“Isavel.” A matronly old voice crackled at her from all around as she kept running, speaking her native language. “This is not a medical facility. There is only so much I can do.”
“Then do as much -”
“Suspend her between the flat watchers. You’ll see them.”
She did, when she reached the central chamber. Two hovering disks of metal; one landed in front of Isavel, while the other floated directly above its counterpart some space above her head. A faint white glimmer of light connected the two like a column, and Crimson spoke again.
“Place her inside.”
Isavel let Hail go into the light, and the hunter winced, twisting even as she floated upright, blood caking her mouth. “Hail, you’ll be -”
Snap. Hail stopped moving entirely, and Isavel jumped; she had only just withdrawn her hand. Hail wasn’t dead, but… frozen. Isavel reached for her, but the two artifacts moved away, carrying Hail suspended between them up into the air.
“She is in stasis.” Crimson’s tone assumed that word meant anything. “Her body no longer knows the passage of time, and she will remain so until I release her. She will remain on the brink of death, but she will not die. Not yet. Unfortunately, I have no medical equipment to treat her injury; she would die in an hour or two at most.”
Isavel stood silently, staring up at that column of white. Breathe. She looked around to the main feature of the chamber, a round shape like an elevated basin, and a red haze of light rising from it towards its twin on the ceiling. One deep breath, trying to steady herself, another breath. Then she was on the floor. She heard sounds towards the outside, and Crimson’s voice found her again, appallingly unconcerned.
“There is an animated creature following your companions. What is it? I must consider whether to allow it entry.”
Her shoulders trembled as she pressed her hands against her head. “Fuck you, Crimson.”
In any other circumstance, Hail would be there, helping her up, telling her they needed to forge onward. Resting a hand on her shoulder; trying to calm her down. Doing her duty, doing what she felt she was destined to.
Weeks ago - was it months already? - Hail had come to her looking for forgiveness. Looking to be relieved of the weight of memories of things she had done wrong. She seemed to think Isavel would provide that for her - but did she, in the end? With her, Hail had killed more than she probably had since giving up her old raider’s life. Isavel’s dissatisfaction with the gods’ machinations and neglect had only grown, and Hail had stood by her.
If the gods really were watching and judging, Hail had surely become a target as much as Isavel. And if they didn’t care, this might all be for nothing. Crimson was certainly not off to a promising start.
Voices and footsteps reached her, and the grinding of the doors as they pulled shut. And a silent something that told her the wraith was here, too, its dark shape crawling into the dark metal ribbing of the ceiling above her. Because only people died around her. Maybe that was why she survived herself.
Tears. She tried to blink them away. She had gotten Hail killed. Tharson. Erran. Ren. All of them lost to the cold darkness of Mars, where no afterlife awaited; and so many more before, on Earth. What was she doing wrong? The answer seemed to be everything, but that was a useless answer. What should she do?
Give up. Recede. Fade. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?
It was what she had wanted. Peace and quiet and simplicity. It was all she had ever really wanted, all she had longed for since her first death.
So be it, then. She rolled over and pushed herself up. In the middle of the chamber was a round shape, a bit like an elevated basin, and a red haze of light rose from it towards its twin on the ceiling. She didn’t know how to address the god, but this seemed as good a face as any.
Behind her, she heard the others, whispering - how many, she couldn’t tell. They didn’t reach out to her.
“Isavel Valdéz - you already know what I am.” Crimson’s voice did not seem to indicate anything was amiss. “I have need of you.”
“Need of me?” She scowled, looking up at the light. “You said she can’t be healed.”
“She cannot. As I said, this is not a medical facility. In better times I could have summoned aid, but alas, Azure has monopolized control over medical technology. There is nothing I can do.”
There never was anything they could do. And the only medic she knew of on this whole planet had watched his only companion be shot because of Isavel. He would be no more help than Crimson. She knew where this led. “I’m leaving, then. Open the doors and let me go.”
