Last night he had stayed in a safe house on the edge of the city, and recounted with barely concealed excitement his adventures to a hastily convened coterie of friends and fellow atheists. They had heard him out in silence, their expressions conveying wonder, hope, and in a few instances incredulity. Indeed it was a far-fetched tale he told them, a subversion of every tenet of life on Agstarn, even if one did not believe in the truth as promulgated by the Church. It was hard to take in, but Ehrin’s standing in society, his known opposition to the ruling elite, and the veracity and detail of his description of the helix and the life that existed on the other tiers, had won over even the most hardened sceptics.
Now he was moving on to another safe house, there to meet friends in business whom he might rally in opposition to the Church.
Tomorrow he would rendezvous with Sereth in a quiet coffee house in an industrial district of the city. She had come with him as far as the outskirts of Agstarn, and then they had parted company and she had made her way to the house of a friend. She had prepared a cover story for her absence: it would be known that she had entered the penitentiary with the alien giant, but she would claim that she had been concussed in the resulting melee and had wandered the ice canals in an amnesic fugue, until her senses had returned and she made her way back to her father’s penthouse.
She had been quiet during the flight to Agstarn aboard the Builders’ ship, clinging to him and weeping. She had undergone severe hardship during her time away from home, physically but also mentally. As a believer, the overturning of her safe way of life, of everything she had held to be true, had proved traumatic. She had hardly spoken a word to Ehrin during their return journey, avoiding his questions, his reassurances that all would be well in time.
He had wondered, and wondered still, how much her silence was the result of guilt—for the appearance of the deathship before the Builders’ ziggurat must have had something to do with Sereth. Had she guided Cannak to the homeworld of the Builders? If so, then he could not guess what pressures might have been placed upon her...
Before him, a gap appeared in the caravan of zeer-trucks. Ehrin stepped from the doorway and skated across the ice canal. It was early evening, in midwinter, and the cold wind seemed to sharpen itself on him like a thousand knives. Even the protection of his padded jacket did little to warm him. He would be thankful of the warmth of the safe house, a mug of tisane and a hot meal.
He came to the doorway, unfastened his skates and rang the bell. Seconds later a servant opened the door, glanced once at Ehrin and turned away without a word, leaving the door open. Ehrin slipped inside while the servant hurried down a corridor and into a far room.
Seconds later a large-bellied, prosperous man appeared at the end of the corridor. He appeared nervous, as if to approach Ehrin might in some manner infect his person with the insidious virus of apostasy. This was, according to his last contact, a rich rope-maker whose grandfather had been put to death many years ago on the orders of Prelate Hykell. There was no love lost between the magnate and the Church, according to Ehrin’s contact. The industrialist would convene a meeting of powerful fellow sceptics, to plan ahead... Or so said the contact, though the man appeared decidedly hesitant now that the time had come to turn grand words into action.
He gestured at Ehrin, motioning him into the room with a quick paw. “Make yourself comfortable,” the man said, barely bringing himself to meet Ehrin’s gaze as the renegade entered the room.
“Excuse me while I attend to business. The others will be arriving soon.” He gestured to a samovar of tisane and a plate of cold meat and bread.
The door closed firmly on Ehrin and he ate, warming his hands on a cup of tisane.
He wondered how much the magnate had been told of Ehrin’s adventures, and if his nervousness was a result of finding stories of other worlds and races hard to stomach. It was all very well to oppose the draconian rule of the Church, but some people were almost as fearful of the uncertainty of change.
There was a loud rapping on the front door, followed by a shout. He heard the servant’s footsteps, and then the amplification of the voices as the door was opened.
He stood quickly, spilling tea. A delegation of disbelievers would not have drawn attention to themselves with such raucousness.
He was making for the door when it burst open and six Church militiamen swarmed into the room, weapons levelled. Before he could move, two burly guards had him by the arms, then two more took his feet, and like this he was carried struggling from the house. Of the industrialist there was no sign.
He saw a prison wagon on the ice, shackled to six snorting zeer, and a second later he was tossed unceremoniously into the back and the doors slammed shut behind him. The familiar darkness brought back memories of his last experience of a prison wagon, and what had transpired then.
He thought of Kahran, and wondered then if his tears were for his dead friend, or for himself.
He hardly had time to gather his thoughts and wonder who might have betrayed him, before the sound of the wagon’s runners skimming over ice changed suddenly. Now they were scraping bare cobbles, and he knew he was approaching the precincts of the penitentiary.
A minute later the doors were flung open, and a hand reached in and grabbed him by the ankle, yanking him out and onto the hard floor without thought of his safety. He gasped as his head struck the cobbles, and vice-like hands gripped his arms and legs. He was borne like a carcass down a series of corridors until at last he arrived at a barred cell, into which he was tossed. The door slammed with finality. An ominous silence filled the cell. He stared around, and what he saw brought a bolus of bile to his throat.
