The Last Crucible

by J. D. Moyer

  “I can’t turn it off. Why did you steal it? What do you need to do in Bosa?”

  Too many questions. “End! Stop transmission! Turn off!”

  “Terminate voice communications?” the hovershuttle asked calmly.

  “Yes!”

  Katja finished her second apple in blessed silence.

  She could see a densely forested landmass to her left, but the hovershuttle continued south without slowing. To her right the sun was nearing the horizon; she had only a few hours of light remaining. Or possibly less; somehow the sun descended more rapidly in this part of the world.

  A landmass appeared before her, much larger than she had expected. The hovershuttle slowed and descended, coming to a stop a few hundred meters from the shore. A town was visible, set on a hilltop, the hill crowned with the ruins of a castle. There were castle ruins near Happdal – evidence of settlements that existed even before the Builders. Zoë had taught her some history; she’d learned how humans had lived on the planet for many thousands of years, in waves of civilizations. The Minoans of Crete had been one of the earliest civilizations in the Mediterranean, a fishing people who’d built great cities. She could see a few fishing boats docked at a pier – boats several times larger than any she’d seen before. Would the people of Sardinia be anything like the people of Happdal? Or would they be masters of machines like the people from the Stanford? Or more like the ancient Minoans?

  “Move closer,” she told the hovershuttle, more quietly this time. “I’m a poor swimmer. And be quiet if you can.” The craft obliged, muffling the rotor to a dull whir. She couldn’t see anyone on or around the piers. Maybe they were all eating their evening meal.

  She clambered onto a pier, bringing only her sword, which she drew and held before her. It occurred to her that someone might try to steal the hovershuttle, just as she had done. “Stay here,” she commanded, “and don’t allow anyone to get near you except me. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” the craft answered quietly. “I will maintain a security buffer of ten meters unless I recognize your voice signature.”

  As easy as that. She’d have some advice for Tem the next time she saw him.

  The roads here were paved with stones, worn flat and smooth from many years of use. She picked one at random, heading toward what she guessed was the center of town. What was her plan, exactly? Perhaps she should have given it more thought. She couldn’t just lop off the head of the first old woman she saw. She’d had the idea that she would recognize the gast – Sperancia – by the black, threadlike markings beneath her skin. She’d had the same markings on her own face for years, well after she’d been freed from the Crucible. But dusk was falling rapidly; it would be difficult to make out such details.

  Bosa – if that was indeed where she was – was deserted. Had the hovershuttle taken her to the wrong place, to some long-abandoned seaside village? Some insect was chirping incessantly, but she heard no voices. And yet there were signs of life. Most of the buildings were in good repair, some even with a fresh coat of paint. The streets were free of debris; trees and shrubs were trimmed back. She spotted several small neatly tended gardens. An orange cat crossed her path, giving her a curious look before disappearing behind a low wall. Some movement from above caught her eye – a shutter closing. Yes, there were people here. Hiding from her, perhaps.

  Ahead, she heard faint shouting and yelling in the distance. It was difficult to tell the exact direction; the sound was ricocheting off the stone walls. She ran, but the voices became fainter, then stopped altogether. She retraced her steps and again heard people speaking, more calmly now and much closer.

  She entered a town square, and for the first time saw light, either from a torch or lantern. She twirled her sword, loosening her shoulders. She would do her best to only kill the gast, but she was willing to do whatever was necessary. Surely she would be outnumbered, but for now she had the advantage of surprise. She would kill Sperancia on sight: a cutting slash to the neck if she had room for a proper swing, otherwise a quick upward thrust to the heart from beneath the breastbone. It wasn’t a sophisticated plan, but Katja was confident in her ability to wield Biter.

  “Tu chi sei?”

  A dark-haired girl stood in a doorway. She was small-boned, wearing a blue dress, her face in shadows.

  Katja put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh….”