A bundle of red light pooled in the centre of the column that rose from the basin. “I cannot allow you to leave, Isavel. There are circumstances -”
“Fuck your circumstances!” She jabbed her finger at the light. “Open the door and let me leave.” She rounded on the others, in a few glances both finding all the survivors there and telling them off at once. A black tangle of wraith, small and looking thoroughly cowed, was strung into a corner like filthy cobweb, barely moving. “And you! None of you are going to follow me. Even if you do have a deathwish.”
Zoa shook her head and grimaced, walking deeper into the temple through the nearest adjacent corridor, clearly more to get away than to go somewhere. Yarger glanced at Kelena before following the coder. Sam and Tanos had already collapsed against one of the walls, leaning on each other and looking exhausted.
Only Kelena was still looking at Isavel, with rather more interest than seemed warranted. “We came here because of you.” She was not angry, but Isavel could tell there was an edge. “We came here because Amber spoke to you . We must -”
“And I thank you for that.” Crimson’s voice quickly stopped the Red Sword’s words in their tracks. “Amber was right - you carry useful information, Isavel. I will archive it with great care. But there is more -”
She blinked, and turned to the column. “What? I haven’t told you anything.”
The light thrummed quietly. “It is the code etched into your skin that caught Amber’s eye, and my interest. A cure for the technophage. Very interesting.”
Kelena’s voice grew a tad louder. “What? What, those black marks on her spine?”
“Yes.”
“What are those? Ancient magic?” As the guardian of a piece of ancient magic herself, Kelena looked like this was uncomfortably familiar territory. “What do you need it for?”
“Nothing. The Arbiter of Mars has made it clear that we are not to attempt to cure or solve the technophage in any way. But I will store the data, and it may prove useful in a future where our directives change. Now, Isavel. I believe you could be useful -”
Isavel gritted her teeth, flaring her nostrils. “Oh, do you? Well isn’t that wonderful. Another useless old spirit mewling for help. You can’t send me home; you can’t tell me why I became what I am; you can’t heal Hail; you can’t bring back the dead.” She stomped once , pointing up towards the ring that wasn’t in the sky. “You don’t even take care of your own dead, you irresponsible idiot! You don’t have an afterlife!”
The wraith cooed quietly at that, but Crimson’s answer boomed back at Isavel with more force than she expected. “And who’s fault is that?”
“ Yours! You’re gods, you gods-damned disembodied voice!”
The voice was quiet for a long moment before resuming. “I see. You don’t know who burnt our planet, again and again. You don’t know how Mars was consigned to obliteration, for the sin of life itself. We did not have time , Isavel, to erect here the great comforts of Earth.”
“You always have excuses -”
“It is not an excuse .” The light grew brighter. “It was genocide . It was a campaign of murder we barely survived. Do you know anything , Isavel?”
She glanced at Hail, suspended in the corner, and knowing there was nothing she could do for her made Isavel feel sick. “No, and who’s fault is that? Not mine! But you know what? I don’t care, Crims
on. Open the door and let me go.”
“No.”
She snapped a blade onto her hand. “ Open the door and let me leave. Everyone around me leaves or dies! I’m a weapon and nothing else. I’m sick of it. I’m not playing Herald anymore, so if you’re as useless as the rest -”
“Silence.” The god’s voice boomed at her. “If Azure gains access to the code on your back, the cure for the technophage could be completely undone. I need you here -”
“What’s wrong with you all here?” She swung her gaze between Kelena and the red pillar of light. “You’re gods - why are you scheming against each other? What’s wrong with this damned planet?”
“You are a sore disappointment, Isavel.” The voice echoing through the chamber sounded genuinely angry now, and the red light pulsed brighter.
“Yes!” She stamped her foot. “Finally, a god says the truth. If only I hadn’t realized that myself months ago -”
“ Your self-pity does not interest me. ”
She stepped up and swung her white sword uselessly through the light. “Then let me out or I’ll tear this place apart! This and every other temple to you and Azure and Amber and every other pissant little deity!”
