Smoke and Stone

by Michael R. Fletcher

  “This looks bad enough,” Nuru said. “We don’t need to be seen with forbidden items.”

  “It’s comfortable.”

  “Why aren’t Growers ever allowed to sit?” asked Efra. “We stand in the fields. We stand in church. We stand at home. We only lie down when sleeping and fu—”

  “Focus!” snapped Nuru.

  “She’s angry,” said Chisulo, sidling up beside Nuru. “Always so angry.”

  No. Scared.

  Happy gave his box one last look of heartbreaking longing.

  Up here, the walls no longer watched Nuru. She didn’t miss the staring eyes, but did regret the loss of feeling like something looked out for her.

  Once Nuru got everyone outside, Efra stopped and stood with her head tilted back, admiring the endless expanse of stars.

  “How long were we down there?” Efra asked.

  Nuru waved her to silence and set off. Thankfully, they followed.

  Night was good. All the Growers were asleep. As long as they avoided the Birds they’d be fine.

  After two blocks she realized she’d lost Efra and Happy. The two had stopped half a block back and were once again staring up at the stars.

  “Stay here,” she told Chisulo and Set off to fetch them.

  “The stars promise endless wisdom,” Efra said as she arrived. “If we could just understand their message.”

  “Hey,” said Happy, “even though I can see my breath, I’m not cold.”

  “We have to go,” prodded Nuru, trying to get them moving again. They ignored her.

  “For the first time in forever,” said Efra, “I feel like I belong. I told everyone my crazy plan and you didn’t kick me out of the gang.”

  “We have to get off the street,” hissed Nuru. “Move!”

  “I like you,” Efra told Happy. “But touch my nose again and I’ll kill you.”

  Happy grunted an unconcerned laugh.

  Nuru punched Happy in the shoulder.

  “Look,” he said, finally noticing her. “Stars.”

  “Stars,” agreed Efra.

  “If you don’t start walking,” Nuru told the big man, “you’ll never see another set of tits.”

  Happy left.

  “What won’t I see?” asked Efra.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Her brow crinkled in thought. “But we never see tomorrow.”

  “Move or I’ll punch you in the ribs.”

  “Right.” Efra followed Happy.

  This time keeping a close eye on them, Nuru led them through cluttered alleys, often pausing whenever someone stopped to stare at something only they could see. Terrified as she was, she had to admit this was the most beautiful night ever. The stars were bright and alive, singing and dancing. She knew it would all change when the mushrooms wore off, but decided to enjoy it while it lasted. Smoking Mirror was going to tear everything apart and she and Efra would play their part in that. But after, they’d build something new. Something different. Change was everything. Father Discord knew that. She did too. That thing she was carving, it was definitely going to change things, whatever it was.

  I’m going to do it, I’ll save the Growers. I’ll save my friends.

  Friends. Like that’s all they were. The boys were there in her first memories. Chisulo… Her heart hurt. Even Efra, hard and brittle, scared and angry, had fought to save her from the Bird. Smoking Mirror must have picked the girl for a reason.

  A shiver of fear ran through Nuru.

  That nahualli of Cloud Serpent showing up in the basement, and the way Efra defeated him, proved it was all real. The tattoo staining her wrist connected her to Smoking Mirror.

  Things have been the same for too long.

  Could eternal gods grow bored?

  It was time for change. She felt it in her blood. The nahual needed reminding that they did not, in fact, rule Bastion. The gods were at the centre. The Priests’ Ring was the second, not the first.

  Seeing Efra slow, Nuru poked her in the ribs to get her moving again.

  Spotting an abandoned tenement, entrance thick with dust-clogged webs, Nuru herded her friends inside. She hustled them all straight into the basement. Uncoiling Isabis from around her neck, she let the snake free to go exploring and kill any pests she found.

  This home had been long unused, if the dust and debris were anything to judge by.

  After kicking aside some garbage, Happy lay the Finger out on the floor. Omari groaned and twitched. Blood leaked from his ears and nose. The big man fussed over his friend, singing in a soft voice. Chisulo sat alone, staring at his hands. He looked haunted, like he lost something.

