by Jaine Fenn
As for Taro, she was glad he was bonding with Vy, even if she detected an element of denial in his actions. Being in love with Taro didn’t stop her finding him irritating. However, his current frustration with her was understandable; the prescient flash that had convinced her they should act coolly towards each other had been no more than a strong intuition, with that tell-tale sensation of spicy heat at the back of her throat. The problem was that she had so few experiences to compare it to. The flashes had started only a couple of months ago and they were notoriously vague, as Taro had been quick to point out.
She remembered a story that had circulated amongst the unity when she was growing up, about a seer who had tried to use her sight to avoid a terrible outcome. In the end she had inadvertently caused the disaster herself. Nual shuddered again. No doubt human cultures, where prescience was a legend rather than a rare talent, had plenty of tales like that.
She had not told Taro everything she had sensed about the future; she had said nothing of the deepest and darkest of all her insights, the one that might yet affect the whole of human-space. If it became more than an unhelpful foreboding she would share it, but for now it remained, along with certain details of her past, nobody’s business but her own.
She tried to steer her thoughts onto a more positive track. They could be grateful for one thing: as far as she could tell without an invasive scan, the lingua was exactly what she appeared to be. Ain was nervous, but that was only to be expected: she was dealing with someone she thought of as the enemy, and with outsiders whose mere presence could disrupt her entire world. She had not lied, or withheld any information relating to Jarek’s questions, and she felt no personal animosity towards any of them. She really did want to keep the peace and see the visitors happy and safe, just as she claimed – well, actually, she mainly wanted to see them safely gone, but in the meantime, she wanted to minimise the disruption they brought.
Had her talents not been needed to navigate the ship, Nual would never have come to Aleph. And had Taro’s support not been necessary to make the transit, she would have asked him to stay behind. But they were committed to this course; to reclaim a world previously controlled by the Sidhe would be a major blow against the hidden empire.
Lying here brooding was not going to achieve anything. She sat up. The lights remained dim, even when she requested them to brighten. It looked like they didn’t respond to voice commands, though she hadn’t seen any manual controls either. She experienced a sudden pique at having her day controlled like this. It was like being back on the mothership, she thought grimly. As she dressed in the semi-dark she decided that burning off a bit of nervous energy might help. She considered the gym, but didn’t much fancy trying to work out alien exercise equipment in the dark. The pool was out too; she was not a good swimmer at the best of times. Finally she settled on a gentle jog through the gardens; though the ‘sun’ was switched off to simulate night, the paths were well marked by coloured lights.
The garden was silent, and ghostly in the semi-dark. After one lap of the perimeter she augmented her body’s reactions to the exercise, inducing it to produce a higher-than-usual level of mood-positive chemicals while ramping back on adrenalin-based changes that would put her more on edge. She ran another three circuits, by which time sweat trickled down her back, and her breathing was harsh in her ears.
Through exhaustion or distraction, Nual left the gardens by the wrong exit, and found herself in a dining room she thought she recognised. Sure she was near the right area, she carried on, through three more rooms, until she came to a door – a closed door, which did not open when she approached and had no obvious lock. In a habitat with no doors . . . ?
Despite her earlier assumption Nual was no longer so sure she had been to this section of the hab before, and it wasn’t long before she admitted to herself that she was lost. Perhaps she should have asked Ain for a floor-plan.
She reached a dead end, and turned around, picking a slightly different route back. This was getting ridiculous; the hab wasn’t that big. If only the lights would come back on, she would be fine. Surely it must be ‘day’ by now!
She didn’t spot the broken door immediately, as it was half-hidden by draped curtains, but as she got closer she saw the opening in a wall. It looked too small to be a proper door, but when she went up to it, curious, she saw that it was a doorway, and a sliding door had been jammed half-open by what had once been a chair and was now a partially flattened tangle of metal tubes. When she peered through, she saw a very different view: a utilitarian corridor, with more closed doors off it. This had to be the way into the core.
For a moment she considered calling Jarek, then decided that she wanted to have a quick look around by herself first. She reached for the half-crushed chair and gave it an experimental tweak. It was jammed tight; the door was not going to close on it. Even so, she decided to fly rather than climb through. She kicked off, then hesitated. She had best check for other sentiences nearby, just in case. Not that she expected anyone; the lingua was probably still asleep—
There was someone behind her.
She spun round in the air—
—to find Ain, standing on the far side of the room, emanating surprise. Nual curtailed her urge to dominate the lingua and dive straight into her head for answers. Instead she made herself say out loud, ‘What is going on here?’
‘Apologies. A— A problem has occurred.’
‘So I see. What sort of problem?’
‘There is little data. Power distribution has been affected in some places, though life-support is functioning correctly. Many other systems are unavailable.’
Nual could sense that the lingua was scared, trying hard to hold herself together. ‘What are you doing about it?’