The cell was bare, but for one fitting—a chair bolted securely to the stone-slabbed floor, a chair with straps upon its arms and in its back panel a gap through which the Church torturers might do their deeds.
Rather than contemplate his immediate future, he occupied his thoughts by wondering who of the so-called disbelievers had betrayed him. Certainly there had been many present the night before who might have found his tale of interworld travel hard to take, but his contact had assured him that all had been vetted and found trustworthy... But obviously not. The Church had infiltrated the meeting. Or perhaps the industrialist had been responsible...
Then another, more alarming thought occurred to him, though he tried hard to dismiss it. Sereth had known where he was heading when he left her. Perhaps she, aggrieved that all her certainties had been subverted by his actions, had alerted the authorities? Their leave-taking had been hurried, with Sereth hardly able to bring herself to look him in the eye. Even so, he found it hard to believe that she would so callously betray him, for perhaps a second time.
His thoughts in turmoil, he started when the thick wooden door creaked open, and two black-clad Inquisitors entered, followed by a familiar, red-robed figure.
Some scared, irrational part of his mind half-expected to see Velkor Cannak confront him, back from the dead to mock his plight.
The figure standing before him was Prelate Hykell, his face expressionless. “Indeed, it is Ehrin Telsa himself. I hardly believed the reports of your return.”
Ehrin rose to his feet, staring at the Prelate. How might he save himself, he wondered; what ploy might he adopt to spare his life?
“You boarded the golden ship with the monster and its cohorts, and now you are back. Bent upon invasion, perhaps, and upon undermining the rule of the Church.”
The Prelate waited, but Ehrin gave no reply.
“Whichever, you will die, but not before we have extracted from you the truth.”
“The truth?” Ehrin burst out. “You couldn’t handle the truth!”
“The truth of what happened when you left Agstarn, of the whereabouts of Elder Cannak and the deathship.”
“The truth,” Ehrin began, feeling himself shaking uncontrollably, “is that Cannak is dead, the deathship destroyed, and soon the true nature of the universe will be known to all who live i
n Agstarn and beyond.”
Hykell bared his sharp teeth. “The true nature...? You have no conception of the truth, you blasphemer.” He gestured, and the Inquisitors grabbed Ehrin and forced him into the chair, strapping his wrists secure with leather thongs, then standing back and awaiting, with ill-concealed eagerness, Hykell’s next instructions.
Even though all evidence suggested otherwise, he could not believe that he would die. The thought was too overwhelming, too vast to accept. Shaking, he spat at Hykell, “I beheld the truth and your puny Church stands futile before it, a corrupt regime of power-mad zealots who know nothing of the true nature of the universe!”
There, he had said it, and saying it he had certainly signed his death warrant, though the satisfaction that coursed through his being then filled him with euphoria and a feeling almost akin to triumph.
Hykell leaned forward, staring at him, “Do you not fear death, you fool?”
“More than the fear of death, I rejoice in the fact that your Church is doomed. I might die, but I will die in the knowledge that you and everything you represent will be swept away when the people learn the truth.”
Something appeared then in Hykell’s eyes. Was it doubt, even fear? Whatever, Ehrin felt suddenly heartened.
Then Hykell said, “I will take great pleasure in watching you die, Ehrin Telsa.”
And Ehrin tried to laugh, but instead choked on a sob.
Hykell was about to instruct the Inquisitors, but at that second a knock sounded on the timber door. For a heady, hopeless second, Ehrin wondered if the humans had arrived—the humans who had vowed, on leaving him, that they would do all they could to help his cause. Might they have invaded and come to effect a dramatic rescue?
But when Hykell opened the door, Ehrin saw only an armed guard in the corridor outside. They spoke briefly, in low tones, and the effect was immediate and startling.
Hykell swept from the cell, the Inquisitors with him, but not before he turned to Ehrin and said, “We will return, Telsa...” Ehrin felt he was about to say more, issue some grand threat or petty jibe, but the Prelate bit his lip and hurried down the corridor.
The door thundered shut behind them.
Ehrin heard footsteps beyond the door, as guards passed the cell with indecipherable shouts.
He hung his head and closed his eyes. He had been spared death, this time, but knew full well that he had been granted only a stay of execution.
* * * *
2
Sereth approached the mansion where her father lived, fearful of the reception that might be in store. She would have to lie to her father, something she had never done before. She feared that he might see through her fiction, but told herself that that was highly unlikely. He would believe that she had suffered concussion and wandered the ice canals for a week, rather than gone off in some alien inter-world ship, even if prison officers had told him the latter.
