Heights of the Depths

by Peter David

  Fortunately they were near some burned out city at the time. Clarinda had no idea which one it was. There was so many leftover Mort cities scattered around the entirety of the continent. The more intact ones had been taken over by various tribes and clans and races, but the ones that weren’t worth salvaging were left to deteriorate. The smallish city was one of those, and so Clarinda had them take refuge within. There the young Ocular hid from the sun, as did she. Their needs were entirely different, though. In the case of the Ocular, the sun effectively blinded them. The only Ocular whose eye pigmentation had permitted him to function during daylight was Nagel, and he was dead, obliterated by whatever that hideous green glow had been that had transformed their city into a dead zone.

  Clarinda, on the other hand, could function in the sun as long as she was covered from head to toe and thus shielded from the damaging effect that the sun’s rays had upon her.

  So while the Ocular hid within darkened buildings, preserving their ability to see, Clarinda would scout the area as thoroughly as she could to make certain that there was no one lying in wait to attack them during their slumber. Once she had ascertained their safety, she returned to the building they had selected to be their shelter, and she and her small army would get some much needed rest.

  When the sun set, they headed off on their way once more.

  “How do you know for sure where we’re going?” Kerda asked her.

  The others were watching her carefully, obviously concerned over the answer. Perhaps they had been talking to each other while she was not around, stirring up concern over their fate under her leadership, instilling doubts. She supposed she couldn’t blame them.

  “My mother,” she said, “was an avid collector of various artifacts relating to Morts. She had, among other things, a map. A chart of the terrain that we’re traversing. It marked various cities.”

  “You can read the Mort language?”

  “A little. Not terribly well, and I can’t pretend to understand the words. But I can sound out city names, and my mother told me who resided in what cities. She enjoyed educating me just for the sake of doing so.”

  “And you remember the details of the map? Without looking at it, you know which way we’re heading?”

  “Yes. I remember the directions. I have it all up here, tucked away in my head. If I close my eyes, I can see them as clearly as if I had the document in my hands. I know which directions north and south, east and west are...initially by the stars…”

  “Did she have a map of the stars, too?” said Turkin suspiciously, sounding far less credulous than Kerda.

  “As a matter of fact, she did,” Clarinda said with a certain amount of satisfaction. “A star chart. Groupings of stars in certain patterns can serve as reinforcement for direction. And then there’s the rising and the setting of the sun, which may be woefully inconvenient in many respects but at least serves as a firm determination of east and west.”

  “But how do you know?” demanded Turkin.

  “How do I know what?”

  “That the maps were correct. That your mother’s teachings were correct.”

  She was about to come up with a dismissive response, telling him he was foolish to voice such concerns. But then she paused, considered it, and shrugged. “I don’t. Not really.”

  “You don’t?” Turkin didn’t sound especially happy to have won his point. The other Ocular had stopped walking and were looking at each other with uncertainty.

  “No. It’s entirely possible that everything I was told was a lie. That everything I believed to be true was false. You know,” and her voice grew harsh and pointed, “the way it was for all of you when your parents said they would always be there for you. And now they’re all lying dead, moldering, and birds are trying to eat their flesh and keeling over dead as well…”

  The younger Ocular were already starting to sob, and Turkin stepped in close to her, towering over her and said angrily, “Stop it.”

  “Then stop trying to sow dissent, Turkin,” Clarinda said, not backing down. “Stop trying to undermine me. If you have no faith in my ability to lead you, then simply walk away. And any or all of you,” she called out, “are welcome to join him. I am not forcing any of you to stay with me, or accompany me to Perriz. You have free will. Go.” She paused and then repeated louder and more forcefully, “Go, I said! Go, if you’re of a mind to! I will do naught to stop you. I will go ahead on my own, if that is what is required. Or you can come with me, and perhaps find a city where we can take refuge and know some measure of peace amongst the wise and peace loving Firedraques.”

  The Ocular exchanged uncertain looks, and Clarinda no longer had any patience for it. “Do what you will,” she said, and she started walking in the general direction she knew Perriz to be. At that moment she honestly didn’t know if they would follow her or not. Within moments, though, she heard their heavy tread, and suddenly she was raised into the air. She looked around in surprise and saw that Turkin, looking annoyed but resigned, was lifting her onto his shoulders. “No point in moving at your speed when we can move at ours,” he said.

  Every single one of the Ocular moved into formation behind him and they continued to make their way across unknown terrain, guided by the memories of a Piri and the glittering of the North Star.

  ii.

  “What are these?”

  Berola had lost track of how many days and nights had passed since they had embarked upon their journey. They had blurred one into the other, each pretty much the same. They would find shelter for during the daylight hours and during the night would march across the tattered landscape of what had once been a world of humans. They crossed long roads made of hard, black surfaces with white stripes down the middle that seemed to go on forever. They crossed bridges, they passed shattered statues. Berola had never given much thought to humans beyond the notion that they had once been the dominant species on the Damned World and now no longer were. Seeing this staggering array of achievements, brought low by the Third Wave of the Twelve Races, she felt the first tinge of regret, starting to think that perhaps something great had once inhabited these lands and that maybe it wasn’t quite fair and just that they had had it all taken away from them. When she had conveyed her thoughts to Turkin, however, he had simply shrugged indifferently. “If they were meant to keep it, they would have managed to overcome the invasion,” he said, and Berola couldn’t think of a way to argue that.

