by E G Manetti
“What say you, Katleen?” Lilian raises the water vial to her lips.
“This past First Day, I spoke with Seigneur Trevelyan when he came to the school to find Master Andreas. Seigneur assured me that Master Andreas would leave and not return.” Taking a sip of her fruit juice, Katleen hesitates and then offers, “I did not care for Master Andreas’ voice. The greed was too noisy and discordant.”
Discordant? Swallowing, Lilian turns to her sister. “That is an interesting turn of phrase, Katleen. How come you to it?”
“It is Master Andreas’ greed for those old pieces of stone and glass.” Katleen turns earnest eyes toward Lilian. “It controls him and drowns out everything else. I could barely hear the concern and the desire. Everything was tainted by the sound of his greed.”
“Katleen, what are you attempting to tell me?” Lilian asks uneasily.
“When I hear a person’s voice—not the words, the voice—there is music in it,” Katleen begins carefully, knowing that Lilian is uncomfortable with the notion of Shade gifts. “Sometimes color. Occasionally both. I believe it has been thus all my life.”
What shrine superstition is this? Resisting the urge to challenge Katleen, knowing she must hear all, Lilian nods encouragingly.
“With Master Andreas, it was music, not colors. The concern was like a flute and the desire like a harp. The greed was drums and cymbals played out of tempo, discordant and harsh.” Katleen gazes earnestly at her sister, attempting to determine if Lilian believes her.
Struggling to keep her face neutral and hide the dawning horror she feels, Lilian asks, “What thinks Sinead’s Shrine Keeper of this?”
“That, like Maman, I have been touched by Sinead Standingbear. It is not that I truly hear music, it is the way I interpret Sinead’s voice.” Katleen returns her sister’s intent regard. Distressed by what she finds, Katleen catches hold of Lilian’s hands. “I did not intend to keep it a secret, Lilian. Truly I did not. It did not occur to me until I spoke with Seigneur Trevelyan that you might not know.”
“Katleen, what distresses you? I am not angry.” Lilian hastens to reassure the young girl.
“You are horrified. You believe me as deranged as Maman. It is all purple in your voice,” Katleen cries.
“Oh, Katleen, sweetling, you misunderstand.” Moving on the bench, Lilian gathers her sister close as she brushes still-damp curls back off Katleen’s brow. “I understand naught of this perception you claim. I fear that the shrine attendants will draw you into their obsession with Sinead’s Shade. I worry they will make you crazed or make you think you are so. Such is not what I wish for you.”
At Lilian’s words, Katleen relaxes. “It will not make me crazed. It is not constant, and I am able to choose not to see the colors or hear the music. Otherwise, I could not walk the market in peace. Sometimes, it will not come even should I wish it.”
It will not come even should I wish it. A chill runs down Lilian’s spine at the words so close to her own when she revealed her ‘insights’ to milord. With a fierce mental shrug, Lilian dismisses the thought. Whatever goes forward with Katleen, it has naught to do with Lilian’s insights. Katleen can reject the heightened perception. Lilian cannot. It is not at all the same.
As Lilian comes to terms with Katleen’s revelation, she recalls Katleen’s confession that she spoke with Seigneur Trevelyan about Andreas. Suspecting she will dislike the answer, Lilian asks as casually as she can manage, “You spoke of this to Seigneur Trevelyan?”
“Yes, when we discussed Master Andreas. The seigneur’s voice is like yours, both music and color. Not the same music and colors, but very strong and harmonious. The seigneur’s voice has some of the same tones as the master scholar’s at my school. Think you Seigneur Trevelyan may have studied with the Universalists?”
“I believe it quite likely.” That Katleen could have ascertained it based on the similarities between two voices is something Lilian finds disquieting but chooses not to voice.
“Lilian, I believe I would like to hear Monsignor Lucius’ voice.” There is curiosity in the young girl’s tone and something else, determination mayhap.
Adelaide’s Thorn. This goes from bad to worse. What Trevelyan knows, milord will know.
I am the sum of my ancestors. What is done cannot be undone. Lilian must manage this as best she may. “Should you ever do so, I pray you, keep your observations to yourself. Monsignor Lucius prefers that information on his moods and thoughts be distributed only at his will. It is not wise to thwart the monsignor’s will. It would not please me should you do so. Not even with Seigneur Trevelyan.”