  Efra sat beside him. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Chisulo?” said Efra.

  “Hmm?” He glanced at her, eyes hollowed.

  What will she do? Did Efra understand what Chisulo needed?

  “Will you hold me?” asked Efra.

  Yes, she does.

  Chisulo needed to be needed, but did Efra do this out of compassion, or manipulation?

  Nuru felt her jaw tighten as Chisulo put an arm around Efra and she lay her head on his chest.

  Happy singing to Omari. Chisulo and Efra sitting together.

  Nuru never felt so alone.

  “In this smoky world,” Efra said to Chisulo, “you are real. You are stone.”

  “I feel more like smoke,” he answered.

  “I’m going to give you the entire ring. Maybe more.” Efra looked up into his eyes. “Maybe all Bastion.”

  Nuru turned away.

  AKACHI – WAR AMONG THE RINGS

  Culture, like religion, depends on the indoctrination of children before they are able to question or think for themselves. It is critical that the formative years of a Grower’s life be spent in an environment controlled by the church.

  —The Book of Bastion

  Akachi woke in the church courtyard, sprawled in red dirt, filthy and bruised. His mouth tasted like the bottom of a Grower’s foot. He pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan. The sun sat low on the eastern horizon.

  Wasn’t I in my chambers? He couldn’t remember. A mix of narcotics still swam his blood. Did I eat erlaxatu before using the mixture? Stupid. Dangerous. There was a price to communing with the gods. He’d read about nahual who spent too much time basking in the presence of divinity. It was addictive, to be so connected with your god. Mortal souls could not bear the full brunt of their light. It burned.

  He remembered the brain-burned priest, the week spent caring for him when Akachi was an acolyte. He remembered wiping the man’s face after meals and his ass after each shit.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Akachi told the dead plants littering the courtyard. “This is Cloud Serpents’ will. I must find the—”

  The girl. He’d seen her. A Grower basement. She wasn’t far from here.

  Akachi rose and turned to head into the church, only to run into Captain Yejide as she hurried out.

  “Where were you?” she demanded, eyes fierce. “I thought you left, alone. We’ve been looking for you. Khadija and Gyasi are searching the basement.” She scowled at the flattened area of dead vegetation. “Ibrahim was on guard. How did you get past him? Did you sleep out here?”

  Too many questions. “I think so.”

  She looked bewildered. “Why?”

  “I… I don’t know. I spirit-walked last night, looking for whoever killed Talimba. I found her. She’s a street sorcerer. I found the girl too, the one with the scar.”

  “You faced a street sorcerer alone? Where?”

  “Two blocks from here.” He glanced at the rising sun. Serpent’s tongue! I lost hours lying in the dirt.

  “I’ll get Njau and Lutalo. We go now.”

  “Lutalo?”

  Yejide shot him an angry look and disappeared back into the church. She returned with the two Hummingbirds, armed and armoured. Lutalo was a short, wiry man, veins like snakes standing out on his arms. A wispy scraggle of beard grew from
his chin but left the rest of his face nearly hairless.

  “Lead the way,” she said.

  Akachi pointed and set out, Yejide at his side.

  “The street sorcerer,” he said, “she was nothing.” He felt awful, his stomach twisting with bile. “Wait.”

  Akachi stopped to puke into the gutter running alongside the street. The Hummingbirds stood, waiting with ill-concealed impatience. He stared at the gutter, glanced around. Thin vomit sluggishly trickled toward the centre of Bastion.

  Blood running like a river in every street. He shook off the vision. Growers passed, pretending they hadn’t seen a nahual retching in the street like a common addict.

  The basement. He was in his element there, the only trained nahualli in the room. Through the narcotics they shared an alternate reality. One he controlled. When everyone froze at his command, the scarred girl attacked.

