Tetrarch (Well of Echoes)

by Ian Irvine

  Jumping down between the boulders, he put his shoulder under the basket and heaved. It moved a fraction but jammed again. He tried the other side. The edge of the basket dug painfully into his shoulder. The basket scraped along the rock, then stopped.

  The balloon was now as round as a globe and the ropes that held it to the basket were taut. It was ready to lift. Scrambling up the side, he shook the basket. It moved but did not free.

  The lyrinx were descending rapidly now. The witch-woman was just fifty paces away. She threw out her arm, pointing at him.

  Nish ducked. Golden sparkles burst in his eyes but he was otherwise unharmed. The witch-woman clutched at her chest as if in pain, then tottered forward. Nish shook the basket and felt something give. It lifted a handspan before jamming again.

  If only he had a branch; anything to use as a lever. ‘Come on,’ he screamed, shaking it. ‘Just move!’

  It did not. The witch-woman plodded around the boulders to come at him from the other side. She looked distressed. Nish wished a heart attack on the old fool.

  ‘Give up the crystal, artificer,’ she called.

  ‘Be damned!’ he snarled, ducking behind the basket for a rock.

  She put out her hand, fingers hooked as if she were holding an egg, and slowly closed them. It was as though they had closed about his throat. Nish could not breathe. His face began to swell; his tongue was forced out through his lips. He gave a grunting squeal, which was answered by a moan from inside the basket.

  Tiaan began to climb the rock. She had a length of metal in one hand. With a tremendous effort of will, he tore away from the Matah’s illusion and gasped a breath of air.

  ‘Ullii,’ he choked. ‘Save me.’

  Ullii’s head appeared over the side of the basket, bobbing up and down. ‘Don’t know what to do,’ she quavered.

  ‘Throw something at the witch-woman. Try to knock her out.’ He groped for his knife.

  Ullii hurled out her half-filled bag of pencil-stone, which flew wide, scattering black lumps everywhere.

  ‘Not the fuel!’ he screamed. ‘Haven’t you got a brain in your head?’

  The seeker moaned. Then, to Nish’s horror, her chest pack, with its infinitely precious amplimet, soared out of the basket and struck the witch-woman in the face, knocking her down.

  The pressure on his throat eased but before he could move Tiaan threw herself at him. He swiped at her but his knife was in the wrong hand and the blow missed. Tiaan thrust out the metal rod. He yelped, thinking she was going for his groin, but the rod went between his knees. She wrenched it sideways, his left knee collapsed and he toppled off the rock.

  The fall seemed to take a long time. Nish thought he was going to land on his head, then his back. As he tumbled over, he realised that the knife was pointing up and he was likely to impale himself on it. He twisted in mid-air, slammed into the ground and felt a burning pain in his side.

  He rolled over, groaning. Wetness flooded his shirt. A few steps away, the witch-woman was on her knees. Tiaan hurled herself on the pack. With a cry of triumph, she held up the amplimet.

  Ullii wept. Nish groaned. His eyes met Tiaan’s, then slid sideways to where the wings of the descending lyrinx darkened the sky.

  ‘Enjoy your triumph!’ he gritted. ‘It won’t last long.’

  ‘Nor your tragedy,’ said Tiaan. ‘Goodbye, Nish. I hope we never meet again.’

  ‘We will,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, we will, artisan. Traitor!’

  He hauled himself onto the rock. Tiaan was helping the witch-woman up the hill. Near the point where he had first seen them, they stopped, their backs to a jagged outcrop, and prepared to defend themselves.

  Two lyrinx came gliding down in spirals. Was it better to flee, or hang around in case the battle gave him a chance to recover the crystal?

  The first seconds dashed that hope. The witch-woman held out her arms and another of those shining bubbles, a huge one this time, burst forth to explode against the chest of the leading lyrinx. The creature seemed to freeze in mid-air, rolled and landed on its back. The second flapped away. He could not see the third.

  Nish had seen enough. The witch-woman was too strong. The crystal was lost. He shook the basket and it moved up. Climbing in, he took hold of the balloon ropes and pulled down hard. It came a little way and rebounded. The ropes snapped taut and with a tearing of cane the basket slid out. They were away.