  Now, though, Berola had come across something that was new. It cut across the ground, two sets of metal rails with wood planks between them. They seemed to go a great distance in either direction. The other Ocular gathered around to see what she had discovered. Clarinda crouched next to her, touching the coldness of the rails and letting out a low whistle.

  “Clarinda, what is it?” Berola said again.

  “It bears a strong resemblance to the tracks crafted by Trulls for their Trullers.”

  “Their what?”

  “Special conveyances that run underground very quickly and take them wherever they wish to go.”

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  Clarinda smiled grimly. “Trulls have no more love for Piri than your sires did.”

  Berola noticed that Clarinda hadn’t exactly answered the question, but she did not pursue it. Clarinda, meantime, rose and took a few steps along the track. “Perhaps they had conveyances similar to Trullers,” she said thoughtfully.

  “If we can find one, we can move more quickly,” Kerda said.

  “I doubt that will happen. But this track is heading in the general direction that we wish to go. I say we follow it, see where it leads us.”

  “Which way?” said Turkin.

  Clarinda glanced heavenward once more to make certain that she was properly aligned with the stars and then said, “That way.” Turkin then lifted her onto his back and they set out.

  They moved for a good long time without complaint. Berola was rather relieved by this. She had gotten frankly sick of the yo
unger ones mewling about their lost parents. The fact that she had yet to do so was something Turkin picked up on, and he asked her about it. She had just fixed him with a steady gaze and said, “My parents are no great loss.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Turkin had asked.

  “What I mean by that is that I am not interested in discussing it,” she had said, and that had more or less ended the conversation.

  Then one of them, a female, began singing. It was some sort of Ocular marching song, one that they had been taught when they were very young. Another female joined in, and then one of the males, and soon the lot of them were singing in unison.

  Clarinda was looking at them nervously, and Berola asked her what the problem was. “I am just worried that someone who would be better off not knowing where we are could overhear and…”

  “Shall I tell them to cease?”

  Clarinda thought about it for a time, and then smiled wanly. “No. No, it’s all right. This is the first time I’ve seen them happy as a group since the fall of their home. I’m not about to deprive them of that.”

  “I think that’s wise, mistress,” said Berola.

  “Don’t call me that,” Clarinda said sharply.

  “I’m sorry. I…it was just a term of respect…”

  “It’s all right.” Clarinda reined herself in and then assured her, “You said nothing wrong. Did nothing wrong. I just…” She closed her eyes. “Do not worry about it. ‘Clarinda’ will be just fine.”

  “As you wish, Clarinda.”

  So they continued to walk and sing and when the singing ran its course, it was replaced with idle conversation about things having to do with other than their current situation and the loss of their old life. Berola realized that they were actually becoming comfortable with each other.

  Every so often they would come upon additional tracks, flaring out to one side before reconnecting with the main one upon which they walked.

  With sunrise imminent, they saw a small house a short distance ahead of them. There was what appeared to be a platform raised above the track. The Ocular converged on the small house, and Berola noticed what appeared to be signs posted up on a pole to the left of the tracks, opposite the platform. There were two of them with arrows pointing in opposite directions. “I think those say the directions of cities,” said Berola. “Clarinda, do you have any idea what those say?”

  Clarinda climbed down from Turkin’s shoulders and studied them. “Vuh…aye…enn…ay,” she translated of the one pointing in the direction from which they had come.

  “Was that on the map your mother showed you?”

  “I think so. I think it was. And the other…” The sign was shorter, and this time she sounded it out to herself before a broad smile broke across her face.

  “What? What is it?” said Berola.

  “Perriz.”

  This immediately prompted excited murmurs in response from the Ocular. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Berola, I am sure.”

  “How far?” said Turkin. “How far does it say it is?”

  “I don’t know. The distances don’t mean anything to me. But that tells us for absolute certain that we are heading in the right direction.” She looked defiantly at the Ocular. “Unless there are any of you left doubting me.”

  Many heads were shaken in response.

  “Good,” she said, pleased.

  They took refuge in the small house opposite the tracks and slept.

  iii.

  Clarinda… where do you think you are going, my love?

  Clarinda twists and turns in her sleep, uncertain, frightened, sure that she is beyond her mother’s grasp, but fearful that she is wrong.

  Sunara is drifting naked in a pool of blood in her sanctum back in Subterror, and now she stands and looks contemptuously toward her daughter, one perfect eyebrow raised in amusement. Slowly she rises so that she is standing, the blood coming to her hips, her hair thick with red, pushed back from her flat chest so that Clarinda can see the gashes where her breasts once were.