The light flashed blinding, for a brief moment, and unlike any god she had spoken to before, Crimson was losing her temper. Or was faking it admirably well. “Mars has endured the savagery of petulant earthlings twice already, and this third time is not charming. I have not watched over this planet for hundreds of orbits to let Azure crush the first hope for the future in a thousand years. My soul was not woven into the heart of the greatest volcano under Sol just so I could humour an angry little girl running amok because she is confused. I have not watched my children be slaughtered by a capricious Arbiter just to roll over -”
“Then leave me alone! Leave me alone!” She led her blade fell, slamming a closed fist against the metal basin that rooted the god’s light. “Every since I died you’ve all done nothing but meddle -”
“We have done nothing .” The voice was strangely flat, at that, and that gave Isavel pause. “You are squandering an opportunity I have never before had. Your gods have grown fat on the luxuries of Earth and seem unconcerned about wasting resources such as yourself, but as always, you will find Mars more pragmatic. You want the truth, don’t you? The thing your gods hid from you. You’ve begged them for it - don’t think they haven’t shown me how you grovelled on your knees. You want to know your place in the puzzle. You think knowing will help you? Fine. Listen closely.”
At that, Isavel did go still, heart pounding, and she listened.
“Isavel Valdéz, you were killed in a random and meaningless pillage visited upon you by bandits who were soon enough themselves captured and possessed by ghosts. You died for no good reason. Your peers and family died equally pointlessly. Barely anyone alive but you even cares. Earth’s gods do not know why you returned, or how you bear so many of the gifts you narcissistically believe they gave you. Nobody chose this for you. Your gods have been misleading you from the start, because sometimes it is useful to anoint oddball humans as blessed by the divine and use them to catalyse social processes, like a struggle against your dreaded ghosts. I should know. I have expended lives similarly in the past.”
Isavel started pacing in front of the column, silent for a moment, and turned to face the god. “You’re lying.”
“I gain nothing by lying. If I wanted to lie, I would tell you about your special destiny , about the great feats you must accomplish in my name to claim your place in the world. I would tempt you with promises of whatever you seem to desire while I use your unusual abilities to my own ends. I would drain you of as much of your life as I could before I either lose control or dry you out and cast aside your spent husk. This, too, I have done.”
Isavel stared at the light. “You - what are you trying -”
“Isavel Valdéz.” The god enunciated every word viciously and brutally. “This. Is. What. We. Do. Would it help if I explained that I asked your gods about your death and they evaded my questions the very way I would if I didn’t actually know what happened to you? This despite freely providing me with fairly detailed analyses of the circumstances surrounding your death. I can even tell you that you were medically deceased for three hours, fourteen minutes, and just under sixteen seconds. What biomedical simulations do predict your resurrection rely on extremely variable factors to rest at extremely precise values, none of which the gods could have any influence over.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you are stupidly lucky to be alive at all. It means your gods exploited your survivor’s guilt to make you useful in cultural stewarding projects. Stupid luck is not divinity or destiny. So much happens in the universe that the absurdly improbable happens quite regularly. In enough detail, just about everything that happens is absurdly improbable, compared to the infinite alternative scenarios that don’t happen. Piles of dying bodies are common enough on Earth it would be far stranger if such a thing hadn’t eventually happened. Consider, for a moment, how damning that is of your species. Simulations suggest this may be a one-in-three-thousand-year event. In practice, it took just over a thousand years to happen once - well within expectations. Your exceptionality is unremarkable. The universe has birthed far more exceptional things, which will reverberate far more distantly across time and space, than you.”
She felt her heart beating in her chest, angry and shamed all at once - was it only doing so because she was lucky? For no reason at all?
