Heights of the Depths

by Peter David

  “That is as it should be,” Evanna said approvingly. “And for what it is worth, Gorsham, should the Piri turn on us, I will personally hold her still while you take her head off with a sword. Will that satisfy you?”

  He bowed deeply. “You are too kind.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  ii.

  Clarinda lay down upon the mattress that had been arranged for her on the floor of the chambers assigned her. The chamber itself was filled with all manner of iconography that meant nothing to her. There were illustrations of a long-haired, bearded Mort who appeared to be suffering greatly, splayed upon a cross. Obviously he was some sort of vicious criminal and the Morts simply could not get enough illustrations of watching him die. There were also a couple of statues of a female Mort smiling down at an infant in the universal imagery of mother and child. Clarinda supposed that perhaps the man on the cross had murdered the mother and child and that was the crime for which he was being punished. It made sense. “If that is the case, bastard had it coming,” she said to herself.

  “I’ve often thought much the same.”

  She was startled by the voice, and that in and of itself was surprising to her. She was generally more attuned to the world around her and was not easily startled. Clarinda immediately bounded to her feet into a protective stance, her teeth bared against a possible attack.

  A Mandraque whom she had not seen before was leaning in the door, his arms folded. He was not particularly big, but his chest was a bit puffed up, seemingly filled with confidence. He was the type of individual who swaggered even when he was standing still.

  “Presuming,” he continued, “he is a bastard, that is. I still have not ruled out the possibility that his job was to keep birds out of the crops. You can relax, by the way. I am not here to attack you.”

  “How can I be certain?”

  “Because if I were here to attack you, I would wait until daytime when you were asleep and dispatch you.”

  “Is that how the mighty Mandraques slay their enemies? In their sleep?”

  “It could be argued that you are not an enemy, but simply an invading vermin, to be accorded the exact same level of respect.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “Your phrasing is careful. You say, ‘It could be argued’ without giving any indication of your own allegiance.”

  “My allegiance is to the Five Clans,” he said, “and the matters that are of interest to them. Frankly, I do not see how a single Piri and a platoon of Ocular are going to fall into that category.”

  Clarinda regarded him thoughtfully. “But we may be of interest to you?”

  “You may be.” He bowed slightly. “I am Arren Kinklash, son of Arjon, and leader of the Five Clans.”

  “Clarinda Redeye, daughter of…” She paused and then shrugged. “None.”

  “You must be someone’s daughter.”

  “Not anymore.”

  He chose not to pursue the comment.

  In the brief, ensuing silence, Clarinda stepped in. “You have not answered me. You have something in mind. You want to make use of them. Or of us.”

  “I am curious as to why you would say that.”

  “Because one parasite can always recognize another.”

  Arren laughed at that. His laugh came out as a sort of soft, repeated hiss. “Is that what you think? That I am so very much like you?”

  “I do not know about ‘so very much,’ but I perceive general similarities.” She folded her arms and stood there, waiting with as much patience as she could muster. “Do you wish to waste more of my time, or yours for that matter? Although admittedly I’m less concerned about the latter.”

  “I have no desire to waste anyone’s time.”

  “Then what—?”

  “Actually, I am somewhat interested in finding use for someone else’s time. Specifically, your young associates.”

  “The Ocular?” She frowned. “Of what possible interest could they be to you?”

  “They might be of use to me.”

  “In what regard?”

  “A…” He paused and then smiled. It was an expression that Clarinda considered to be disconcerting; the look of a predator who was smiling because he has just seen prey and is anticipating the devouring of it. She knew the look all too well. She had seen it any number of times on the face of the Piri. It could well be that Arren and she were more alike than even she had originally thought they were. “A small quest, as it were.”

  “A quest?”

  “A journey seeking an answer or some manner of goal.”

  “Yes, I know what a quest is,” she said impatiently. “I am not a fool.”

  “I did not say you were.”

  “No, but you may well have thought it if you believe that I would simply turn the Ocular over to you.”

  His tail twitched slightly, which was the only outward display of his irritation at her tone. “You are not their mother, milady, no matter how this—bizarre—relationship you have with them may have developed. You are what you are, and they are what they are.”

  “And what are they, pray tell?”

  Arren closed the distance between them with several quick steps. When he spoke she was reasonably sure she could smell the odor of some recently dead rodent on his breath. “They are warriors, milady. They have the fire of war in their veins.”

  “If that is the case, they certainly did not get it from their parents. The Ocular had no stomach for battling my kind when they had the opportunity. Fortunate for us, really. Had they truly endeavored to apply themselves, they might well have been able to wipe us out.”

  “Whatever their parents were, they are dead now, yes?” She nodded in confirmation. “Lesson learned, then. Their parents became too soft by living a life not steeped in the warfare that fired their ancestors.”

