Regeneration

by Stacey Berg

  Distant air currents started a wave of motion that rolled down the hillside, carrying with it a swirl of fallen leaves. Now she recognized the scent that had eluded her: decaying organic matter, tons of it, layering the ground beneath the trees. She wondered what it would feel like to walk on that, instead of rocky dust and sand.

  Then she felt a chill, not only from the breeze plucking at her shirt. They’d brought her much farther from the desert than she’d realized.

  The second thing she saw was the door built into the hillside.

  It was as tall as the magnificent Church doors, and just as wide, its two panels dividing an arch set right into the rock. There must be an enormous excavated space beneath the hill to justify such an entrance. Light glinted off metal as the clouds shifted.

  “Storm coming,” Khyn said, with a hint of unease. “Let’s go.” She offered a supporting arm; after a fractional hesitation, Echo took it.

  The whole compound was only the size of a few city blocks. Echo counted eighteen buildings, though there could be more hidden among the trees. They looked old, but not decrepit; the few windows glinted with intact glass, and doorways and rooflines maintained proper angles. The regular spacing and identical sturdy construction of concrete and metal suggested that all had been built at once, utterly unlike the chaotic destruction and reclamation evident throughout the city. This whole place must have been planned, though its purpose was not yet evident.

  The sun was low beneath the trees, casting long shadows as Khyn led Echo along a street completely free of debris. Only a few other people were about, moving purposefully between the buildings. She heard the whine of engines somewhere distant, an aircar by the sound of it. If that was how they’d brought her in, she could be many days on foot from the last place she remembered walking. That might make it more challenging to get out.

  On the other hand, she knew how to fly an aircar.

  Others noticed them crossing the compound and stopped where they were, and some came out from the buildings to watch as well. A few began to follow, making Echo’s back tickle between her shoulder blades, but none came too close, and Khyn seemed unconcerned. Echo kept walking, pretending not to notice. Khyn took her to the building with a metal number 1 affixed next to the door. A man stood there in the unmistakable attitude of a sentry. He was dressed like Khyn—like everyone Echo had seen—in serviceable woven shirt and trousers, not much different to the eye from what hunters wore in the city, what Echo wore now, though her long trek had worn the practically indestructible fabric to rags. Echo wondered if the forebears had bequeathed these people all the same miracles they’d granted the city.

  And what the people did with them, if they had.

  “Hallo, Nik,” Khyn said. “Is the team ready?”

  The man nodded. His shirt was marked with a V, as was Jole’s, Echo noted now. Vektere, the man Birn had said. Guards, plainly enough. On his belt Jole wore a short baton that might be a kind of stunwand, but that didn’t mean he carried nothing more deadly; hunters only showed their weapons when a display would be useful. And she was weak, still, alarmingly breathless after the short walk from the dispensary.

  “All gathered,” Nik said. He looked at Echo with open curiosity. “A stranger! Never thought I’d see that. Lucky for you we were looking for Ully. No sign of him yet,” he added at Khyn’s questioning look. “But don’t worry. You know Stigir will never let us give up.”

  Another guard accompanied them down the hall. This building was important enough for security, or Stigir was; or maybe it was just because of Echo. All the hall doors were shut, though the place felt active, not derelict and abandoned like so many passages in the subterranean bowels of the Church.

  The fourth door on the left stood open, and a dozen faces looked up in unison as Khyn led Echo inside. It was like entering a classroom of young hunters ready for a lesson, though this room had a long central table rather than desks, and the window looked onto the distant stand of trees, rather than the sanctuary with its ever-turning dish atop the spire. Were the priests still listening for her? Echo wondered with a sudden emptiness beneath her breastbone. Or had they given up long ago, when the relays in the desert could no longer trace her signal across the impossible distance? She dismissed the distraction impatiently; she had no time for such childish thoughts.

  “Welcome,” said the man sitting at the far end of the table. He was dressed like the rest, with no decoration of rank on his person, not even the V, but there was gray in his hair and neatly trimmed beard, and a clearness to his gaze. “Please, have a seat.” Echo didn’t like having her back to the door, but there were only two empty chairs, and Khyn had already moved to the other one. Just as well: in the seat next to that was Birn, glaring in Echo’s direction. A few of the other men and women wore frowns as well, but more perplexed than angry. The leader, though, gave her the friendly smile of a man comfortable that she posed no threat. He didn’t recognize her for a hunter, then. Hardly surprising, given her sorry state.

  “I’m Stigir,” he said, “Prime this turn. You’ve already met Khyn and Birn, of course. This is Yilva, the controller lead; Rohan, from foresters; Jax, herders . . .” Some of the designations made sense; others were unfamiliar. Echo made note of those to ask Khyn about later. For now she only nodded to each team member in turn. Stigir smiled. “I’m sorry we haven’t given you much time to recover, but we’re too eager to hear your story to wait. You might start with your name; we’d like to have something to call you other than ‘the stranger we found in the desert.’” The smile grew wry, the way they did when cityens shared a joke about themselves. “You might guess that we’ve been saying that quite a lot.”