‘There— Apologies, but there is little this individual can do. There are no coms, internal or external; however, the missing surveillance feed will have been noted, and the G— someone should arrive soon to aid us. Please be assured that you are safe and secure here.’
The word she’d tried to avoid saying was Gatekeeper – and she was far from sure they were safe. Nual decided not to press the point. ‘We should wake the others.’
‘Affirmative. That is what this individual was about to do.’
‘I may be able to save you a journey.’ Nual raised her hand and activated her com. The call took a moment to connect, which was odd. Despite her concern for Taro, she made herself com Jarek first. His initial sleepy irritation evaporated when she explained the situation. Nual suggested he tell Taro, but Jarek said Taro wasn’t with him; he had last been seen in Vy’s company. ‘I think we’d all feel a lot safer back on board the Heart of Glass,’ he added.
Nual sensed Ain’s dismay at the suggestion, but she ignored it. ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘I will call Taro for you, and meet you there.’
But when she tried to com Taro, she got through to the Heart of Glass’s voicemail: either he was not answering his com or he was out of range.
Forcing herself to stay calm, Nual said to Ain, ‘There is a problem with Taro’s com. We will have to go and get him. Do you know where he is?’
‘The room where he and Vy chose to rest is not far off.’
Ain led Nual through vaguely familiar rooms until they came to the closed door Nual had found earlier. The lingua radiated concern and confusion. ‘This is not right.’
‘You don’t say.’ Nual extended her senses, feeling for presences beyond the closed door, but there was nothing.
She concentrated harder: even a sleeping presence should register, and Taro’s most certainly would, but she couldn’t sense anything.
The lingua opened her mouth to speak, but Nual cut across her. ‘There is no one in there.’
Ain was smart enough not to question Nual’s assertion. ‘Opening the door will not be possible until the power returns fully. A fail-safe must have been tripped.’
‘Then let us go and meet up with Captain Reen.’ Though Nual kept her tone unconc
erned, worry gnawed at her. Where was Taro? She attempted to mentally contact him as they made their way through the hab, but without success.
They were halfway to the ship when the lights came back on. Nual felt Ain’s relief.
‘It appears at least some of the systems have reset,’ said the lingua, ‘This individual will return to the core to check those which still require intervention or repair.’
‘Yes, do that. Unless Captain Reen objects, I’ll head back to the area where Vy and Taro were last seen, in case the door has opened again.’
Jarek agreed they needed to find Taro and Vy, but he also pointed out that the problem with Taro’s com might be originating at the ship – and he wanted to look over the Heart of Glass anyway. ‘The situation is getting a bit too hot for comfort,’ he muttered, meaning: we might have to run away, even without our beacon.
Nual made her way back to the door, but it was still closed, so she began to retrace her steps, this time examining the doorways she passed through. Now she looked closely, she could see about a quarter of them had recesses which might hide sliding doors.
Her com chirped. It was Ain: the internal com system must be up.
‘Urgent request for face-to-face meeting,’ said the lingua. Even through the com’s tiny speaker Nual could hear the strain in her voice.
‘What is it?’
‘This news must be given in person. Please, come to the garden; the glade where— where we spoke yesterday.’
Nual resisted the urge to run or fly; she needed to stay calm. Jarek was waiting for her by the bushes where they had met up on their first foray into the garden.
‘This doesn’t sound good,’ said Jarek tersely.
Nual did not trust herself to comment. Instead she asked, ‘Is the ship all right?’
‘Far as I can tell. I’ll want to check the logs again when Ain’s told us . . . whatever it is she called us here to tell us.’
They continued towards the glade in uneasy silence.
The lingua stood where she had before, under the gold-leafed tree, her mind giving off waves of distress.
‘I am so sorry,’ said Ain.
‘What is it?’ asked Jarek.
‘An accident has occurred. Vy and Taro are both dead. There was nothing that could be done.’
Nual could sense the lingua truly believed that Taro and Vy were dead. But Nual knew it wasn’t true. She would have felt Taro die.
Wouldn’t she?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Although she had become accustomed to a world defined by sound and smell, Ifanna felt the lack of sight keenly when the ox-cart finally reached Dinas Emrys. She would have loved to see the great buildings and crowded thoroughfares the others were oohing and ahhing over. Instead, her impressions of the City of Light were limited to smell and sound: a cacophony of noise, with traders crying their wares, beggars pleading for alms, shoppers haggling, the creaking of many carts, dogs barking, pack animals braying, and the smells of sweat, incense, ordure and fresh bread, mingled with a dozen others she could not identify.
After a while their route steepened; the oxen pulled harder, snorting with effort, and Ifanna felt herself begin to slide towards the back of the cart. As she scrabbled for the backboard, a firm hand came down on her shoulder, holding her fast.
It was said that the massive rock spire of the Tyr rose straight up from the very centre of the city, and the slender silver thread of the Edefyn Arian issued from deep within the heart of that spire. She imagined this unseen wonder now, towering over them, bridging the gap between Creation and the Heavenly realm. Suddenly she was glad of the blindfold; such a sacred vision might be more than her sin-washed soul could bear.
