Regeneration

by Stacey Berg

  “Look,” Khyn said, voice hushed. Her trembling finger pointed at the group of 388s chasing each other around the side yard, watched by a few nuns who likely hoped the small hunters would exhaust themselves before nightfall.

  “There will be time later to observe the juveniles.”

  Khyn tore her gaze from the children reluctantly. “Just seeing so many at once . . .” She wobbled, then steadied. “Do you think we could find something to eat? The priests didn’t stop for a midday meal.”

  Echo curbed her impatience. It was only a small delay, and both of them required nutrition. “There might still be something left in the refectory.” Gem had said the cityens only came for the morning meal.

  Khyn looked over the nondescript grains and wilted greens remaining from the evening meal, took a portion of bread instead, then sniffed the block of overripe cheese. Her nose wrinkled. “It’s bovine,” Echo said.

  Khyn smiled wanly. “I’ll have to risk it. Do you by chance have any ferm?”

  “Just water.”

  “Too bad. I could use some after a day like this. Preservers keep us, I can’t believe we only got here this morning. I’m not sure I really believe we’re here at all. A whole new city . . . Do you want to join your friends?”

  Nyree and a younger hunter whose name Echo could not recall occupied a corner table, though their plates had already been cleared. Hunters rarely sat idle, but they could wait with still patience as long as required to track their prey. The pair were looking towards Echo and Khyn with unconcealed anticipation. It was not Echo’s responsibility to satisfy it. “Let’s go outside.” She led Khyn to one of the rough-hewn tables near the side yard, where the juveniles sometimes took meals. The nuns supervising the 388s nearby nudged each other in surprise, but at Echo’s firm nod turned their attention back to the children. The table’s last occupant had been practicing crude weapon making: the surface was strewn with wood shavings, and a few stripped sticks, ends fashioned into points, lay scattered about. Echo brushed them aside.

  Khyn watched the juveniles wrestle as she ate. She shook her head in bemusement at either the rough play or the density of the bread. Echo made herself wait until Khyn swallowed a few bites and paused for water before finally asking, “Dalto seemed pleased. What were you able to tell them?”

  The Preserver dragged her attention back from the children. “I was mostly trying to understand. Your systems and ours are so different. It’s like someone took the same idea in opposite directions. Though why anyone would ever imagine doing it this way . . .”

  “The forebears made the Saint to save the city.” Those men and women who had foreseen the Fall had sacrificed everything to ensure the survival of some remnant of humanity, in the desperate hope of rebuilding a world they would never see. Even the Patri—Vanyi—had found himself wanting in comparison with them. That there might have been another way—it was blasphemy even to consider such a thing.

  It was impossible.

  Khyn pulled the hard crust off her bread and poked at the middle. “The priests seem pretty worried about this particular saint. The things they asked—and then the way they acted with that surge just now . . . Has there been any kind of trouble with them before?”

  Echo’s mouth went dry despite the water. “Did they say there’s something wrong with—” She broke off as the pair of hunters emerged from the refectory and bore down on them. “Nyree. And . . .” Echo pulled the name from a dim recollection of a long-ago classroom, a quiet girl, one she had liked. “Marin Hunter 373?”

  “I am honored that you remember, Echo Hunter 367.”

  Echo doubted that. Marin stood closer to Nyree than hunters usually did, unless for a tactical reason, which there was none of here. Echo saw the way their bodies instinctively adjusted to each other as they moved, the awareness that they shared beneath a conscious level. Hunters could pair as they chose when needs demanded, but Echo’s estimation of the girl dropped a little. “Is there something you require?”

  Nyree slid onto the bench next to Khyn, while Marin positioned herself between them and the nuns. “Only a chance to spend more time with our visitor. Our initial meeting was brief. You can imagine how interested we all are.”

  “I’ve been with your priests all day,” Khyn said with a smile, but her voice had gone tight. “I really don’t think I’m up to any more questions tonight.”