“Yes, Lilian, but I may tell you, may I not?”
“Yes, sweetling, you may tell me anything you wish.”
15. The Great Crevasse
Crevasse City, the capital city of Metricelli Prime and the Third System, is located at the base of the Great Crevasse. The city is divided into four districts by two primary transitways. Jonathan Avenue runs north to south along the western edge of the city’s Garden Center, while Metricelli Boulevard runs east to west and bisects Jonathan Avenue at the southern end of the Garden Center. Bounded by these thoroughfares, the Garden Center District is home to the warrior elite and the wealthiest of commoners. Directly south of the Garden Center District is the River Quarter. West of the River Quarter are the clustered towers of the Commerce District, including Serengeti Headquarters. At the western edge of the Commerce District, a mile south of the Refinery District, is the source of the Great Crevasse. No more than a hundred yards wide at its source and thirty miles deep, the Great Crevasse runs northwest in an ever-widening rift that expands to five miles before it narrowing again. Two hundred miles northwest of the refinery complex, the Great Crevasse terminates at the edge of the western hills, once again only a few yards wide. ~excerpt from The Wonders of the Third System, a guide book.
Sevenday 63, Day 7
Helena’s bedchamber is silent but for the quiet snick of the scissors as the seer carefully trims the ends of Lilian’s wet hair, maintaining the length milord wills. Clad in naught but the towel she grabbed after a shower as hasty as her morning race, Lilian mentally reviews the sturdy wardrobe required by the Crevasse. The heavy hiking boots will be hot but necessary. Her faded training trousers are ugly and worn but rugged enough. It is regrettable that Katleen’s River Quarter training must be abandoned so Lilian can reach the Great Crevasse by first bell after midday, but it cannot be helped.
“Katleen… avoidance.” Helena’s voice takes on an insistence that alerts Lilian that her mother may have been speaking for some time.
“Avoidance, Maman? What must Katleen avoid?”
“Adelaide’s Avoidance,” Helena corrects with a mild tug to Lilian’s hair. “You are not attending.”
“I beg pardon, Maman.” Lilian marshals her thoughts. “What of Katleen and Adelaide’s Avoidance?”
All of the Five Warrior martial disciplines incorporate movements for attack and defense, but only Adelaide’s includes the third form, avoidance.
“You must add it to Katleen’s training,” Helena replies casually, as if she is not suggesting something outrageous.
“But Katleen is dedicated to Sinead,” Lilian protests. “Katleen already trains in the discipline of her chosen warrior. It is not wise for one so new to discipline to cross-train.”
“Are you a discipline master to question me in this?” Helena challenges.
“No, Maman,” Lilian acknowledges. Helena is a master of Sinead’s Discipline and well able to govern Katleen’s training. “If you believe Katleen will benefit, so be it. But I am not an Adelaide’s Discipline master. This should not fall to me.”
“The Shades will not be offended,” Helena reassures Lilian, putting down the scissors. “Only your bond hinders you from the mastery trial. You have the skill for this.”
“As you wish, Maman,” Lilian concedes. Of late, Helena’s odd whims have proven useful. Were it not for Helena’s insistence that Lilian
become proficient defending against a short-sword, the festival brawl might have gone ill. With that thought, another comes. Lilian quickly runs her eyes along the vision panels. Ever since she recognized Tabitha as the mongoose, Lilian has become diligent in seeking changes in the panels.
There, in milord’s panel. The trees to the far left have acquired a budding vine. “Maman, what is that plant? Is it some type of night-blooming flower?”
“Flower, Lilian?” Helena turns toward the double set of French doors and the balcony that is as devoid of flowers as the house is of furnishings.
Collecting the cloth that holds her hair trimmings and the scissors, Lilian motions to the wall. “There, Maman, among the trees in Monsignor’s panel.”
“Flower? No. Not a flower.” Helena’s voice takes on the singsong of a vision as she wanders into the corner. “Strange fruit. Bitter harvest.”
“Maman?” Lilian trails after Helena in concern. It is not a good time for one of her mother’s episodes.
“Not this day,” Helena announces briskly, turning from the panel. “Lilian, you must hasten or you will be late to the Crevasse.”
