by Peter David
“But that doesn’t excuse…”
“Yes, it does,” he said forcefully. “I am the chief of this tribe of Serabim. Anything I do to benefit this tribe is excused! I have to make the decisions that no one else can make! Pavan’s parents refused to acknowledge that! I had to do it!”
“You’re a monster! That is what you are. Nothing but a monster!”
“Am I?” Seramali’s face twisted into a sneer. “Akasha knew of it! He knew all this time. Pavan’s mentor knew what I had done, and he allowed Pavan to believe it. What of that, eh? Why did Akasha not tell him?”
“Because he said he was waiting for Pavan to reach his twenty-first cycle! To reach his first communion with the Zeffers. Once he accomplished that, he was going to trust Pavan with the knowledge. He didn’t know that you were going to betray us!”
“I’ve betrayed nothing and no one!” Becoming impatient with Demali and the entire situation, he grabbed at her arm. “Come here!”
She yanked her arm clear of him, shouting, “No! Get away!”
“Demali, I have had more than enough of this…”
“You turned Pavan over to them! To the Mandraques! This whole thing is your fault! I’ve heard you through the years! Do you think I haven’t? Your mutterings about how our people have exiled themselves here! How we could do so much more with the right alliances! How you did not believe that the Overseer was as all powerful as others say!”
“You are distorting my…”
“The Mandraques, father? You allied with the Mandraques? Are you insane?”
“The Mandraques have a vision for the Damned World!” he said. “And it is a vision that does not include the Firedraques, with their endless treaties and attempts to deprive us of our true nature. So we are going to do something about them, and about every Mandraque who is spineless enough to be in their service! And everything is in motion, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it because it’s already happening, and we are going to lead the Serabim to greatness, with you or without you!”
“It’s definitely going to be ‘without’!”
“You are right about that!”
He lunged for her then, and this time when he grabbed her, Demali did not simply try to pull away. Instead she pushed back, shoving hard, and she let out a challenging roar. Seramali howled back, his voice carrying, and he slammed her up against the snow covered surface of the mountain. He pinned her there with one hand and she saw that in his other hand was a knife.
He drove the blade forward and Demali twisted her body. It grazed her torso but not deeply enough to cause any damage. He tried to pull it back, to assault her again. Demali shifted her weight, bracing her feet, and the next thing she knew she had his arm immobilized, trapped between her own arm and her body. Seramali shouted her name in fury and now he was the one who was trying to pull away.
She drew back a fist and hesitated only a moment before, with a roar, she drove it into Seramali’s jaw. Seramali reeled, his eyes wide in pain. He looked stunned for a moment, and then before she could strike him again, he recovered his wits and head butted her, slamming his forehead into her face. She cried out, staggered, and he tried to slip out of her grasp so that he could bring the knife around again. But even though he was the stronger of the two, she was quicker of hand and nimbler of mind. She managed to position herself so that she caught his wrist and bent it back and around. Her leverage advantage more than compensated for his superior strength. The knife clattered to the path and Demali, for good measure, sank her teeth into her father’s arm.
Seramali howled like the damned, and that, as it turned out, was the last straw.
There was a rumbling from overhead, a noise that the Serabim knew all too well. Demali was momentarily startled by it, fear striking her in a way that even her father’s attempts to murder her had not, and Seramali chose that moment to pull loose from her. He drove his foot forward and caught her in the pit of the stomach, knocking her backwards. As his daughter hit the ground, the ground shook furiously under Seramali’s feet. He turned and saw an avalanche of ice and snow, hurtling not just from down the path, but from overhead.
There was an overhang about ten feet above him that was projecting outward. Seramali leaped upward, sinking the claws of his hands and feet into the icy wall. He crushed his body against the mountainside as a sheet of white descended past him.
It was only at that moment, with his daughter’s death imminent, that the immensity of what he was doing apparently truly began to sink in on Seramali. “No! Wait! I was just trying to scare you! I…I never truly wanted to…” With a frightened and alarmed cry, he reached out toward her. It was too late. In a cascade of snow and ice, Demali was knocked off the narrow path and sent plummeting off the mountain. Her white, furred body blended in with all the snow around her and within seconds she had disappeared from view.
Seramali turned away, hugging the wall for long moments until the last of the snow and ice fell past him and left him clinging there, sad and pathetic alone.
He sobbed then for as long as his grief as a father would permit him to.
He sobbed for about ten seconds.
Then he stepped down, brushed himself off, and worked to make his way back up the side of the mountain, already determining exactly what he was going to say to explain to his people that Demali had, as near as he could tell, slain Akasha out of some rage-induced haze and then thrown herself to her death when reason had returned to her.
the sewers of Perriz
I.
Turkin and Berola were the only two who agreed to go and, as it turned out, Clarinda could not have been happier. This outcome surprised Arren, who had thought he would have far more Ocular backing him up than was going to be the case, and it also surprised Clarinda, who was amazed to discover that she had come to care about the fate of the gigantic creatures as much as she had.