  “Everyone knows how tedious the priests can be,” Nyree agreed. “I suppose the Preserve must have something like them.”

  Khyn shrugged. “Not exactly.”

  “In what manner are they different?”

  “I have already reported my observations,” Echo said sharply.

  “There is nothing wrong with my memory, Echo Hunter 367. I merely wish to verify what you have told us.”

  “Besides,” Marin added, “most of us did not believe that there could truly be another city, let alone that we might speak to a cityen from one.”

  “Then you should have had greater trust in the Patri.”

  “Even Patri Jozef was surprised.” Marin gazed at Khyn with frank curiosity. “I know that you have already reported to the priests, but if you do not mind too much, please—tell us what it is like there.”

  Khyn took a sip, then stared into her cup. Whatever she tasted in the water made her mouth turn down. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Begin at the beginning,” Marin said, as she would to a juvenile, but it was not unfriendly. “Describe the surroundings.”

  Khyn laughed weakly. “They aren’t anything like this, that’s for sure. There are trees, for one thing, a whole forest; and plenty of water, too, from all the precipitation. And it’s not nearly so windy, except in storms,” she added, as the breeze pushed a handful of wood shavings along the table.

  “The wind here is seasonal,” Marin said. “The priests teach us that this area was forested once. Is it true that trees grow so close together that you cannot see the sky?”

  “Well . . . I’ve never been where you can’t see the sky at all. But sometimes it’s only patches between the branches. When it’s cold and frozen precipitate layers on, it can get dark.” At that moment, the nuns in the sideyard broke into a peal of laughter. “Quiet, too.”

  Marin’s eyes swept the dusty compound, but she was seeing something else. “I should like to experience such a thing.”

  “Never mind that.” Nyree leaned in closer. “Tell us about your priests. And your hunters.”

  Khyn met Nyree’s gaze with surprising strength. “I told your priests: we don’t have hunters.”

  “Surely you have some need to protect yourselves?”

  “Of course we do. There are predators, especially in the wild part of the forest; and every now and then someone drinks too much ferm. But hunters . . .” Khyn looked from Nyree to Marin, and finally to Echo. The little frown returned. “Maybe your city has worse problems than we do.”

  “Yet you came. Perhaps Echo Hunter 367 gave you an inaccurate report.”

  “She was clear enough.” Echo could not be certain whether the trace of anger in Khyn’s tone was directed entirely at Nyree. “And I’m sure she can answer your questions better than I can. I’m sorry, but I’m just so tired.”

  “Only a few more—”

  “You heard her, Nyree,” Echo said. “The priests will not be pleased if she is too fatigued to function tomorrow. Their questions are more important than yours.”

  “Perhaps so.” Nyree picked up one of the shaved sticks, testing the point on her fingertip. “I believe this is the work of the feral child, Fury. Another stranger you brought to us, Echo. She has a talent for making ordinary things into weapons. It is a useful reminder.” Nyree stood, tossing the stick away. “I look forward to our discussions.”

  “I don’t,” Khyn muttered when the hunters were gone. “That older one, Nyree—she was part of the group that caught us in the city. I think. At first I thought you were twins. But you all look so alike—more than we do, ev
en.” She gave Echo a tired smile. “Of course I’d know you, even without the long hair. But the rest of them—you told us you don’t have a Vault. How does it work, if you don’t all come from the same seed?”

  If Echo explained, Khyn would want to know where the eggs came from. She might, remembering the drowning capri, wonder about Echo’s role in obtaining them. Learn about Ela, dying at the base of a cliff. You came for me, the girl had said. I knew you would. It might make her think twice about sharing information with the priests. “I cannot describe the process properly.” That, at least, was true. “The priests can tell you more, after you have answered their questions.” She glanced at the darkening sky. “What I told Nyree was true: you must rest now.”