She took off her skates, pulled open the door and slowly climbed the stairs to the penthouse suite. She was aware that her physical state would attest to her tale of concussion and amnesia: she had lost weight, and looked thin and bedraggled. Mentally, too, she had suffered. Everything she had believed true and good had been proven to be a lie, and evil. What the Church had done on the homeworld of the Builders... The thought of Elder Cannak’s deception was enough to make her sick.
She had seen the truth, and she knew that everything would be very different from now on.
She reached her father’s rooms and tried the door. It was locked. A part of her was relieved that she would not be forced to face him immediately. She took a key from her pocket and let herself in, then crossed to the window seat and stared out at the darkening city.
More than anything else, she was consumed with guilt. Ehrin had been right all along. The Church was repressive, not a force for good; and there did exist beyond the confines of Agstarn a vast if inexplicable series of worlds. And yet, even though the evidence of her own eyes had told her this, she had betrayed Ehrin and the humans to Elder Cannak.
She wanted to tell Ehrin this, to explain her confusion at the time, in a bid to absolve herself, and yet at the same time she was fearful of his reaction.
She heard slow footsteps on the stairs beyond the door, and straightened herself with apprehension.
The door opened, and the bent, weary figure of Bishop Jaspariot appeared in the doorway. He was hunched within his padded greatcoat, and the sight of the tiny, pathetic figure made Sereth want to cry.
He stopped in his tracks, staring at her with disbelief through his tiny glasses. “Sereth?” It came out as whisper.
“Father!” she said, advancing.
He fell into her arms, and she was amazed and startled at his frailty.
“But I thought... a guard said you were dead, caught in the crossfire.” He sobbed and gripped her.
“I... I was concussed. When I came to my senses, it was night. I didn’t know where I was. I wandered the canals, confused. For a week I stayed in a workers’ hostel... I couldn’t remember my name, where I lived...”
He was shaking his head, hardly taking in her words for the fact of her miraculous survival.
“Thank God!” he cried. “Truly, He rewards the virtuous.”
She hugged him again, so that he could not witness her pained expression.
He pulled away and stroked the fur of her cheek. “I was so fearful, Sereth, my darling. I feared that you were dead, and worse...”
She stared at him. “Worse?”
“One guard said he thought he saw you board the alien’s ship, though he couldn’t be sure. He did see Ehrin Telsa board, though, along with the alien prisoners.”
She gripped his hand. “I was spared that fate,” she said. “But I fear for Ehrin—”
“He was in league with the invaders,” her father interrupted. “He deserves whatever comes to him.”
“Father, I know Ehrin is innocent. He was forced against his will,” she heard herself saying. “He had no say in the matter.”
He was smiling at her. “Well, we shall soon find out, Sereth.”
“Find out? How...?” She trailed off, a horrible suspicion forming.
Her father confirmed it. “Ehrin Telsa was arrested two hours ago. He had returned to Agstarn, no doubt to further aid the aliens in their invasion.”
“No! Ehrin wouldn’t...” Her mind raced. She clutched her father’s frail hands. “I need to see him, father. I must!”
“My child, Ehrin is not the man you knew. His head has been turned by evil ones.”
She said, “I want to see him, father. It is a right of all prisoners, is it not, to receive visitors?”
“Sereth, in the circumstances, I am sure that Prelate Hykell has Ehrin in the securest custody. Visitation is out of the question.”
She seized his shoulders, desperate now. “You must help me. Take me to the penitentiary. You know where Ehrin is imprisoned. Take me there!”
“Child, are you out of your mind?”
She dropped her arms and backed off. “Father, if you refuse me this wish, then... then I will leave, and this time never return. If you do not take me there, then you will never see me again.”
His eyes were moist behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He stared at her forlornly.
“Father, I swear...”
“I can take you to the penitentiary, but it will be of little help to you. They will not allow you to see Ehrin.”
“Take me, father!” She had gripped his shoulders again and was shaking him.
She stopped herself, then almost apologised.
He said, “You are young and foolish, Sereth.”
She wanted to tell him that he was old and foolish, that she had seen more than he might ever conceive possible.
He relented. “I will take you as far as the penitentiary, but it will be in vain.”
She almost dragged him from the room. On the way she found her jacket and pulled it on. At the foot of the stairs she strapp
ed on her skates and opened the door. After the warmth of her father’s rooms, the cold pounced like a vengeful thing. The ice canal was in darkness. Overhead, the grey cloudrace obscured the truth.
She took her father’s hand and tugged him into the canal, and they headed south towards the penitentiary.
She had no idea what she might achieve when she arrived there. Perhaps her father was right, and her mission was futile. But, at least, she would know in her heart that she had tried to see Ehrin... whatever they might do to him.
She remembered Kahran, and choked on a sob.
If she could somehow get word to Ehrin, tell him that she loved him, that she would do all in her power... She tried to blank from her mind the impossibility of the situation.
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