  At last they were free of the heavy earth, where every step was a labour and the smallest river an impassable barrier. Up here, Nish felt in control of his life again. He did not have Tiaan, nor the crystal, but he had done the best he could. Most important of all, he had warned the scrutator about the invasion. Nish settled back. Just for a few minutes he was going to enjoy the ride.

  The balloon shot up. Well above the level of the glacier, a strong wind pushed it away from the mountain, to the west. Nish frowned. He wanted to go east. Perhaps he should go down again, in some isolated place, and wait for a wind that would carry them the right way. That could be a long wait at this time of year. He reached for the release rope.

  ‘No!’ cried Ullii, holding her hands over her ears. ‘No, no!’

  She was turning round and round, facing up at the sky. Her hands batted at the air; then, to his utter astonishment, she tore off the mask, exposing her naked eyes to the daylight. They were watering so much that pink tears ran down her cheeks.

  ‘Noooo!’ she screamed.

  The third lyrinx had remained high up, on watch. Now it soared effortlessly after them. It was smaller than the others, no larger than a big man. Its outer, armoured skin was so transparent that he could see the more human inner skin beneath. It looked delicate, almost fragile, until Nish caught sight of the finger-long, extended claws.

  Blood trickled down his side and Nish felt a momentary dizziness. Clutching one of the ropes, he stared at the approaching lyrinx. How would it attack? The basket was difficult to get at from the air; the creature would not want to risk tangling itself in the ropes.

  Perhaps it would swoop down and come at them from below, or even try to knock him out with the Secret Art. All flying lyrinx were mancers – that was how they kept their massive bodies aloft. More lyrinx have died trying to fly on our heavy world than have been killed in the war, he recalled Scrutator Flydd saying. If he could distract it in some way he might have a chance.

  Nish held out his sword, which made him feel better. He weighed the rope in his hand, balancing on the balls of his feet. The creature would have a harder job than it thought.

  He was wrong. The lyrinx had no intention of attacking him. It altered course, darted for the side of the balloon and, with a single swipe of its claws, tore through the fabric.

  Air hissed out. The balloon plunged toward the rocks, far below.

  Ullii stopped screaming.

  SIX

  Are you all right?’ Tiaan yelled as the second lyrinx lunged towards them. Backing under the overhanging rock, she whacked at it with her rod. The lyrinx retreated a step. She held no threat but it was wary of Malien.

  Malien was breathing hard. ‘I’ve not used the Art to defend myself in two hundred years. Just give me a minute.’

  Lowering her head, she took several deep breaths. ‘After the last time, I swore I would devote myself to peace. You have undone all that in a day.’

  ‘I’m sorry –’ Tiaan began.

  ‘Hush! I’m not blaming you.’

  Malien peered out from under the rock. The first lyrinx still lay on its back, one leg moving feebly. The other was three or four paces away, standing with wings spread, watching them. It was a massive creature, many times Tiaan’s weight, and all of it bone and muscle. The armoured skin plates made it difficult to attack, even with sword or spear. The large mouth was agape, revealing hundreds of grey teeth. Its eyes, under prominent brow ridges, shone with intelligence. Beautiful colours shimmered across its chameleon skin, iridescent blues, greens and reds. Skin-speech: used for communication,
to frighten enemies, and sometimes just for the joy of it.

  ‘Even three would not have troubled me when I was in my prime,’ Malien muttered. ‘Of course, that was a long time ago and this is a poor place to defend. If there are more of them around, we can’t hold out. We’ve got to get back inside.’

  ‘They’ll just come after us,’ said Tiaan.

  ‘Tirthrax has defences. Keep an eye out for the third lyrinx.’

  Edging out from under the shelf, Tiaan scanned the sky. She saw the creature at once, swooping toward the balloon, which was now just a small black teardrop in the western sky.

  ‘What’s it doing?’ she said as lyrinx and balloon merged. The balloon fell out of the sky and disappeared. The lyrinx turned back towards them.