  The girl silently watched her. Katja kept moving toward the light, catlike, holding Biter with both hands. The light was coming from a room below ground level. Male voices debated something in a language she didn’t understand. A meeting or congregation of some sort; perhaps this was why the rest of the town was empty.

  It occurred to her that this might be the end. The people of Bosa might be formidable warriors with powerful armaments. Perhaps this was her last night on Earth. She would die alone, far from her friends and family. Even if she fought valiantly, no one she cared about would know.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The girl was still watching from the shadows.

  Katja didn’t feel scared, not really, but she was breathing quickly, practically panting, gripping the hilt of the sword far too hard.

  She descended the stairs with a few quick hops and kicked the basement door. It swung open without resistance. She rushed into the room.

  There were at least two dozen people packed into the basement, a large storage room. A man and a woman, apparently prisoners, were entangled in fishing nets directly in front of her. The Bosa villagers surrounded the prisoners, some holding nets, others wielding long fish knives.

  Two bodies lay supine on a large table in the center of the room. Corpses, a woman and a man. The man was young and fit, with bronze skin tinged blue.

  Everyone looked at her in shocked amazement, mouths agape.

  “Where is Sperancia?” she bellowed. She swung Biter in a menacing arc, evoking backward steps and fearful looks. “Where is the gast? Where is Sperancia?”

  “You speak English?” The male prisoner, entangled in nets, looked at her with curious fascination. “Where are you from? How do you know Sperancia? Do you know what she is?” The man had bronze skin like the corpse on the table, and shiny black hair. He was radiantly handsome.

  “Where is she?” Katja asked him. No one else seemed to understand her words. Except for possibly the female prisoner, who was watching her with predatory intensity.

  “She is right there, on the table. I’m afraid you’re too late. She’s quite dead.” His accent was musical and lilting.

  “Cosa sta dicendo?” A tall, pale woman stepped out of the shadows. Like the male prisoner, she seemed unafraid of Katja, approaching so that her chest pressed up against Biter’s point. She stared at Katja with bloodshot eyes. Was she their leader?

  The male prisoner answered the pale woman’s question in the same language. “This is Jana,” he explained to Katja. “She tried to murder me last night, along with Sperancia. They’re deciding what to do with us now. You’ve come at an awkward time.”

  Katja dropped the point of her blade and shoved Jana aside. The girl stumbled back, unresisting. The other villagers kept their distance, eyeing her as a squirrel might watch a lynx. Satisfied for the moment that the villagers would not attack her, Katja laid Biter down alongside the old woman. Sperancia. Her black dress had been pulled open to reveal a horizontal wound right above her heart, a near-surgical incision. There were black threads beneath her skin, on her chest, neck, and face. There was no doubt this was a gast.

  Katja grabbed the wrist of a nearby man, twisting sharply. She caught the fish knife before it hit the ground, and before anyone could react, plunged the blade into Sperancia’s breastbone. The Crucible core, if it was still there, would have implanted itself near the esophagus.

  “Fermare!” someone called out, but most just stared in dumb fascination, either terrified or confused.

  Jana – the
woman with the bloodshot eyes – had recovered, and was speaking rapidly to the male prisoner.

  “She says it’s not there, what you’re looking for.”

  “Then where is it?”

  “She swallowed it – a small black egg. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Katja looked at Jana, not wanting to believe what she’d just heard. Part of her had suspected it from the moment she’d seen the girl, who gave every indication of being recently traumatized.

  She’d arrived too late. The Crucible had found a new host.

  Chapter Ten

  An hour later Katja had reached an uneasy truce with the town elders of Bosa. Maro – the male prisoner – served as a translator, though Katja suspected he was twisting her words for his own purposes. But she had no choice but to rely on him; the language of the Sardinian people was utterly unfamiliar.

  At the insistence of Gregoriu, the mayor of Bosa, Katja stowed her sword back in the hovershuttle. He’d wanted to confiscate it but had agreed to the compromise. Gregoriu struck her as a reasonable, thoughtful man doing his best to navigate a chaotic situation. Once she learned what had recently transpired in Bosa, she felt some sympathy for the beleaguered mayor.