She had gathered all of them in her quarters and walked them through Arren’s offer. They listened closely, without interruption, until she was done. She made certain not to take any sides or try to direct them in any particular way. This ran contrary to her original determination to urge them to accompany Arren Kinklash.
They trust you. Look at them, gazing up at you. They have faith in you because you brought them to this haven of safety and now they will attend to your words and do whatever you tell them to. This is a responsibility you cannot take lightly.
She did not know why that was the case. Why in the world should she care what happened to them? The fact that it was so was disconcerting to Clarinda because she had spent so much of her life knowing exactly what her mind was at all times. That was likely because she had spent so much of her existence hating and despising both her mother and her people that she had become accustomed to feeling a particular way.
Even her involvement with Eutok was an outgrowth of that. It was a rebellion against the expectations put upon her by her mother and her people. Did she love Eutok, truly love him? So much had happened to her that by this point even she was unsure.
After she had told the Ocular precisely what would be expected from them—the benefits (the ability to function during the day; the chance to engage in battle which was the birthright of their people) and the drawbacks (hitting the road yet again, plus the fact that since they didn’t know what they might encounter, there was always the possibility of death)—the Ocular sat there and considered her words.
Then Kerda asked the one and only question that the Ocular were going to ask. It happened to be the exact question that Clarinda not only feared, but knew would be forthcoming:
“What do you want us to do?”
Fortunately enough, she was ready for it. Her answer was simple and facile. “I want you to do whatever will make you happy.”
“What will make me happy,” said Kerda without hesitation, “is to remain here with you.” Most of the other Ocular nodded.
Clarinda felt the unfamiliar sensation of a smile tweaking at her mouth. She quickly smot
hered it. “I think you are being ridiculous,” she said crisply. “I am not your mother. I am not your anything except the individual who got you here.”
“That is more than enough,” said Kerda.
“I’ll go.”
The words caught Clarinda off guard and she looked to the speaker. It was Berola. Next to her, Turkin glanced at her for a moment and then said, “Me, too.”
Clarinda wondered if this was going to set off a round of “me-too’ism” from the rest of the Ocular, but it did not. Instead they just stared at the elder Ocular as if the pair of them had spoken out of turn.
Clarinda knew she should have accepted their volunteering without hesitation, but to her surprise, hesitate she did. “Very well,” she said and then went on uncertainly, “May I ask—?”
“I have…” Berola paused, trying to find a way to put it into words. “I don’t…I have this need…I just…”
“I want to hit something,” said Turkin. “Kill something.”
“That’s it,” said Berola, looking relieved that Turkin had articulated it. “That is exactly it.”
“Kill something…” Clarinda wasn’t entirely sure that she understood.
Berola had been seated on the floor since there was no furniture that readily accommodated her. Now she stood, towering over Clarinda. “We have lost our people…our family. The lives that we knew. I would like nothing better than to be able to simply settle into this great city and enjoy peace. That was what I thought I wanted until I got here. And now I sit here, and all I can think of is all that I have lost. It fills me with such rage…such overwhelming rage that I want to strike out at the entire Damned World. I tremble with fury and there is nothing I can do, nothing, for as long as I remain here. There is nothing for me to lash out against, and if I do not find a means of releasing all that anger, all that frustration, all that fury, then it is going to consume me, Clarinda. It will devour me whole, and whatever of me is left will not be recognizable as Berola or an Ocular.”
“She is right,” said Turkin. “The gods have visited death and destruction upon us. We cannot strike back at the gods, for they are above the fray save when it suits them to make our lives miserable. If this sojourn with the Mandraque will give me the opportunity to vent some of the wrath that I cannot unleash upon the gods, then I am all for it. I’m anxious for it.”
“As am I.”
“And,” and she looked at the others, “the rest of you would rather stay here?”
They nodded almost as one. Apparently they were bereft of the burning fury that seemed to be driving the elders. Perhaps younger Ocular were simply more malleable than older ones, and had an easier time adapting to circumstances. That could well have been the truth that prompted Nagel to press the youngsters into service.
For a moment she considered trying to talk them out of. What, really, were they staying there for? To be near her? She had nothing to offer them…except, obviously, they felt differently.
“All right,” she said. “All right. I will convey your decision to Arren. Be prepared to depart within the next turn or so.”
She got to her feet and headed for the door. And then Kerda said softly, “Thank you, Clarinda.” Before Clarinda could reply, another of the Ocular said, “Thank you, Clarinda,” and then a third and fourth and all of them, murmuring either individually or together, “Thank you, Clarinda.”
Her breath caught for a moment and then she said “You’re welcome” so softly that even she could barely hear it.
She had no trouble hearing Arren Kinklash, however.
“Two?” he practically bellowed when she went to his sanctum to inform him of the outcome of her meeting. “I am going to have an army of two?”
“Three.”
“You said—”
“I was counting you.”
“I thought you would be able to influence them. Persuade them.”
“I might well have been able to,” she said with a shrug. “I chose instead to lay out the options for them and allow them to make their own decisions. Berola and Turkin decided to accompany you. The rest desired to stay here.”