  Clarinda hesitated and then, in spite of herself, found herself nodding in agreement. “That does, in fact, agree with what they themselves told me. They told me of a demonstration that their king performed. He commanded one of the adult Ocular to strike one of his fellows. The adult hesitated, confused. He asked the king what the purpose of doing such a thing was. He pled for the reasoning, desirous not to inflict unwarranted pain and damage upon another of his kind. Rather than pressing the point, the king turned to a youngster and placed the same command upon him. The youngster’s sole question was whether he would get into trouble as a result. When the king assured him that there would be no negative consequences from his actions, the youngster turned and, with no further hesitation, struck another child. The king’s point was that the young Ocular were possessed of a spirit for war that the parents had not drained from them.”

  “Much as parasites would?” said Arren drily.

  “Much like.” She stroked her chin thoughtfully. She hated to admit it, but there was something about this Arren Kinklash that she found intriguing. Not the same sort of intriguing that she had felt when she first encountered Eutok, gods knew, but nevertheless something within him that was appealing. That was how it was when kindred spirits met each other. There was a sort of familiar ease that made conversations such as this one come naturally. “What did you have in mind?”

  “For the Ocular?” She nodded. Arren continued, “A trip would be all. There may well be very little danger involved. I need to embark upon a bit of sojourn.”

  “To where?”

  “The upper reaches of Suislan.”

  “Suislan?” she said in surprise. She hadn’t been sure of what he had in mind, but that certainly had not occurred to her. “Why Suislan, of all places? Do you have some manner of business with the Serabim?”

  “That is, in fact, exactly what I have.”

  “What possible interest could you have in those cloud dwellers?”

  “That is my concern.”

  “If you desire to make the Ocular a part of this business, then you would do well to be more forthcoming.”

  He hesitated, and then shrugged. Apparently being secretive was
his automatic response to any situation and he had to work a bit to overcome it. “Very well. The bastards took my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “One of their damned Zeffers came sweeping into Perriz and made off with my sister. With Norda.”

  “And what possible interest could your sister have held for the Zeffers?”

  “In point of fact, none. They came for Nicrominus, one of the Firedraque elders.”

  “You are providing me this story in bits and pieces, and it is becoming tiresome, Kinklash. Why did they want Nicrominus, and how did your sister become involved?”

  “Gods as my witness, I have no idea why they wanted him. I presume that they did so at the command of someone else, but I cannot fathom who or why. I do not know what Nicrominus represents to them. As for Norda, it was simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Norda is a very impulsive creature; I believe that she saw Nicrominus being taken and the impulse was to accompany him. Do not,” he put up a hand, warding off her next question, “ask me why she would do such a thing. I have long ago learned that it is a waste of time to try and fathom the innermost workings of my sister’s mind. All I know is that, as a result of her actions, I am left with no sister and a host of questions.”

  “And you think the Serabim would be able to address them?”

  “They are, after all, the Zeffers’ Keepers. If not they, then who else?”

  “I suppose. Still…you are not considering several aspects. You have no proof that the Zeffer returned her to Suislan. For that matter, you have no proof that the Zeffer was connected to the Serabim who dwell in Suislan. There are several tribes of them, you know, scattered about the Damned World. You have no way of knowing of a certainty that she is there, or that those who dwell there would be able to tell you where she is. Nor would the Serabim necessarily be willing to provide you whatever information they may, in fact, have.”

  “All of that is true, but—”

  “But what?”

  He shrugged like one lost. “What other choice have I?”

  She hated to admit it, but there was something noble about the sentiment. She wondered what it would be like to have a sibling—or for that matter anyone in her life—who was so dedicated to her welfare that he would throw in his lot with strangers solely for the purpose of trying to find her. Still, something about this didn’t seem entirely right to her.

  “So your thought is that the Ocular will serve as your army? Is that your plan?”

  “It would be my hope that the Serabim would not force matters to come to a war. I have no desire to fight; merely to determine what the infernal Zeffer did with my sister.”

  “But you suppose that if you have the Ocular accompanying you, then the Serabim will be somewhat more cooperative when you approach them with your questions.”

  He nodded slightly.

  “It is not a theory entirely without merit,” she admitted. “Still…I strongly suspect there is something else you are not telling me. Some other matter to be addressed.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “I think you do, actually. If you are so concerned about your sister’s welfare, why are you still here at all? I take it that this theft by the Zeffer did not happen extremely recently. Some time must have passed, yes?”

  “Some.”

  “Yet here you are, still standing before me. You remain in Perriz while your sister is gods know where. You had no idea that we were going to be showing up, so you had no reason to remain here waiting for us. Why, then, are you still here? Why have you not already embarked upon your great adventure by yourself? What has stopped you thus far?”

  For the first time, Arren Kinklash seemed truly annoyed. She quickly determined, however, that she was not the source or reason for it. “I attempted to do exactly as you suggest. I wanted to go after my sister immediately. Instead I was met with…impediments.”