  He saw the tattoo on her wrist, a black rectangle. He’d seen it only once before, in the oldest copy of the Book of Bastion the Northern Cathedral held. That black rectangle was Smoking Mirror’s truest name.

  That tattoo was enough to get her, and every Dirt who’d seen it, thrown from the Sand Wall.

  “The scarred girl isn’t alone,” said Akachi, straightening, wiping his mouth. “She’s backed by a power.” He resumed walking.

  Even though Yejide wasn’t a nahualli, she understood there were many powers, from the allies found in narcotics, to all the many branches of sorcery. “Another street sorcerer?” she asked. “Or a Loa nahualli?”

  “A god.”

  She shook her head in vehement denial. “Impossible.”

  “Smoking Mirror backs the girl. She bears his mark. No way a stupid Dirt knows his most secret symbol.” He glanced at Yejide. “And she walked through my sorcery like it was nothing.”

  Captain Yejide picked up the pace and Akachi hurried to follow.

  Spotting the tenement from his dream, he said, “This is it.”

  Signalling Lutalo to stay with Akachi, she and Njau entered the tenement, cudgels drawn.

  Akachi glanced at Lutalo but the short Hummingbird ignored him, stroking that scruff of beard and watching the street and passing Dirts. He considered following the Captain. As nominal pastor, he outranked Yejide. If there were rebellious Growers inside, however, this became a policing matter which put her in charge. And it would be embarrassing if he tried and Lutalo stopped him.

  Akachi waited, pacing. Local Growers crossed the street to avoid the nahual. The morning’s wagons, loaded with raw foodstuffs, rumbled by on their way to line up at the gate to the Crafters’ Ring. A squad of Hummingbirds travelled with each wagon. A penance wagon with a half dozen Crafters, still wearing their orange and brown, rolled past on its way to the Sand Wall.

  Even the Crafters are acting up.

  Captain Yejide returned, Njau following. She didn’t look happy.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “No Dirts. There’s a fermentation still, and some crude tools in the basement, paper and ink, small shards of flint for carving. Even a couple of old glass jars.”

  “Tools for sorcery.”

  Yejide nodded.

  “Where would they go?” Akachi asked.

  She made a show of looking around. Maybe one in five tenements was inhabited. “They could be anywhere.” She gestured at a cobwebbed entrance across the street. “We’ll never find them. We don’t have enough people to conduct a search.” She examined Akachi. “Unless you ask the Bishop for help.”

  “No.”

  That angular eyebrow crept up.

  “Cloud Serpent sent me,” he said. “If Smoking Mirror—”

  She cut him off with a look. “We’re exposed here. Let’s return to the church.”

  Back at the church, Akachi didn’t have to wait long before Yejide strode into his chambers. She stood, arms crossed, waiting.

  He remembered his vision, the street gutters running with blood, always flowing to the centre. The gods are at war. Should he tell her?

  “If Smoking Mirror is backing this girl,” he said, “we aren’t just facing some rebellious Dirts.”

  “Maybe you underestimated the street sorcerer,” Yejide suggested, still looking for a saner explanation. “Maybe the scarred girl is a sorcerer.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “How much jainkoei did you take?”

  He shrugged. A lot. “What was required.”

  “You know how dangerous it is. Opening yourself to the gods like that.” She put a hand on his knee. It was warm. “I don’t want you brain-burned.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Unlike last night.

  She gave his knee a squeeze. “You do that. We have to figure out our next step. Talimba was the only one trained in how to pass as a Grower. He knew their culture, how they talk, the slang. With him gone, we’ll have to look at other means of gathering information.”

  Other means. When he closed his eyes he saw blood, the still corpse of the Grower he sacrificed on the altar. Cloud Serpent will lead me.

  “We need more Hummingbirds,” Yejide said. “We should talk to Bishop Zalika.”

  “No.” Akachi drew a deep breath. “She sent me here to fail.”

  “Asking for help is not the same as failing.”

  “It is.” He couldn’t tell her about his father. He couldn’t explain what it was like to be the heir to the High Priest of Cloud Serpent. Everyone expected great things.