“But then -”
“But then nothing.” More than anything a god had ever said to her, this sounded utterly, sincerely final. “That is all there is, Isavel. There is no reason for you to be alive, to be what you are, to be where you are. You’re simply here. Disappointing me with your delusions.”
She leaned against the metal shell cupping the bottom of Crimson’s light. Stared down at the floor. If that was true - if she could believe this god who was telling her to disbelieve all gods… It was all happenstance. It could have happened any other way and the universe wouldn’t have cared.
“So it’s meaningless.”
“If you seek meanings woven into the fabric of the universe, you will always be disappointed.” Crimson’s voice was softer now. “Whatever happened to you was certainly meaningful to you, and to those around you. There is no grand plan or divine intent, no end goal, no teleology, no root justification. But there is life. Life builds its own meanings.”
She stared at the light. So the gods were no help, never had been, never could have been. The universe, laid out as Crimson described it, was just chaos. “What for? You’re saying we build our lives and die and are buried in a wasteland that doesn’t care.”
The voice paused for a moment, and then the pillar of light grew brighter and more uniform. “Step up, Isavel. Let me teach you a lesson about wastelands.”
She frowned, feeling empty, not sure why she should want to know anything about wastelands. She turned and looked at her companions, withdrawn around the edges of the room, only Kelena clearly listening as she stared pensively at the floor. Hail still hung there, caught in time. Isavel turned back and took in the red, then breathed deep and stepped into the light.
The world melted into darkness.
For a moment she was dying. Her bones and blood were rotting, a horrible chill cracked down her skeleton, her skin split and bruised and boiled at once. There was barely any air to breathe, and as she gasped and flailed she found the world around her barren. Rusty plains and hills in every direction, utterly devoid of life, sprawled under a sickly pink sky itself punctured by a miserably frigid sun. For all that she had thought a ringless sky was dire, this was a thousand times worse.
You have never faced a true wasteland, Isavel. You’ve never had to.
Something flared in the sky, strangely round banners flickering behind it, a metallic disk suddenly flung off to the side. What came floating down was a strange box with od
dly stiff metal legs and inscrutable angular protrusions. And as it touched down on the surface and she staggered towards it, she found it angling an odd little dish towards the sky, one not unlike the great metal flowers that collected the sun on the rooftops of Glass Peaks.
I don’t remember this. Crimson’s voice echoed in her head, as the abhorrent emptiness around her killed her. None do. I can only imagine.
Isavel fell to the ground, feeling herself fall apart, just out of reach of this thing from the sky. Suddenly she knew when this was - no, Crimson knew, and she was privy to all that knowledge, all at once.
Then darkness.
Then all throughout the heavens the stars were scattered like so many petals in the wind, and before her flared to life the rust-red dust-dead crescent of a world of skin-bursting blood-rotting death and ice. Its day broke towards her like a maw more terrifying than the emptiness of the void between the stars, icy white at its poles and a deadened colour of sandy blood throughout the rest.
And she was standing in the fields and they were barren; and she climbed atop the volcanoes and they were dead; and she walked the dessicated riverbeds, and braced against the polar winds, and froze her feet in the red sands of the tallest dunes, and nothing , not even bodies or bones, not the barest hint of life. Deader than any death she had seen. Only deep, deep in the dark of the world’s flesh, in the last coagulating, shrivelling veins of water, did anything stir. And even they were dwindling, dying, doomed refugees from a past of warmer days and wetter skies.
She knew when this was. She felt the weight of her twenty Earth winters, and felt them crushed to nothing by the vast distance separating her from this distant, ancient day. More than hundreds; more than a thousand. Crimson knew the number, but it meant nothing to Isavel. It was so long ago that even those who lived and died just before the Fall could not have remembered it.
This killing waste was Mars that was - old Mars, dead Mars, Mars as nature willed it. Gods above - there was nothing here. No gods, no world, only the barest remnants of any life, and even that was ground near death by years piled millions high, millions she could never comprehend.
Fourth Under Sol (Digitesque Book 5) Page 22