use that in meetings. So much for the end of the world!” and hobbled away, chuckling as she went.
Chapter 65
All things ended in a place called Martyza Eztok.
It lies at the bottom of a valley of terraced steps, an unnatural hollow in the earth. No river had carved its lines; no great ice age scratched it from the earth. It was as if the talon of some mighty kakuy had descended from the sky to just pick, pick, pick at the land like some yellow spot, ripping out nearly ten kilometres of blackened dust from the flatlands to create an indent through the rock.
The first inquisitors who ventured into it could see chimneys still sticking up from the earth, the buildings beneath them long since collapsed or buried beneath black. Their smooth stacks were shattered, but the rusted remains of some still lay where they’d fallen like clawing fingers. Closer still, and the smell of festering eggs grew, a throat-closing tingle at the back of the mouth, and concrete blocks rose from the shaggy ground, empty windows and cracked walls, pools of brackish water and signs in archaic script. Previous travellers had tied signs of their passage to the fallen lampposts or broken, bleeding pipes that zig-zagged across the ground. Scraps of cloth and woven patches of plastic; bits of ancient fishing line and crumbling wire turning to orange flakes. They were the only living things in this place, catching and snatching at the wind. The walkways of the refineries had tumbled down, nosing into dirt. The great cooling tanks had shattered; the acid in the pipes had eaten everything they’d touched until there was nothing left but hollows and dust.
There was no shrine in this place, no monument to the spirit of rust and the pit. The Medj had argued over whether to build one, to try to re-sanctify the blasted earth, but had eventually agreed that there were some things best left profane. Nothing grew from the yellow muck save brown, scraggy grass that lived only long enough to die. Even the crows kept away.
Nadira had been one of the first inquisitors to risk diving into the abandoned coal mines below, swimming through collapsed tunnel and flooded shaft, unable to see her hand in front of her face as she twisted and wormed her way to the archives the burning ones had hidden within. It had taken the inquisition nearly six years to dig new passages down to the surviving chambers of hidden knowledge, and what a surprise they’d had when the first translations of recovered material started to emerge.
Lignite mining and the great toothed engines that could carve out the belly of the earth.
Essays on storage of
radioactive waste; lessons on slag heaps and acid rain.
This is our knowledge, our gift to you, wrote the last of the archivists who had died when the world burned. Everything we did, everything we made, we made so our children could live better than the ones who went before.
After fifteen years, the tunnels beneath Martyza Eztok were re-sealed by inquisition order, the recovered material distributed to the anthropological and historical working groups for analysis and classification.
Sometimes, when the wind was right, black clouds of coal dust still spun on the edges of the valley, and the few inquisitors left to guard the mines swore that there were things which groaned beneath the earth that had in their sound something living.
Nine days after Yue was arrested
and Merthe turned her guns against the Brotherhood
I got on the train heading north
towards the mines.
Chapter 66
By the time I reached Martyza, the Council had moved a small army in.
They spread themselves into the villages to the south of the torn-up land, camped in clumps of forest and little knots of wood between the thin, dusty fields that clung to the edge of the hollowed-out, blackened valley. Blood-red bricks and a cracked roof were patched over with sheets of waxed fabric. Portable solar arrays were lined up towards the noonday sun, pickets of mounded earth dug out in the scrappy, broken land beyond. To the north I could see the last standing remains of two ancient cooling towers, their curves tumbled in on themselves like broken smiles. A few signs still lined the muddy borders where fences had once separated the old factory lands from the farms, written in archaic script.
PPE must be
Beware the dog
a better future for
I wasn’t sure what “PPE” meant, tried to turn over the ancient dialects to find words that fit, and came up with nothing. Georg would not have been impressed.