  If I tell her, it will change everything. He liked that she didn’t know. She expected nothing.

  “How is Gyasi,” he asked to change the subject.

  “Healing.”

  “Good. We’re going to work the streets. You, me, Njau, and Khadija will be one group. Nafari, Gyasi, Lutalo, and…” He struggled to remember the other Hummingbird’s name. It’s that big one, the wall of muscle. “…Ibrahim will be the other. We’re going tenement to tenement. Someone saw something. That scar sets her apart. She can’t hide from me.”

  “Why do you think you have to do it?” She examined him. “Why did Zalika send you out here to fail? Why did she assign you a squad of Hummingbird rejects?”

  “She hates me.” It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the entire truth.

  His last dose of jainkoei still coloured his reality. His thoughts felt smoky and unreal as though at any time, all this could end and he’d wake up somewhere else, as someone else.

  Yejide touched him once, a caress on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She hesitated, hand still on his face.

  Should I say something? Should I do something?

  “Goodnight,” she said, and then left.

  He almost said, ‘wait.’ He almost said, ‘stay.’ He almost said, ‘Don’t go.’

  He said nothing.

  Later. Next time he’d say something.

  Yeah? What are you going to say?

  What was a proclamation of love from a boy to this warrior woman of Southern Hummingbird?

  That night he dreamed of battle, of facing a powerful sorcerer, and woke knowing he needed something with which to fight.

  He had to arm and armour himself.

  Akachi knew what he needed: He already had Gau Ehiza, the puma spirit-animal, carved. The cat would give him speed. Indar Handia, the bear spirit-animal, would give him strength. Bihotz Blindatua, the pangolin spirit-animal, would armour him.

  Cloud Serpent made it clear the scarred Grower is important. She bore Smoking Mirror’s sacred name on her wrist. The only way she could have known what it was, was if the god shared it with her. Could she be a Loa High Priest? Had he misjudged her in their brief meeting? It was, he knew, possible for a truly powerful nahualli to hide themselves from lesser practitioners.

  She charged through my sorcery like it was nothing.

  The implications were stunning. The tattoo.

  What gods opposed Smoking Mirror? Cloud Serpent and Southern Hummingbird for sure. Where did the allegiance of the other gods fall?

  This is impossible! How co
uld he understand the intentions of gods?

  The vision. The Turquoise Serpents slaughtering Growers in the streets.

  That wasn’t just an uprising. That wasn’t Southern Hummingbird’s elite called out to quash some minor district riot. That was war. Cloud Serpent said the gods were at war, but for the first time Akachi truly appreciated what that meant.

  “War among the rings.”

  With the population of each ring shrinking as one moved inward, the Growers outnumbered all the others combined. Akachi recalled the penance wagon filled with Crafters. Who would they follow? Would the Crafters, the second most populated ring, the makers of all food, equipment, and weapons, side with the Growers?

  I have to reach my father. Maybe he already knew far more than Akachi. He must. He’s Cloud Serpent’s High Priest. Was his father in danger? Should Akachi send warning?

  He’s fine. He has the very best protecting him. But the best were all Hummingbird Guard. Could Akachi be certain Southern Hummingbird and Cloud Serpent were united? He shook the thought off. I’m going in circles.

  War among the gods.

  War among the rings.

  He felt small.

  It was too much.

  He couldn’t do this, not alone.

  Captain Yejide. What he felt for her, he never felt before.

  Maybe I’m not alone.

  AKACHI – STONE SORCERY

  Written after the Last War, the Book of Bastion details rules of survival for a long dead era. Chaos and strife threatened the very existence of humanity, and so the city’s founders sought structure and control.

  Structure leads to stagnation.

  Control leads to abuse.

  —Loa Book of the Invisibles

  Akachi woke dripping with sweat. Through the window he saw a sky in the first stages of shedding the puma black of night and becoming the eternal bowl of blue he saw daily. The city wavered in the heat, the air roiling and twisting above the red-stained grey stone of Bastion.