  No one stood guard at the domicile entry this evening; Deann’s penance must be complete. The quarters assigned to Khyn were more than adequate, a priest’s room with a bed large enough for two or three to share if necessary, a chair, and a water tap of its own. Hunters’ austere cells seemed barren by comparison, though that was nothing to those who spent half their lives patrolling the desert. Khyn sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded between her knees.

  “Do you require something else?” Echo asked.

  “No, everything’s fine. It’s just—” Khyn cast her eyes down, refusing to meet Echo’s gaze. “It’s funny. In the desert, somehow I was never really scared. Only that time I thought you were leaving me. But now that I’m here . . .”

  “The compound is well protected. It is safe to sleep without a guard.”

  “No canids or anything?” Khyn tried to smile, but her lips trembled.

  “They cannot cross the forcewall. And hunters patrol at night.”

  “That woman Nyree is scarier than a canid.”

  “She would not harm you against the Patri’s orders.”

  “That’s comforting. I think.” Now Khyn’s voice trembled too. “I’m sorry, Echo. I’m just so tired. We hardly slept at all last night, and then all the questions, and it’s just—just so strange here . . .” She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Echo waited. Tears were a useful outlet for strong emotion, and they passed quickly. More quickly, often, than the pain that caused them. After a few minutes Khyn raised her face. “Sorry,” she said again. “You must think I’m an idiot. You never seemed frightened in the Preserve, and you were more lost than I am. I chose to come here. There’s nothing for me to cry about.”

  That was a reasonable assessment, but in Echo’s experience, cityens expected a different response. She considered. “The cheese is not very good.”

  Khyn’s laugh worked a bit better this time. She scrubbed her damp face with her sleeve. “I agree with you there.” She hesitated, fiddling with her braid, then said, “I know I don’t really need a guard, but I would . . . I would sleep better if you stayed with me like before.”

  It was a simple enough request, though it had obviously cost Khyn something to make it. There was no sense compromising her dignity further. “Very well.” Echo stretched out next to her on the wide bed. The mattress was softer than the one in her cell; the thick walls blocked sound efficiently. The temperature was neutral, though Khyn rolled close against her side as if she still felt the desert chill.

  Echo could sleep in virtually any conditions that a mission required; these were a luxury. Yet she lay open-eyed for a long time after Khyn’s breathing smoothed into a quiet rhythm, and it seemed, in this room so close to the heart of the Church, that she found herself much farther away than she should.

  Chapter 13

  Gem intercepted her as she emerged from the domicile in the morning. Khyn was still asleep, and Echo had chosen not to wake her for the morning meal, judging that the extra rest was more important. The priests could obtain food for her later. “I’ve been looking for you.” The younger hunter’s irritation seemed disproportionate to the offense. “The cityens’ council demanded a meeting with the Patri. He wants you there.”

  “Demanded?”

  “Since the rebellion they are unconscionably bold.”

  Echo hurried with her across the yard. The wind had picked up; dust and bits of dried plant material rolled around them in erratic eddies. “The council was not named when I left. Is the membership settled?”

  “From the Bend there is a man who runs a trade shop, and a purveyor of ferm. From North it’s the man who supervises their portion of the grain supplies, and the metalsmith Tren. You know him.” Echo did. His smithy was not far off, in an area where juvenile hunters often trained. Echo saw by the crook of Gem’s mouth that she too was remembering the time Echo had taken her there with her batchmates, on an exercise meant to be innocuous. Impossible to believe that was less than an annual ago. It felt like a lifetime.

  “Who represents the Ward?” Echo tried to make her interest seem casual. That clave, where Echo had posed as a cityen, had been Lia’s home. It had also been the heart of the rebellion, and suffered much of the worst destruction. Echo had caused some of that herself. The Warder, though his actions had triggered the battle, had repented and died trying to stop the fighting. She didn’t know who might be left.

  “A former fighter who barely speaks, and a woman who never seems to stop. The hunters were concerned about admitting the man. However, the Patri concurred with the cityens that activities associated with the rebellion must be forgiven for the truce to take hold.” That man would need to walk carefully. Hunters had long memories, and forgiveness did not enter into their calculations, truce or not.