“With you.”
“With me.”
Arren stalked the room, his tongue flicking in and out in agitation and annoyance. “Xeri has already designed a score of the lenses.”
“If he wishes to give them as gifts to the Ocular, I am quite certain they will be most grateful. Beyond that…” and she shrugged again.
He looked as if he wanted to say a great deal, but then he reined himself in, albeit with effort. “All right. All right, this can still be made to work.”
“Can it?” It wasn’t a question; she only sounded mildly interested.
“Yes, and you are the key to it. We can bypass the patrols and those who would endeavor to bring me back here if we make use of the sewer system that you were kind enough to alert me to. All you need to do is lead us through it using your reputed extremely keen sense of direction.”
“And why would I volunteer my services in such an endeavor?”
“Because,” said Arren, “I will generously instruct Xeri to provide the remaining lenses to the Ocular, even though they have decided to forego the adventure. Plus it means that your beloved Ocular will not wind up having to fight their way past Mandraques, especially considering that—courtesy of your reluctance to convince the others to join me—the Ocular would be severely outnumbered. You do want them to be as safe as possible for as long as possible, do you not? And besides, you get to run around underground. It will be like going home again.”
She pursed her lips. “The notion of reliving my home experience is not the best way to entice me to do your bidding.” Clarinda pondered it a moment or two longer and then slowly nodded. “Very well. You have your guide. But I only take you as far as the exit of the sewers, wherever that may lead. Beyond that, you are on your own.”
“So that you can return to your children?”
He was smirking. She desperately wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. “They are not my children. But whatever they are to me…they are important. And I would ask you,” she added stiffly, “to respect that.”
He stopped all movement and then slowly, mockingly, bowed with a great sweep of his arm. “As you wish, oh mistress of the Ocular.”
“Call me ‘mistress’ again and I swear that, once in the darkness of the sewers, I will rip your throat out and drain you dry, and neither of the Ocular accompanying you will lift a finger to stop me.”
His smirk faded. “Understood,” he said, and this time any aspect of mockery had vanished from his bearing.
“Good.”
ii.
With torches in hand, Clarinda, Arren, Berola and Turkin made their way under the streets of Perriz.
The entrance had been through an old, unremarkable building to which Arren had led them, courtesy of directions from Xeri. Xeri himself had not accompanied them, supposedly because he did not want to take any chance of being linked in any way with the endeavor, since it was not expected to sit well with Evanna once she found out.
Arren alone carried a torch, a hotstar that glowed softly in the darkness. He was the only one who required it. Clarinda was fully at home in the darkness, as were the Ocular. They had with them the lenses that Xeri had fashioned for them. They had been secured via cords to their heads, and the Ocular were wearing them slid up onto their foreheads until such time that they required them to shield them from the sun.
Clarinda was dazzled by the tunnels. These tunnels were nothing less than extraordinary. She had never had the opportunity to encounter the Morts, but seeing what she was now of what they had been capable of accomplishing—simply to dispose of waste!—she was beginning to have a new respect for the nearly extinct creatures.
Even though there was no longer any waste running through the sewers, there was still a steady stream of water. When they had first descended into the tunnels, Clarinda had simply stood there, her eyes closed. Minutes dragged on, a
nd Arren became gradually impatient. But when he tried to hurry her, Turkin had said sharply, “Do you want to get where you’re going? Or do you simply want to get lost?” This had prompted Arren to withhold whatever impatience he might have been feeling.
The water continued to run beneath their feet, coming to about her ankles, but that was nothing. That was deceptive. Instead she endeavored to drink in the direction of the air. That was what she needed. The air currents were going to guide her.
Finally she was satisfied.
She did not bother to raise a hand and point or declare loudly, “This way!” Instead she simply started walking, splashing through the water around her feet. The two Ocular promptly followed her, as did a slightly uncertain but most definitely determined Arren.
They walked and kept walking, almost entirely in silence. Every so often Arren would try to ask a question, but it was always intercepted by a curt “hush” from either Clarinda or one of the Ocular. Arren had a sack of supplies strapped to his back and a sword dangling from his hip, which gently slapped against his thigh as he walked.
Finally, deciding that something should be said of substance, he dropped back so that he was walking alongside the Ocular. Despite the size of the tunnels, they were still bending so as not to bump their heads against the tops. They didn’t seem to mind. It was likely that such huge beings were accustomed to having to live in a world that wasn’t exactly designed to accommodate their height. “Thank you for accompanying me,” he said stiffly.
Turkin looked about to silence him again, but Berola simply said, “You’re welcome.”
“My sister is very important to me.”
“As was mine,” said Berola.
Arren was surprised. “You had a sister?”
She nodded. “Her name was Kaita. She was an infant. Obviously far too young to fight in the army, and thus of no interest to the king or the captain. Her body no doubt lies rotting in the arms of our mother. Flying carrion eaters are probably picking at it right now. I hope they choke on her. I hope they die.”