by Ian Irvine
'I feel dizzy.' Tiaan closed her eyes. Artisans had gone mad trying to see into the fourth dimension. She swayed in the chair and Thyzzea steadied her.
'Is that better?' said Urien, standing over her.
Tiaan rubbed her eyes but the strange image was gone, the black box just a simple box again. 'I .., think so. It'll take time to get used to it. Just give me a few minutes.'
Thyzzea gave her a mug of water and Tiaan drank it in one gulp. Even sitting down, her knees felt shaky. 'I'm ready to try.'
Back in the construct, the amplimet was installed in its socket. Tiaan put the helm on her head and again, just for a few seconds, saw the creeping, impossible shapes of the fourth dimension. As she turned her head, fields swirled and ebbed all over the place, and all were brilliantly clear. It unnerved her — there was too much to take in.
'Time is precious, Artisan,' said Vithis from behind.
She drew power from the nearest field attempting to hold its image while she attempted a second Power flowed from both, and both fields stayed in her mind She looked for a third and took power from it as well, then a fourth and fifth. It was like a miracle.
'It's ready,' Tiaan said.
Tirior gave the signal and the construct crept forwards. Before the rope became taut, the construct following them began to move, then the one after that. Tiaan could see the distortions they made in the field, and now they did not have to be towed. Enough power flowed down the cables for them to propel themselves.
Looking back to the shooter's turret, Tiaan could see the raw emotion on Vithis's face. It was going to work after all.
Progress was slow at first. With so many machines attached by lines to the leading construct, a moment's inattention could damage dozens of them. Nonetheless, by midnight she'd done four trips. Another two hundred and forty constructs had been transported safely to the new field. On each return trip she ferried back supplies brought from the main camp at Gospett.
A day later the work had become routine. The best part of three hundred constructs could be moved in a day. Of the eleven thousand that had come through the gate, about six thousand had come to Snizort, though five hundred had been damaged in battle and must be abandoned. Vithis did this with great reluctance — the Aachim did not care for their constructs to be examined by allies or foes — but could do no more than break the controlling mechanisms to disable them.
Tiaan was too worn out to sit up, much less eat, and the operation would take at least seventeen more days, even if all went perfectly. Despite the helm, she did not see how she was going to survive it.
Withis kept Minis away, for which Tiaan was thankful. He was a problem that had no solution.
The following morning, Thyzzea replaced Vithis in the construct and for ten days all went well. On the morning of the eleventh, Tiaan woke so weak that she could hardly get out of bed. She felt eroded inside. The channelled power seemed to be eating away at her, as it had in Kalissin. She had lost all the weight gained in Nyriandiol, and more.
It made no difference to Vithis. She was carried to the construct and strapped into her seat. Other straps held her upright when she was too weary to do that for herself. Another three hundred constructs were hauled to safety that day, and so it went on, day after, day, until only three hundred or so remained. Most of these belonged to Clan Elienor, left to the last as always.
Despite her exhaustion, Tiaan had forced herself to practise walking in her room every night. After a week she could manage a hundred steps unaided. After two weeks it was a thousand.
Vithis had not mentioned flight again, which bothered her. If he'd dispatched one of the first constructs back to Tirthrax then, travelling day and night, it could have reached there days ago. Malien would reveal the secret and Tiaan would be dispensable. Worse than that: it would be dangerous to allow her to live.
It was time to put her plan into effect. Tiaan had learned much about the Art over the past weeks. Normally, in any of the Secret Arts, power was used as sparingly as possible. That was, she mused, like an archer only being allowed to shoot one arrow a week. After drawing on multiple fields for sixteen hours a day, Tiaan had more experience than most mancers would have gained in a lifetime.
Unfortunately, she lacked the background and knowledge to make sense of it. She had tried to fit it into the geomantic framework Gilhaelith had begun to teach her in Nyriandiol, but he had not taken her far enough. That did not matter here, where there were any number of Aachim mancers to guide her, and healers to pick her up when she fell. But on her own it would be a different matter.