  “How did the Patri choose them?”

  “The cityens chose. The Patri deemed it the most expedient way, given the lack of evidence for one method or another.”

  Gem’s neutral tone suggested no judgment of her own, but Echo’s breath caught. In the aftermath of the rebellion, little could have been more important than regaining uncontested control of the city. For Jozef not to decide such a matter . . . He is the Patri now, she reminded herself, tamping down the spark of unease.

  The council members were already in the large room near the Patri’s office, seated around a rectangular table. They had been talking heatedly among themselves, but fell quiet as Echo and Gem took places against opposite walls, standard procedure when there might be trouble in a closed space. Echo recognized the Ward councilors immediately: Teller, a sour-faced man who despised everyone not from the Ward, and Tralene. Memory stabbed at Echo: Tralene, heavy with child, weeping in the Ward’s clinic, and Lia, gentle as always, telling her that this baby was going to be all right. Tralene’s belly was flat now, and her young face bore new lines about the mouth and eyes. She and Teller sat a little apart from the other cityens at the table.

  Echo recognized the metalsmith Tren too, and next to him sat the man who must be the grain supervisor. A few bits of chaff still clung to his clothes, which otherwise looked newly woven. Even the impractical white shirt was barely stained, the elbows unpatched as yet. The Benders, unfamiliar men, could afford no such luxury, but Echo smelled soap, and the younger man’s long curls were still damp. It was odd how fastidious Benders could be, considering that the rest of the cityens viewed the Bend’s ancient alleys as the least savory part of the city. A pompous Norther would just as soon never set foot in the Bend.

  But one of them had been at Exey’s shop. Perhaps Echo did not know now what was normal among the cityens. She studied the councilors one by one, estimating strengths and weaknesses from the way they sat, whether they fidgeted or were still, the nuances of their expressions. Such was ingrained hunter habit; she knew Gem would be doing the same.

  The cityens studied them more covertly. The resemblance among hunters always confused them, though unlike Khyn, they were well used to it. Echo wondered if any of them realized which one she was. Then Teller’s gaze narrowed, and he sat forward abruptly. She met his eyes, seeing the spark of recognition before he leaned back in his chair, face hard with resentment, three fingers tapping on the tabletop over and over. A twisted scar ran up his forearm and disappe
ared into his sleeve. Echo could still see the marks along its length where Lia had placed the stitches.

  When she looked up, Gem was watching her, expressionless.

  Finally Jozef appeared, Nyree at his shoulder. The Patri slid into the chair at the end of the table. Nyree, arms crossed, stood with her back to the door. Now the hunters were triangulated, the room entirely under their control. They would not even need to look at each other if sudden action were indicated. So easy, despite all that had passed, to reestablish the familiar patterns.

  Echo had not fit into them since long before she had left the city. She didn’t think she would again soon.

  The Patri said, “I apologize for the delay, cityens. How may I serve?”

  The councilors avoided each other’s eyes, and the Patri’s too. The wait had given them too much time to think; they were more nervous than bold now. Finally Tralene said, “Thank you for agreeing to see us, Patri. We know that you have many responsibilities. We talked among ourselves first; we didn’t want to disturb you for nothing, but there is a matter we felt could not wait for our scheduled day next seven. You see, we heard—that is, there was someone who said he’d seen—”

  Jozef raised a hand to deflect the stream of words. “As you say, I have much work, and unfortunately little time. Be direct with me, please. What is this urgent matter?”

  There was another hesitation. Then the grain supervisor from North said, “It’s like as this. Some say as there’s been a stranger brought to the Church. A rumor, Patri, like as not, but I said as we should come to you.”

  So soon. One of the cityens on the road must have noticed Khyn as they entered the city. The old Patri would have found a way to turn this complication to his advantage: announce fulfillment of a legacy, declare the rebirth of the city. Everyone would have believed.