  They were seated in the town hall, a building that seemed to serve the same function as Happdal’s longhouse. Someone offered her food and wine, but she had no appetite. She was seated at a long table next to Maro, with one empty chair between them. Maro’s wrists were bound in iron shackles, which he appeared to take in stride. She felt uneasy in his presence. Despite the fact that he was a prisoner, Maro seemed more in control of the situation than anyone else.

  “Where is the other prisoner – the woman?” she asked him.

  “Locked in a house, but safe. The people of Bosa are civilized. They have acknowledged that we were attacked first, that we acted in self-defense. Jana admitted as much.”

  “And where is Jana?”

  “Asleep, I am told.”

  Katja nodded. Unconscious was more likely. She had vague memories of her own first days and nights as the Crucible grew its black tendrils throughout her body and brain. She’d drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes hearing strange voices. Those voices had been the previous hosts, she’d learned later. Even now, she missed some of them. Especially Stian the smith, who had treated her kindly, encouraging her to learn to read.

  It took some time for everyone to understand what had occurred. Katja confirmed that she knew the previous visitors from Ilium – that one of them was in fact her nephew – and that she had flown the same hovershuttle to Sardinia. She did not mention that she had stolen the craft, but did state emphatically that she had come of her own accord, that Tem and the others knew nothing of her mission.

  As for her reason for coming to Bosa, she was truthful. The Crucible was a dangerous parasite, a machine that could enslave people. Maro seemed fascinated by this proposition and asked her far more questions than did the town elders of Bosa, who had a different view. Jana had been chosen as the next host – an honor – and had fully accepted that role. Whoever bore the Crucible became a sorceress, a woman possessing great knowledge and strength. And it was always a woman, by their tradition.

  She needed to speak with Jana as soon as she woke up. If the girl had voluntarily swallowed the black egg, as Maro had attested, then something was different here. Perhaps the hosts did not always become slaves. Was each Crucible different?

  “And you say you are from the Michelangelo, a ringship?” she asked Maro.

  “We call them worldships, but yes.”

  “Why did you come to Bosa?”

  “To meet new people. To trade. Potentially to make allies. We have been isolated for many years.”

  “Why not reach out to the people of the Stanford or the Liu Hui or the Alhazen?”

  “How do you know of such places?”

  “My brother lives on a ringship. He married a woman from the Stanford. They live there now, though he visits Happdal.”

  “Your village in the mountains to the north.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “If you wish to visit there, I will speak to the jarl and request an invitation on your behalf. He is my brother.” And she would recommend that Trond not extend an invitation to Maro and his ilk. He was entirely too knowing, too curious and sly. He reeked of a hidden agenda, though she had no idea what it might be.

  “You are well-connected, Katja. A sister-in-law on the Stanford, a brother who is the village chieftain, and the means to travel wherever you like.”

  She ignored his comment and turned to Gregoriu. “Explain to the mayor again why I am here,” she told Maro. “And tell him that I must see Jana as soon as she awakens. Even though her situation is different than mine, I can help guide her.”

  Maro spoke, though she had no way to verify what he was saying. Gregoriu nodded studiously, weighing the information. Through Maro, the mayor asked her about Happdal. How many people lived there? How long had they lived in the mountains? What other groups did they know? She answered his questions as honestly and thoroughly as she could, though she felt uneasy about conveying her answers through Maro, who was uncomfortably attentive. And was he eyeing her body? She was wearing simple clothes, fur-lined leather garments, but her arms and neck were bare. She was not a young woman, nor as beautiful as her mother. But yes, there was sexual hunger in Maro’s eyes, and he made no effort to hide it.

  “Do you wish to bed me?” she asked him bluntly. “You’d be a poor lover, in shackles.”

  “I think we could manage,” he said, unembarrassed. “Though the people of Bosa are modest. We should wait until we have some privacy.”