  “What manner of impediments?”

  “The Firedraques,” he said sourly, “desired the pleasure of my company, and thus made certain that I was not permitted to depart the city. As head of the Five Clans, it was felt that my presence here was of greater import than my presence elsewhere.”

  “Ahhhh. Now it becomes clear. You want the Ocular to fight their way through your own troops on your behalf.”

  “That,” said Arren, “is exactly right.”

  “And what, may I ask,” she said skeptically, “is in it for them?”

  “They will be true to their nature. They will be—”

  She waved it off before he could continue. “You will need more than that, Arren. A chance to fight? Aye, some of them might welcome that. But they’re also bone weary and soul sick. You speak of concerns over your sister? They have lost parents, cousins, uncles…damned near their entire race. And they have not yet had the opportunity to mourn that properly.”

  “Mourning will accomplish them nothing. They need to channel their frustration into a cause. But,” he said as she was about to respond, “I can promise them something that will be of use to them. For as long as they dwelt in the land of Feend with its insanely long nights, the daylight presented little problem to them. Now, though, they are constrained by their blindness. And around here, depending upon the season of the turn, the daylight hours are extended and night is quite short. How frustrating for them to have to sit around, accomplishing nothing, hampered by their inability to see.”

  “Frustrating, yes, but certainly they are accustomed to that by now.”

  “True. How joyous, though, for them to become unaccustomed.”

  She stared at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  For response, he reached into a pouch that was dangling from his belt and removed what appeared to be a round piece of glass. It was extremely dark, much more so than Clarinda had ever seen. Then again, living most of her life underground, she had not had all that much opportunity to see glass before. He held it out to her. “Go ahead. Take it. Hold it up to your eyes.”

  She did as he bade and was surprised to see the entire room appear to darken around them.

  “Many of the windows throughout Perriz have similar glass in them,” Arren said without giving her an opportunity to pose any questions. “It would be possible to fashion coverings for the Ocular to place over their eyes. With such coverings, the Ocular would be able to see even in the broadest of daylight. They would no longer be prisoners to their biology.”

  “You would be able to accomplish this?”

  “I would. In exchange for your aid.”

  “Why go to me? Why not just speak to the youngsters themselves?”

  “Because if it comes from you, it would carry more weight.”

  She knew it was true. As formidable, as powerful as the Ocular were, they would still hold what she said in such high regard that they could not help but attend to it, even if their common sense said otherwise.

  You do not want to do this. There is something here that you are missing. There is nothing in this for you. Keep your head down. Do not cooperate. There is naught to be gained. Naught. This is setting you upon a collision course for disaster.

  “I will…take the proposition to them,” she said.

  He smiled. “You know it will be the best for them. So sure am I that they will embrace the idea, that I will begin immediately upon the production of the coverings for their eyes.” He bowed nearly in half, gesturing from the heart and waving a small circle in the air that she imagined was supposed to be some sort of sign of deference.

  “Still…there is one thing I do not quite understand. You want to have the Ocular aid you in fighting your way past your brethren?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Why not just simply go underground? Avoid them entirely?”

  Arren stared at her uncomprehendingly. “What are you talking about? Do you suggest that I build tunnels in some way?”

  “You do not have to build them. They already exist. There is
an elaborate sewer system beneath the streets of Perriz.”

  He took a step toward her, an array of emotions playing across his face. “A sewer system?”

  “Yes. A sew-er-sys-tem,” she said very slowly, as if addressing a child or perhaps a moron. “A series of conduits constructed by the Morts to process their waste materials. They didn’t simply leave it in small heaps buried under dirt like your ilk do.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Why would I jest about such a thing? To begin with, it isn’t remotely funny.”

  “I know that, I…it is simply surprising to learn. How does one access these tunnels? And how do you know about them?”

  “My mother told me of them. She is quite the scholar when it comes to such Mort-related trivia. But she simply knew of them. She did not know how to reach them, or where they come in or out. It was not as if she had some concerted plan in regards to them; it was simply something she knew about. Interesting that in her far off realm, she knew they existed, while you were oblivious to that which was beneath your feet.”

  “It certainly is.” His voice sounded distant as if his thoughts had wandered far away.

  “Will you still desire the aid of the Ocular, now that you know of these subterranean passages?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Because who knows what manner of challenges may remain? Again, presuming that they have an interest in accompanying me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to arranging for their eye coverings.” He exited quickly, his tail whipping around behind him in agitation.

  Clarinda watched him go. You will live to regret this, Clarinda. And—quite possibly—not for very long.

  iii.

  Xeri looked up from his worktable as Arren practically exploded into the chambers. The entrance was so violent that a delicate piece of jewelry he had been restoring into its mounting flew out of his hands and hit the floor. “Do you mind?” Xeri demanded, making no attempt to hide his irritation. “I was in the middle of—”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”