She had to act now, ready or not. Once the last construct was moved, they would make sure she never had contact with the amplimet again.
Tiaan was woken by a commotion outside. The hanging door was thrust open and someone tall entered, carrying a lantern.
'Tiaan!' he whispered urgently.
It was Minis, and she was wearing only a flimsy sleeping gown. Her heart began to crash around in her chest. Tiaan pulled the covers up to her neck.
'What do you want, Minis?' she said coldly.
He fell to his knees. "To say how much I have wronged you, and to beg for your forgiveness. No more.'
She turned her face to the wall of the tent. 'You led me on. You made promises and refused to keep them. From the very beginning you used me, Minis. Everything you said to me was a lie. The Aachim must have been building constructs for a decade before you contacted me, so innocently. So accidentally'.
He reached for her. She thrust both hands under the covers and he stopped dead.
'I did break my promise, Tiaan, and I've never stopped regretting it. But I was used as much as you were.'
'It's all just words, Minis,' she said, not looking at him. She dared not, for despite all her vows, all her fury, he still moved her. 'Life has taught me that words can mean nothing, or anything' I put my faith in actions, and by yours are you revealed, as are all the Aachim.1
'Please believe me, Tiaan. Don't judge me by the deceits of others. I never lied to you.'
'Prove it!' she hissed, but before Minis could respond she heard Vithis roaring his name. Minis went through the flap without another word.
Tiaan pulled on her clothes and readied herself for her last day. Thyzzea would accompany her, as usual, but there had been no let-up in the Aachim's vigilance. The construct behind her always carried two guards armed with crossbows, as well as a mancer monitoring everything she did with the field, and they never took their eyes off her.
The day went badly, ror Tiaan could not stop thinking about what must happen tomorrow. Halfway though the first trip she lost the fields and the construct thumped into the ground so hard that it jarred her teeth. Behind her, all the others did the same.
'What'ss the matter?' Thyzzea asked anxiously.
'I can't see it,' Tiaan gasped. 'My brain feels like porridge.'
'What's porridge?'
'Never mind.'
Vithis came running from one of the towed constructs and sprang onto the side of her machine. So he was still watching her. 'Is there a problem?'
'I've lost the fields.'
'Minis is behind this, isn't he?'
She did not answer.
'I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again!' Vithis sprang down.
The delay was only a short one, but twice more she lost the fields, and on the second trip three constructs crashed into each other and were damaged so badly that they had to be left behind. Vithis was livid, and with all the delays they did not complete the return journey until sunrise the following day. There were still more than two hundred constructs to move.
Tiaan was so exhausted that she kept sagging against her restraints. Thyzzea carried her back to their tent, where Tiaan lay on her mattress, unable to sleep. Weird images kept flashing through her mind, objects she knew belonged in higher-dimensional space, though she was incapable of comprehending them. Finally, as dinner was being served outside, she drifted into sleep.
She woke
to find Vithis sitting by her side. Tiaan started and moved away under the covers.
'Don't be afraid,' he said. 'I'm not that kind of man.'
'I know what kind of man you are. What do you want?'
'Have you remembered anything else about my lost people?'
She thought before answering. Her memories were clear now, though she was not sure what they meant. 'I heard cries. Some seemed to be death cries'She looked him in the eyes. I'm sorry," she said, and was. Her weakness was that she empathised with his grief, despite the way he'd used her. There were cries of agony, as if people were being turned inside out.' He flinched. She went on slowly. 'And people wailing that they were lost. Others calling to one another, as if they were trying to collect together.'
'Lost in the void,' he said, 'but not dead. I'm not sure if that's better or worse.'
'I don't know anything about the void.'
'It's a different kind of reality to ours. Nothing is stable; everything is in flux. Things are possible in the void that cannot be done in the material worlds. The lyrinx flew everywhere there, preying on other creatures and being preyed upon in turn.'