  “I prefer women,” she said. Truthfully she had no preference either way, but it seemed a simple way to make her position clear: she had no interest in him. He was indisputably handsome, but she felt only wariness in his presence. She would sooner share a bed with a snake or a spider.

  “Then perhaps you will take Livia as a lover. She would have you, I’m sure of it. Your bone structure is exquisite.”

  Livia, she had gathered, had been the one to wield the knife that killed Sperancia. Which couldn’t have been easy. Once the black threads had done their work, the Crucible host became immensely strong, with lightning-fast reflexes. Livia had not appeared to be immensely powerful. Though she knew that meant little; the ringship people had ways of enhancing their bodies.

  “Tell Gregoriu I’m done with you for now. In the morning I will see Jana, if she is roused.”

  Maro smiled bemusedly but provided a succinct translation. Gregoriu nodded to some young men who escorted Maro out of the town hall. Katja guessed that Maro could easily overpower them and escape. But he wouldn’t. There was something in Bosa that he wanted, and he wouldn’t leave until he had it.

  Gregoriu gestured to the plate of food: cheese, meat, and some sort of round red fruit. She took some, her stomach finally remembering she’d eaten nothing but apples that day. She nodded her thanks and left the hall. No one followed her. It was late and even the insects had stopped making noise. The only sound she heard was the hardened leather of her boot soles on the smooth cobblestones. The night was cool and clear, the constellations brilliantly visible. Most were familiar but a few were utterly strange. Zoë had taught her about the rotation of the Earth and its revolution around the Sun, but here was direct evidence of that idea. She had travelled far enough to see a different sky.

  “Hovershuttle, it’s me,” she said as she approached. The dome opened obediently, and closed again as soon as she had entered. “Wake me if anyone approaches.”

  “You have five messages.”

  “From who?”

  “Three from Maggie, in Ilium. One from Lydia, in Ilium. One from Esper, on the Stanford.”

  They were desperate – they’d asked her brother to call her. �
��I will hear the message from Esper.”

  She smiled at the sound of her brother’s voice. He spoke in Norse, his tone calm and playful as always. “They tell me you’ve stolen a vehicle, little sister. What are you up to? Don’t kill anyone, okay? You might start a war or something. Anyway, I miss you. I will come to Happdal soon, I promise. I miss Mother’s öl.” Esper spoke a little more about ringstation life. Per Anders was fine, though getting a little fat. Car-En was also well, though feeling anxious with Tem’s extended absence. But Esper didn’t worry about his son; he knew Tem had good judgment.

  Katja laughed aloud. Tem was a fool, like all young men, just as foolish as Esper and Trond had been when they’d left Happdal against Mother’s wishes to try to rescue Katja from the gast. Thirty years ago – she’d been just a girl. What adventures they’d had.

  The motion of the water was gentle but unfamiliar; she’d never slept on a boat. But even as she considered starting up the craft to find a patch of land, exhaustion overtook her. It had been a long, strange day.

  Voices woke her. There was only a little light in the sky, but the pier was bustling with activity. Fishermen were heading out for the day. She told the dome to open and looked around sleepily. Men and a few boys waved to her. Word had traveled; apparently they knew who she was. The people of Bosa were friendly, especially considering her rude entrance.

  She ate a large breakfast: her own provisions and the food Gregoriu had given her. The red fruit was only mildly sweet, and slightly sour, but incredibly juicy. How many other foods existed that she had never tasted?

  Katja instructed the hovershuttle to secure itself, just as she’d done before, though it occurred to her that she had no idea how it would defend itself if necessary. “Don’t hurt anyone, okay?”

  “My defense measures are non-injurious.”

  Bosa was a different town by day. There were people everywhere going about their business, and everyone she saw greeted her. “Buon giorno,” they said. Eventually Katja tried repeating the words back, and though her mouth had trouble with them, the greeting evoked smiles.