  She shaped a smile back. “Echo.” That should be sufficient; they all seemed to go by a single name. There were murmurs of greeting, and a few more smiles, and she asked Stigir, “Are you the Patri?”

  The murmurs turned to confusion. Khyn said, “You used that word before. We don’t know what you mean.”

  “Leader,” Echo said. Perhaps she had come among cityens after all, and Stigir was no more than the head of one clave. “I am happy to answer your questions as best I can, but forgive my weakness. If you have one who is in charge, please, take me to him. Then I can tell you all at once.”

  The woman Yilva frowned. She appeared to be older than Stigir by a good many annuals, but she sat straight-backed in her chair, and her eyes were still clear. Right now they were narrowed in suspicion. “Are you trying to delay us from finding out why you came here? Because we will, don’t make any mistake about that.”

  “Yilva—” Khyn began, but the woman cut her off.

  “She’s a stranger, preservers’ sake. Listen to the way she talks. Who knows what she wants?”

  Birn nodded agreement. “Now she’s even seen the—”

  “Birn,” Stigir said, just sharply enough. Whatever Birn had been about to give away he bit back. Too bad. Echo was certain it had to do with those doors built into the hill.

  “I meant no insult,” she said. “If I violate your customs, it is through ignorance, not intention. As for delay, I have no reason for that. If you are the leader, I will report to you.”

  Stigir made a gesture that took in everyone at the table. “The team leads together. I’m Prime this turn though, so if it makes you more comfortable, you may speak directly to me.”

  “Very well.” She took a breath as if to compose her thoughts. In truth, she had rehearsed this moment many times in her journey, though not once had she ever expected it to come. Lia, she thought to the woman far away in the Church’s sanctuary. Do you know what I’m about to do? But no answering voice crossed the wastes between them. She focused on the man in front of her. “Since you found me in the desert, you must know that I come from far away. How far, I am honestly not certain. I traveled for many days that I remember, and some that I do not. As for why”—this was the tricky part. She did not want to lie to them—there was no reason for that—yet she could not give too
much away until she understood better what they would do with the information. Even the friendliest cityens could make a deadly enemy, as she’d learned to her regret. “I come from the city. One of many, in the past, we know; but in all ages since the Fall, we have stood alone. We have listened, and watched, and searched, to no avail. But now—” her own pulse quickened at the sound of the words—“I have found you.”

  There was one still moment, then everyone starting talking at once. Yilva exclaimed, and Birn replied with equal vehemence, the exchange too quick for Echo to follow through their accent; but the sense was clear enough as Birn’s hand chopped in her direction. If it came to that, she would need to be very quick. In her current condition, and unarmed, she could not overcome twelve of them. She was not even certain that she could defeat one man in a test of strength. But it wouldn’t be a test of sheer strength, and she had little doubt that she could damage Birn enough that he would be no threat to her for quite some time.

  What the rest of them would do then was a different matter. They were already off balance, disconcerted by their sudden shift from magnanimous rescuers to targets of an outsider’s attention. Even Stigir stared at her with eyes gone wide. But Khyn only looked at Echo, then into the middle distance, contemplating something beyond the room’s blank wall.

  Stigir rapped his fist against the table, then did it again, harder. Finally the babble died down. When he spoke, his tone was still mild, but his brows had drawn together in consternation. He might be their leader, but he gave away far more than the Patri ever had, at least to her. “You were looking for us?”

  That was what disturbed them, more than the mere presence of a stranger. They had something they thought was of value, and they thought she was after it. That could be both dangerous and useful. She considered a show of strength, then decided not to encourage their fears. Not yet. Instead she spread her palms in a gesture of apology. “For anyone. I would have failed. But luckily for me, you found me first.”

  It seemed to reassure them. They leaned back in their chairs, postures relaxing. Even Birn’s glower subsided. “Well,” Stigir said. “You certainly have given us a shock. We suspected that there might be other places where some survived, yes, but to know for sure—please, tell us more about this city you come from.”

  She had a sudden memory of sitting before another man, telling another story to gain his confidence. But this time her goal was not to neutralize a threat. Most of what she said now would be true. She had prepared it with special care. She spoke for some time about cityens and claves, the day to day life of a society once little more than a remnant of a lost civilization, now beginning, against nearly impossible odds, to grow and even thrive. She talked about the stads where enough grain could be grown to feed almost everyone, and fabricators like the young man Exey, who every day invented new and better ways to perform the necessary tasks of survival. She told them how more babies were born now than died, and most of them intact, at which they exchanged sharp glances with each other, but didn’t interrupt her.

  Of the rebellion that had nearly cast it all back down into the dark, and her own bitter role in that, she said nothing.

  At length her throat, still raw from the desert and utterly unaccustomed to so much talk, gave out, and when Stigir asked the first question, she produced only a hoarse squawking noise. “Here,” Khyn said, reaching into a low cabinet against the wall and handing her a flask. She sniffed from cautious habit, but it was only more water, surprisingly cold. She drank it all in one breath and nodded her readiness to go on.

  “Explain again, please, about the Church.”