'No wonder they wanted to escape.'
'The void is filled with vicious creatures, and the struggle for existence is more violent than anywhere. No beast can relax for an instant. They must adapt constantly or go to extinction.'
'Your people are clever/ said Tiaan, 'and they have their constructs. They might do well there.'
'It's true that we of Clan lnthis are not easily bowed by adversity. And the void is filled with raw energies, like the fields surrounding nodes on this world, and my own. The constructs might draw on those fields, providing my people with protection and shelter, at least for a while. But even so, I fear they're all gone now, and the hopes of First Clan with them. How could they adapt to the savagery of the void in time?'
The interrogation resumed that night Vithis was there, as well as Tirior, Urien and Luxor. They went over her story repeatedly, trying to learn more about the voices Tiaan heard after she used the amplimet, and the secret of flight that still eluded them.
The night was almost as exhausting as the previous day. It took all her effort to maintain that air of being slightly mad and rather stupid, while having a natural genius for reading the field and working with crystals. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back by the time they finally withdrew to a far corner of the tent.
'I'm not sure I believe her' said Tirior, still speaking in the common tongue — they must want her to know what they were saying about her, and be afraid.
'We'll soon know the truth,' Urien replied. 'About flight, at any rate.'
'What are you up to?' asked Tirior.
'The day she came here, three weeks ago, I dispatched three constructs to Tirthrax. I instructed them to ask Malien how the flying construct came to be built.'
'I knew nothing of this,' Vithis said darkly.
'I sent word to my own people, near Gospett,' said Urien, 'with a captured messenger skeet. If all went well, their constructs could have reached Tirthrax ten days ago. I asked them to send word back the instant they came within flying distance. I hope to hear the truth any day.'
The old woman looked across and caught Tiaan's eye. Urien wanted her to know that she had little time left.
Twenty-eight
Outside, the moon now seemed dazzlingly bright. Nish stumbled past the guards, barely able to see, for his throbbing eyes were dripping. Just what had the tears and the potion done to him? And why all that talk about him serving Jal-Nish? Had his father meant to corrupt him, to make Nish more like himself? Had he? No, Father — whatever you've done to me, I'll fight it with all the will I have. I'll never become like you.
Someone took him by the arm. 'What's the matter?' Xabbier hissed.
Nish swayed on his feet. 'My father—' Better not say anything about the tears. Nish shook his head, but that only made things worse. Coloured auras streamed up from among the soldiers, and in the background he could still hear the faint whine of the tears. 'He's poured a potion down my throat and bespelled me. I don't feel well, Xabbier.'
'Come this way.' Xabbier led him through the rows of tents to one whose flap was folded back, but did not enter. 'Open your mouth.'
'What?'
Xabbier thrust two fingers down Nish's throat and Nish brought up the contents of his stomach. When he'd done heaving, which took quite a while, the soldier wiped Nish's face and led him inside.
Xabbier lit a lantern. 'That's got rid of the bulk of it, though surely not all. I don't know much about the Art, Cryl-Nish, but this I do know. You must fight the spell with all the strength you have. Don't give in or it'll take you.'
Nish shielded his eyes from the light. He tried to speak but could only manage a dry rasp. Xabbier held a pannikin of water to his lips, then fed him a slab of bread torn into pieces.
After wolfing it down, Nish felt better. His vision inverted again but came back to normal. His belly throbbed. He rubbed it and a bubbling belch rumbled up. The sick feeling faded but did not entirely disappear.
He sat up suddenly, seized by an urge so powerful that it burned him. 'Father's calling. I must go to him.'
Nish scrambled to his feet but Xabbier stood in his way, as solid as a tree trunk. The mighty arms went around Nish, binding him immovably. He struggled, for the urge to run to his father's side was overwhelming. Nish knew what Jal-Nish was; he saw the evil more clearly than ever, but he had to go to him. The compulsion was impossible to resist.