Relieved that Helena has thrown off the seeing, Lilian collects a quick visual on her slate before hurrying to finish her preparations.
»◊«
At the entrance to the Great Crevasse Refinery Complex, Lilian pulls a heavy gray linen shirt over the lightweight shell she wore on the three public transports that brought her to the Crevasse. Even with the sleeves rolled and the tails temporarily knotted beneath her breasts, the shirt is uncomfortably warm. Within the Crevasse, she will be grateful for its protection against the dirt and debris of the mine. As the guards check her credentials, Lilian tucks her gold warbelt beneath her trousers for safety, thrusting her thorn into the satchel.
At the guard’s direction, Lilian hops into a Route Automated Transport, known as a RAT, programmed to follow carefully guarded routes among the installations. Even milord’s conservator may not wander freely among the tightly secured interconnected structures that fan out along the edge of the Crevasse for the equivalent of eight city blocks. Although Lilian can recite the dimensions and layout of the entire refinery complex, no visual or specification can convey the massiveness of what is essentially a small city at the edge of the Crevasse.
Among the nearly fifty billion inhabitants of the Twelve Systems, barely a million have entered a Crevasse or refinery. Most of those will never have access to all the facilities Lilian will view today. With a slight lurch, the cart moves south to the center of the four interconnected structures that are the refinery proper, the area that processes the raw Vistrite core. Beyond the refinery, further to the south, Lilian glimpses the glass-enclosed structures of the cutting center where the refined Vistrite is shaped for encoding.
That the refinery complex is minuscule compared to the thirty-mile-deep Crevasse only increases Lilian’s awe. Any Vistrite Crevasse is a thing of wonder. The Great Crevasse is the largest of all six, the most complex, and the center of all research and development activities.
As the RAT moves forward, Lilian leaves behind the paired buildings for Vistrite encoding and controller fabrication. After Blooded Dagger encodes the crystals, they are transferred to the controller structures of the Iron Hammer Cartouche, devices that connect Vistrite to the technology it controls and relay the encoded commands. The foundation of Iron Hammer wealth and power, the fabrication of the intricate steel, copper, silver, gold, or platinum devices is a tightly guarded secret.
“Well met, Mistress Lilian,” Fletcher calls from the shade of the entrance as Lilian alights from the cart.
“Well met,” echoes Irina, Seigneur Rachelle’s protégé.
“Well met, indeed,” Lilian responds politely. She is not as comfortable with Irina as she is with Fletcher, although she recognizes that the comely brunette’s distance is due to natural reserve and not disdain.
“I see that you have heeded Seigneur Solomon’s warning about the risk to our garb,” Irina smiles.
“The seigneur did warn that it might need to be discarded,” Lilian nods. Irina’s heavy canvas trousers and boots are as worn as Lilian’s, and Irina’s overly large linen jacket is marked with stains.
“It never occurred to me to borrow from the gardeners,” Fletcher huffs, tugging at the sleeves of his brown suede shirt. “I rather favor this shirt for hunting. I hope it survives.”
“The dirt of the Crevasse should come out,” Irina reassures Fletcher with a smile. “Be careful in the refinery. Many of the compounds are caustic. The suede will protect your skin, but it won’t be worth much afterwards.”
“If you spill or taint any of my refining compounds, damaged suede will be the least of your worries,” a brusque voice interrupts. A tall, broad-shouldered woman with features as blunt as her voice steps out of the refinery and catches the end of the conversation. “I’m Refinery Chief Amanda Yamamoto. Identification, if you please.”
While Chief Amanda confirms their identities, another cart pulls up and disgorges Seigneur Solomon, three men, and two women. One of the men is the Crevasse master and from the Southern Continent and one of the women his counterpart, the refinery chief. The other woman is the chief engineer from Southern Crevasse Controller Fabrication. The other two men are the refinery chief and controller chief engineer from Ascendant, the largest Crevasse on Metricelli Deuce.
Whatever Seigneur Solomon plans to demonstrate, it is far more important than Lilian realized.
“Safety is simple enough,” Chief Amanda lectures as she leads them through the refinery to the lip of the Crevasse. “Stay on the tour path, race if the alarms sound, and keep your head gear on at all times.”