At last the cart stopped. Her feet were unbound and her female companion helped her stand. Someone picked up the rope that trailed from her hands and led her forward. Ahead she could hear someone speaking – it was too far away to hear what was said clearly, but she could make out the voice of the priest. He seemed to be having a minor disagreement with someone whose voice she did not recognise.
After some time the priest came back. ‘There will be a slight delay,’ he announced.
Her guard replied, ‘Is there a problem, Gwas?’
‘Hopefully not. But we should put her back on the cart for now.’
As they did so, Ifanna wondered what would happen if there really was a problem, and she was not to go to the Cariad after all. She could not see them taking her all the way back to Plas Morfren.
Finally someone called the priest over; there was more quiet discussion, and she was led forward. She felt the rope being passed to another pair of hands and a voice she did not recognise told her to start walking.
As she did so the sounds around her changed and the air became cooler. She must have entered the Tyr. She could feel the smooth, chill rock through her thin sandals, and the light that seeped in at the edge of her blindfold was white and cold.
The fear returned; she was surrounded by strangers – worse, by priests – and she suddenly wished for the company of the party from Plas Morfren, even though they had treated her as little better than baggage.
They turned a couple of corners, then stopped, and someone touched her head. Ifanna flinched away before realising that her blindfold was being removed.
She blinked; though the light was not bright, it took a moment for her eyes to focus. She was standing in a passage cut into rock, at the bottom of a set of steps. The strange white light came from globes set in niches in the walls. Her escort consisted of two priests of Mantoliawn, and four monitors. She had seen monitors before, accompanying the tithe-wagon when it visited Nantgwyn, but these men were far more impressive, with feathers in their helmets and midnight-blue-stained armour that shone with oil. The priests’ yellow robes were heavily embroidered and ornamented with metal fragments. One of the priests turned to her and said, ‘Your blindfold was removed to allow you to negotiate the steps. Remain next to me until I instruct you otherwise. ’
Ifanna was still gagged. She nodded to show her understanding, and followed her escort up more stairs and along further passages. They passed other priests and monitors, and some men wearing striped tabards. She saw only one woman, in the distance. Everyone they encountered took great care to ignore her.
They stopped outside a wooden door, and the monitors unbound her hands. The air was cold on her raw wrists. The priest who had first spoken said, ‘Inside this room you will find the means to cleanse and prepare yourself, and suitable clothing for your audience with the Beloved Daughter of Heaven. Someone will return for you in due course.’
The room, which had no other exits, contained a steaming bath, a chair with a soft cream-coloured towel on it and a table loaded with bottles, tubs and pots. For several moments Ifanna just stared at this unlikely outbreak of luxury. Though she knew what a bath was, she had never used one; she had only ever washed in the river, or with a cloth. Yet here she was being offered the chance – no, ordered – to take a bath. She snatched off the gag, then rushed over and knelt by the bath. The water was milky, and soft perfume rose with the steam. When she dipped her hand in the water it stung the sores on her wrist, but she did not care.
She stood, stripped off and climbed in. For now, she decided as she ran her hands through her hair, teasing out tangles and filth, I am an animal. I live from moment to moment. And this moment is good.
She would have liked to stay in the bath longer, but the water was growing scummy and cold, and the priest was bound to return soon. Reluctantly, she got out. Underneath the towel she found a white robe of unusually fine fabric, somewhat short, and lacking in sleeves; there was no under-tunic, and no scarf for her head. She dried, dressed, and combed out her hair. As well as the containers she had seen before, the table held a polished metal disc with a long handle: a mirror, another luxury she had heard of but never seen. She lifted the mirror and stared at the unfamiliar face it showed. It was far clearer than the occasional reflections she had glimpsed in wa
ter. She put the mirror down and examined the containers. They held cosmetics, such as she had seen rich women wear during star-season in Plas Morfren; Ifanna smelled them, and dipped her finger in the pots, but she had no idea how to apply them, so in the end she put them down again.
She did not consider trying the door; even if she had dared, she had heard the priest lock it. She did consider praying, before deciding that it would not be appropriate, given she was merely an animal now. She would live as best she could until death came and made an end of her. She sat on the chair to wait.
After a while, the door opened and a priest beckoned her out. She emerged to find a far larger group than her original escort – which included, she suddenly saw, a girl of her own age, dressed as she was. She smiled at the girl, and received a tight smile in response. The other girl had used the little pots: her pale skin contrasted sharply with eyelids that sparkled deep green and lips as red as ripe fruit.
The priests and monitors were conferring, and not watching their charges closely. The other girl muttered, ‘What kind of fool are you then, peasant?’
Ifanna, who had been hoping for an ally, was taken aback. ‘One with a civil tongue in my head,’ she hissed back. Her response shocked the girl into silence, and Ifanna took the opportunity to ask, ‘Why do you call me a fool anyway?’