He struggled until he was worn out, and once broke free, slipping by the big man like a ferret. Xabbier threw out a foot and sent Nish sprawling, then sat on him. Nish kicked and beat his fists on the ground, clawed at the earth floor, snarled and tried to bite his friend. Xabbier held his nose until, finally, the compulsion snapped. He felt a desperate grief for his father, but the urge to go to him had passed.
Xabbier let Nish up, watching him warily as he wiped dribble off his chin with his sleeve. 'I suppose …You'd better take me to the cells, before he punishes you, too …'
Xabbier turned away; crouching down with bent head, as though thinking, but he held on to Nish's wrist just in case. He reached a decision. There was a knot in his jaw, a furious light in his eye. 'I heard everything he said to you, Cryl-Nish, and what he did. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it. I can't let him have you.'
'What?' said Nish dazedly. Nothing made sense any more.
'I'm taking you away from here.'
'But he'll destroy you. He'll flay you alive.'
'We might all die tomorrow or the next day. I can't go to my doom knowing I've betrayed a friend. I've closed my eyes to too much of his evil already.'
But Xabbier—'
'My mind's made up. Come on.'
Nish said no more. Xabbier led him through the camp and the sentries by the darkest ways, back to the escarpment and finally up a different track from before. Halfway to the rim, Xabbier stopped.
'Wait here and don't make a sound. I'll find the guard for this section and distract him while you slip past. Go that way.' He pointed to Nish's right.
They embraced. 'Thank you, Xabbier. I'll never forget this,' said Nish. 'Good luck.'
'And you,' said the lieutenant, 'wherever your path takes you.I hope we meet again in happier circumstances. And remember, he'll try again, Nish, and again. You'll have to fight him every time. You must not give in, no matter how easy it seems.'
He turned away. Nish watched Xabbier until he disappeared, then began to labour up the faint path, agonising about his friend. When Jal-Nish found out, he would crucify Xabbier.
After many rest stops, for his muscles were like putty, Nish made it to the top and headed into the maze of limestone pinnacles. Once more he felt that prickling feeling of being watched, or followed, though he saw no one. Nish continued, stumbling now. The touch of the tears had drained him to the marrow of his bones, but the interview with his father, had left him an emotion
al pincushion.
At the thought, he felt another burning spasm and a return of the compulsion. Nish's skin tingled. It was hard to fight it on his own, and when he had, he had to rest for a moment.
Flat on his back on a broken shelf of limestone, Nish rubbed his eyes. They were still watering; the moon still seemed unusually bright. It was midnight. He covered his eyes, which felt better until that unnerving feeling of being watched recurred. Nish peered through his fingers. Though the pinnacle in front of him lay in shadow, he could see every surface detail. More than that, he could see inside it. And it seemed to have bones.
Nish blinked but the bone shapes were still there. They weren't human bones, nor the skeleton of any wild animal he knew they were too massive, and the wrong shape. Rising into the upper arch of the pinnacle he could just make out robust, hollow wing bones, yet the cranium was colossal, with hundreds of large teeth, and the jaw gaped open.
I'm hallucinating, Nish thought as he slid off the shelf. It must be the touch of the tears. He shook his head and kept moving, looking steadfastly ahead. As he edged around a corner into another corridor, his eye fell on the limestone face to his left, where he saw the same kind of bones. There could be no doubt — it was the skeleton of a lyrinx.
Could this place be an ancient lyrinx graveyard, all limed over? But how could it have turned to rock so quickly? Then, and the realisation felt like a fist inside his chest, Nish saw a grey shadow within the skeleton contract and expand, contract and expand. It was the great heart of the beast. No skeleton this — there was a live creature inside!
Tearing his gaze away, Nish began to walk faster. Now he saw bones everywhere, twisted up in strange positions inside the pinnacles, and there could be only one explanation — the enemy had stone-formed themselves. There were thousands of them, probably tens of thousands, if even a quarter of the pinnacles contained the beasts, and they could be across the valley on the far escarpment as well.