With a wave, she indicates a row of heavy helmets designed to cover forehead, nape, and ears. Secured to the crown are goggles and a mask. Picking up the one with her name on it, Lilian places it on her head and touches the earpiece to hear Amanda instruct, “Goggles and mask are required during extraction. If the alarms sound, put them on and run for the risers.”
The ten of them fit easily into a riser carriage that could hold twenty, using the ten-minute descent to roll down their sleeves or add a jacket. Lilian’s ears begin to ring as they complete the five-mile drop beneath the surface of Metricelli Prime.
“We’ll wait here a few minutes until your ears stop ringing,” Amanda explains. “Look around. The Great Crevasse is a thousand meters wide at this point, and there are another twenty-five miles of mine below us.”
Eagerly, Lilian steps toward the safety barrier. The Crevasse. As with the refinery, no visual or specification can do justice to the massive fissure that has been mined for millennia. Five miles below the surface, late dry-season sky is reduced to a distant smear of pale gray above the rising rock walls. Only a thousand meters apart this near to the source of the Crevasse, the pocketed cliffs are bedazzled with the lights that maintain eternal day within the Great Crevasse. At the bottom of the dizzying drop to the distant floor, the thousand-meter gap is only a thick black line outlined in shimmer. For several long moments, Lilian stands stunned by the Great Crevasse, attempting to reconcile its incredible grandeur with the dry facts of its operations.
“It is difficult to imagine that twenty miles below us is a small city,” Fletcher remarks, peering over the edge.
Massive amounts of Vistrite are pulled from the two-hundred-mile-long, thirty-mile-deep fissure, all from the deepest half mile. The upper levels have been depleted for centuries. Almost a hundred thousand miners, technicians, core haulers, and other support personnel make their homes in the abandoned tunnels and chambers in the miles directly above the active mine.
“Reaching the floor takes almost an hour,” Irina joins in. “It makes more sense to remain than to move in and out.”
“And far better security,” Solomon adds, joining the trio. “It would be foolish and expensive to search the miners and techs on a daily basis. Far better they remain within for their service segments.”<
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“Seigneur Solomon, if you please.” Chief Amanda politely indicates it is time to get moving.
Lilian trails the group through the nearly abandoned level, fascinated by the echoing chambers created by ancient miners. All but abandoned, the caverns contain only a scattering of small Vistrite clusters, not lucrative enough to warrant a miner’s effort. What little is left is used by the Cartel in its endless quest to find more efficient methods to mine and refine Vistrite.
“I have five that say we finish in thirty.” The unseen voice over the headset holds the rough timbre of someone who has spent a lifetime breathing Crevasse dust.
“Done,” a bright tenor agrees as Lilian rounds the corner to see a miner slap hands with a militia guard.
Thirty minutes. He believes they can extract the core in thirty minutes. The miner and his companion exhibit the telltale wiry build of good protein rations coupled with constant exercise in the use of Vistrite cutters. Both have the pallor of those who rarely visit the surface. Experienced and skilled miners, Lilian thinks. The militia guard is a fool.
“Goggles and masks,” Amanda instructs as the observers form a loose semi-circle around the miners. As her goggles snap into the mask, encasing her face completely, Lilian is assailed by claustrophobia, trapped in her container, imprisoned in a Vistrite pocket, buried in the Crevasse miles below the surface. Her vision clouds and she struggles to breathe.
Honor… Honor… Lilian’s brain stutters. Honor knows not fear. The scent of the Crevasse penetrates the sour smell of the goggles and mask. Lilian’s vision clears as the cutters hum to life. A quick glance at the crowd assures Lilian that the rest of the group is focused on the miners who are approaching the yard-wide black patch that marks the gray stone Crevasse wall.
At a nod from the miner who laid the bet, the woman lifts her humming cutter to trace a line around the black patch. A small trickle of steam and smoke rises as the hot cutter melts away stone. A moment later, she is joined by her partner. The reality is far more compelling than any visual. The steady, synchronized movements of the skilled miners is punctuated by the sound of the cutters, the smell of the melted stone, and the quiet hum of the powerful ventilation system. Entranced, Lilian rises to the balls of her feet, silently encouraging the miners to win their wager.