  Do you truly think you can escape me? Escape my reach? Do you honestly believe that anything you are doing is beyond my control or without my permission? You are exactly and precisely where I need you to be. You believe yourself to be operating on your own, but you have no free will. You will serve me and the needs of the Piri, even when you think that you are doing what you wish to do. You have nothing save what I give you, and you are nothing save what I allow you to be. And all that you will ever be is my daughter.

  She throws back her head and laughs, and Clarinda let out a loud and terrified scream.

  Clarinda sat up violently awake and realized that all eyes were upon her. The Ocular were sitting up in various states of confusion. Other Ocular who had been sleeping under the platform (since there had been insufficient room for everyone within the house) were shouting, demanding to know what was happening since the sun had not yet set and so they were effectively blind.

  “It’s nothing!” Clarinda called out, her voice carrying. Her breath was still ragged in her chest. She felt disoriented and not a little frightened. “Everything is fine!”

  “How in the name of the gods is everything fine?” said Turkin challengingly, his single great orb affixed upon her.

  “It was just a dream. A bad dream.”

  Berola took both of Clarinda’s hands in one of hers, and they seemed to disappear into the Ocular’s grasp. “Are you sure it was just a dream?”

  No. I’m not sure at all. In fact, I’m almost positive it was anything but.

  “Yes,” said Clarinda firmly. “That’s all it was. And dreams can’t hurt you.”

  upper reaches of suislan

  The lodge was alive with laughter and music and celebration. The only member of the Serabim who was not feeling especially merry was Pavan. Unfortunately, he was the one for whom the festivities were being held.

  Serabim musicians were sitting in the rafters of the vast wooden structure which hugged one of the lower peaks in the Upper Reaches. One of them was steadily banging away on a drum, while two more on either side were blowing into curved rams horns of varying sizes. The result was more cacophony than symphony, and the general belief was that Serabim music was capable of sending even Mandraques running. But the Serabim liked it, and of course that was all that mattered.

  The dancing that ensued through the lodge mostly consisted of the Serabim thudding against each other chest to chest. Every so often one of them would shout, “Pavan!” and the rest would bellow, “Pavan!” in response. Pavan would wave to them, and be handed another flask of yond to drink. He would obediently toss back the yond, and it would dribble around his mouth and down his fur because he wasn’t really much of a yond drinker. But it didn’t make any difference because the Serabim would cheer just as loudly as ever.

  Eventually Pavan drifted away from the main body of the partying and found himself staring out one of the large windows which opened out onto the magnificent view of the Upper Reaches. It was dark out and he could see the wind blowing drifts of snow off the mountain tops. Thanks to their thick coats of fur, the Serabim were generally immune from the ravages of the Upper Reaches even when the winds and chill were at their most devastating.

  A hand rested gently upon his shoulder. He did not even have to look up to know who it was. “Shouldn’t you be at the party before your father notices your absence?” he said.

  Demali dropped down next to him and pressed her body against him. Her soft, golden fur smelled the way it always did, and Pavan found it as intoxicating as it ever was. “My father,” she said, and yond wafted from her breath, “my father knows nothing about nothing.”

  “Your father is our chief and I don’t think he’d appreciate your describing him that way.”

  She grinned widely, displaying her teeth. She was extremely proud of them, particularly their healthy yellow sheen. “I think I will describe him in any way I wish. He doesn’t much like Akasha, you know.”
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br />   “Nobody likes Akasha,” said Pavan, but he was starting to get rather uncomfortable. “He is an independent thinker. Like you,” he added teasingly.

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Oh, come now, Demali. Do you think I don’t know about your wanting to be a rider?”

  She shushed him hurriedly, looking around as if concerned that her father was eavesdropping. “A meaningless fantasy. I have never shown any aptitude for being able to control a Zeffer.”

  “When have you even tried?”

  “Only the biggest and strongest of us can control them. You know that.”

  “So maybe you could control a smaller Zeffer.”

  “Stop speaking of such things. It’s a waste of time. To be daughter of the chief is sufficient responsibility for one lifetime. I’ll leave more important concerns to you and to Akasha. He is the Keeper, after all. He knows what he means to our people. My father doesn’t like that he can’t control Akasha. That is why,” and she encircled her arm around his, “he is very much looking forward to the day when you become Keeper.”

  “That’s very kind of you to…wait, what?”

  Instead of replying with anything that he was expecting, Demali pressed her face forward against his and nuzzled the base of his neck. Pavan’s concerns over what she had said quickly vanished in a wave of warmth from the touch of her lips and the delightful sensation of her teeth nipping at him. In the past, his relationship with Demali had always been more of mutual teasing than anything. Now, though, there was nothing teasing in what she was doing. Instead she was moving her hands with very clear intent, far more deliberately than anything she had ever done in the past.

  Pavan pushed her away, as surprised at his own actions as she clearly was. “What’s the matter? Aren’t I doing it right?” she said.

  “That’s not the problem. The problem is—”

  “And what goes on here?”