  Tiaan felt sick. For all her hatred of Nish, she did not want him to die that way. Nor Ullii, who seemed harmless and had been kind to her. ‘It’s torn open the balloon. Now it’s on its way back.’

  ‘Flying drains them. We’d better move before they recover. Give me the rod.’

  Tiaan passed it to her. Malien slid her hands back and forth along it, and Tiaan felt the hairs on her arms rise up. Malien pressed forward, holding the rod out toward the standing lyrinx. A silver bead formed at the end, swelling and glowing like molten glass on the end of a glassblower’s tube. When the bead was about the size of a melon, she thrust it at the lyrinx.

  The creature clapped its hands together. The globe broke out in bright speckles, like metal filings sprinkled into a fire. Malien’s neck sinews stood up. The lyrinx went rigid, straining to overcome an invisible force. Malien muttered under her breath. The globe burst and the lyrinx went tumbling backwards down the slope.

  She fell to her knees, dropping the rod. ‘That hurt,’ she gasped. ‘How are we doing?’

  Tiaan picked the rod up. ‘The lyrinx isn’t moving but I don’t think it’s dead. The flying one will be here in a minute or two.’

  ‘No, it’s not dead. I’m not a killer, Tiaan. Give me a hand.’

  They made their way up the slope, Malien’s weight heavy on Tiaan’s shoulder. The flying lyrinx began to circle around them. Tiaan stopped abruptly.

  ‘What is it?’ Malien asked.

  ‘I know her.’ Tiaan was staring at the transparent-skinned creature. ‘Her name is Liett. She was one of the lyrinx at Kalissin; a flesh-former.’ That roused unpleasant memories.

  ‘What will she do?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Tiaan said. ‘I spent three months as their prisoner, but I knew little more about them at the end. Though …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They are deadly in battle, but when you get to know them … I found them to be honourable creatures.’

  ‘That’s encouraging,’ said Malien, ‘yet I can’t say I want to get to know them.’

  They watched the circling lyrinx, which now turned and flapped towards the two fallen ones. ‘She’s given up.’

  ‘They know where we are. They can come back at any time, with an army.’

  The lyrinx did not attack again, though as Tiaan and Malien made the weary climb up the mountain, Tiaan twice saw Liett circling high above. After they passed into Tirthrax, Liett flew east.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Tiaan asked as they rested in the entrance.

  Malien unwrapped a food packet. ‘Have some filuvior.’

  Tiaan took a chunk of something that looked like green, crumbly cheese but dissolved smoothly in the mouth. It had a taste she could not put words to, a combination of aromatic, creamy and acrid. Her mouth tingled afterwards but she did feel better.

  ‘What is this stuff, Malien?’

  ‘A tonic for exhaustion, body or mind.’

  She took another piece. Tiaan did too.

  ‘This level of the city is undefendable,’ Malien went on. ‘And that’s a pity, because there are things here I would sooner the enemy never saw, not least of them the wrecked constructs. Fortunately I can seal off the upper and lower entrances. We have greater treasures there. I wonder what brought the lyrinx here?’ She looked questioningly at Tiaan.

  ‘The amplimet, I expect. They can track such things.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Malien said sharply.

  ‘At the manufactory, when I was an artisan …’ Memories of her lost life came rushing back and for a moment Tiaan could not speak. ‘The enemy were locating our clankers from afar, and we could not tell how. I discovered that they could sense the aura given off by a working crystal.’

  ‘How? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’

  ‘I was never sure. They used something that resembled a large, leathery mushroom. I don’t know whether they made it, grew it or –’

  ‘Flesh-formed it,’ Malien said, with an uncharacteristic shiver. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I developed a way of shielding crystals from them.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I wrapped the crystals in gold foil, sealed them tight and covered everything with pitch. That cut off the aura and prevented the crystals being sabotaged by heat, too.’ She looked away. ‘I miss my work.’

  ‘What a remarkable young woman you are,’ said Malien. ‘I wish –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No matter.’

  Malien activated sentinels – squat black cones – at the entrances to the lower and upper levels. Tiaan’s eyes lingered on the broken constructs as they went by. The design, and the workmanship, was magnificent. Were they powered by the field, as clankers were, or did they draw on an entirely different source? She wanted to get inside one and find out. Tiaan really missed her craft.