  “It is like your ‘team’: the leadership of the city. Those whose wisdom makes them suitable to decide larger things, oversee the use of resources, and so on. The Patri is the head, like you.” They did not need to know about hunters or defenses.

  “And you’re a member of this Church?”

  The question awoke the old ache, like a new wrenching of a half-healed joint. Every answer anywhere near the truth was too complicated to make sense here. She only said, “The Church knew my intention, yes.”

  “What intention exactly was that?” Birn demanded. “What did you think you would find?”

  “I had no expectations,” she admitted. “My plan was simple: to search, as long and far as I could, and if there was any other city, any at all in the world, to find it. Many like me have gone before, but none has ever returned.”

  “No wonder, if they tried to cross the desert,” Yilva said. “You couldn’t expect to survive.”

  “I nearly didn’t. Yet thanks to Khyn—to all of you—here I am.”

  “What kind of people would let you take that on yourself?” Khyn asked, appalled. “Didn’t they care what would happen to you?” We take care of each other here, another woman had said once. Now, as then, Echo had no answer.

  “Desperate ones,” Birn said. His palm hit the table, hard. “She hasn’t told us the half of it. What would make anyone send their people in search of total strangers? What would make anyone go?” His question drew nods of agreement, and measuring looks in her direction.

  “It is not unreasonable,” Stigir said, “to ask again what you want from us. Please, answer carefully.”

  She was tired, and her bones hurt, and suddenly she was in no more mood for caution. She looked at the team around the table, meeting their eyes each in turn. “Have you truly never wondered? Have you never even wished that you might find other survivors, beyond whatever boundaries mark your holdings?”

  Stigir said, “Such things are none of our concern. Like you, we have our own task. And I must tell you: there is nothing more important to us.”

  “What is this task?”

  Stigir didn’t answer right away. He barely glanced around the table, but Echo saw the way he took in every subtle message sent by way of expression or posture, from Khyn’s elbows-on-table curiosity to Yilva’s tightly folded arms. She felt an instant’s longing for that intimacy, the work of a team long together, and well led. But she had not shared such a thing since long before she’d left the city.

  The silent consultation led Stigir to a decision. “We are Preservers,” he said, and now she heard the word as a name. “But that is a discussion for another time. You must be exhausted. We’ve kept you too long tonight, after everything you’ve been through. You’ve given us a great deal to think about, and it isn’t our habit to be hasty. Be patient, please, and meanwhile, be welcome.”

  Khyn took her back to the dispensary. It was almost dark; soft glowlights lit the walkways at close intervals. They were set to continuous-on, and nearly every bulb burned full, unlike the haphazard arrangement of lightstrings in the city. Even the door built into the mountain was outlined brightly against the dark mass of the rock. If they meant that to be secret, it was not through camouflage. Everything Echo had seen here was in better repair than in the city, or even the Church. “Your Saint must be strong,” she said to Khyn.

  The physic looked sideways at her. “That’s another word we don’t understand.”

  “You have lights, and fans, and”—Echo lifted the flask she carried, which had been refilled yet again—“a way to make things cold. Who controls all the power?”

  Khyn’s expression cleared. “Ah—stewards. Yes, it’s an especially good group this turn. It’s procedural to assign the most experienced for winter. You never know what the weather will do.” None of that made sense, but before Echo could ask, Khyn continued, “I thought a storm was coming, but I guess not.”

  Echo drew a slow breath through her nose. Beneath the animal and machine scents the breeze carried a faint hint of silica, harsher than the others, and more familiar. “How far are we from the desert?”

  Khyn hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s not a secret. A hundred and fifty kils, maybe a little less. Why?”

  “The upper wind is moving fast. Your storm will come.”

  “How do you know that?”

  I can smell it, Echo almost
said. She caught herself just in time. “I could be wrong.”

  Khyn stopped. “Something tells me you’re not wrong very often.”

  Only when it matters most. Echo stared up at the darkening sky. Against all the artificial light, only the brightest stars poked through. At least they were in their proper positions. At this very moment a hunter in the Churchyard might be looking up, seeing the same patterns in the sky, and against it, the dark outline of the spire, the dish turning, the beacon calling into the night, the Saint—

  Enough. Echo had told these people the truth: she had a mission, and no higher duty than to fulfill it. She must not be distracted by her own weakness. It was past time to stop thinking about what she had left behind and focus on what she had been sent to do. “This place is nothing like the city,” she said. “I would like to see more. Nothing, of course, that isn’t permitted to strangers.”

  “We don’t have strangers,” Khyn said wryly. “Forty thousand cityens, you said? We might not be a tenth that many. Someone knows everyone. But Stigir had a point: just this morning you couldn’t even walk. You’ve kept the water down, so we’re going to try some soup, and then a good night’s sleep, and we’ll figure out what comes after that tomorrow.”

  Echo’s stomach rumbled in reflex. For days she had considered that she was more likely to make a meal for something else than to eat again herself. Soup would be a kind of victory. And Khyn was right: she needed to recover her strength. There was much she had to learn about this Preserve. “All meds sound the same,” she said.