  They went up. It was not far, now that Tiaan knew the way, but they had to climb eight long swirling flights of stairs, one after another. By the last, the old woman was shaking.

  ‘This day has been rather too much for me. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Malien went into her room and closed the door.

  Tiaan had a drink of water and sat down until her heart stopped hammering. She was overcome by a deep melancholy. Such a small decision to care about Minis, such mighty consequences. Was the world already at war with the Aachim? Were innocent people being slaughtered while she sat here in luxury?

  Tiaan sprang out of the chair. She felt a mad urge to hurt herself, to make herself suffer as a way of connecting with Haani. Flinging the door open, she hurtled up the stairs to Malien’s lookout, rejoicing in the ache in her side. She slapped the opener with her palm. The glass wall slid back and Tiaan pushed out into the gale.

  The balcony was icy. Tiaan slipped, cracking her shin against the stone seat. Limping to the edge, she looked over. The air was perfectly clear, the distant peaks like etchings on glass. A low sun glinted bronze off the ice sheet.

  The view was magical but Tiaan could not see it, any more than Malien did in the hours she spent here every day. Malien looked across the void to Aachan, the ancestral world her people had been cut off from thousands of years ago. Now they would never return. The small, cold globe that was Aachan was no longer habitable. They were forever exiles.

  As was she. By the time the red sun plunged into a lake of mist, Tiaan was practically frozen to the seat.

  ‘What the blazes do you think you’re doing?’

  Malien was shaking her. Tiaan could see nothing, and for an instant of horror thought her eyes must have frozen solid. The Aachim picked crusted snow off her eyelids, rubbed them with a warm palm and Tiaan’s eyes cracked open.

  Back down below, her fingers wrapped around a mug of a custardy-thick, sweet red drink, Tiaan began to feel rather foolish. The emotions that had taken her outside felt alien now.

  ‘I suppose …’ she said haltingly, ‘I was punishing myself.’

  ‘What a stupid thing to do! If you have done harm, do something to make up for it.’

  Tiaan sipped her drink. Malien was right. She must do something, but what? Maybe she should try to get back to the manufactory and resume her artisan’s work.

  Malien was turning the pages of a smal
l book bound in yellow calf, though not reading it.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ said Tiaan.

  Malien laid the book to one side. ‘I cannot tell you what a shock it was to hear of the gate, and see those constructs. Arrogance was ever an Aachim failing, and so many constructs, and such power, would breed hubris in the meekest of breasts. Vithis is a type I know well – a brilliant, blind fool. After the loss of world and clan, he will not compromise. He has suffered – why should others not suffer equally? We have had many such leaders in our Histories, but all looked backwards to a time when we were great, while knowing that such times were past.

  ‘Vithis is different. Having lost everything that mattered, nothing can moderate him, and now he has the opportunity of a lifetime. With his mighty force, the most powerful ever assembled, he comes to a world ruined by war. What will he do?’

  ‘Take it,’ Tiaan said softly. ‘But … we are all humankind. Maybe he will ally with us to defeat the lyrinx.’

  ‘I would,’ said Malien, ‘but why would Vithis? Many Aachim think of you old humans as primitive, even sub-human, and from what you say of him Vithis holds to that view. He may prefer to let the lyrinx win, or even side with them to destroy humanity.’

  Tiaan’s blood congealed. ‘He would not,’ she whispered. ‘He could not.’

  ‘Look at your own Histories, Tiaan. The more advanced races, or the more powerful nations, have wiped out hundreds of the lesser.’

  ‘But humanity has a great and ancient civilisation. How could anyone think …?’

  ‘Look to your Histories, I say.’

  Tiaan could not countenance it. That Vithis might destroy humanity, and all its culture and Histories, as carelessly as one might kill a cockroach, was incomprehensible.

  ‘And nothing can be done about it?’ she said in a daze.

  ‘I wouldn’t say nothing,’ said Malien. ‘Vithis must have weaknesses as well as strengths.’

  ‘I saw none, apart from clan rivalry.’