Tetrarch (Well of Echoes)

by Ian Irvine

  ‘What do you think?’ She held out her glass for more brandy.

  ‘I’d say they are too bitter to negotiate. Bitter that the Charon kept them as slaves on their own world. Doubly bitter that since the Forbidding was broken their world has become uninhabitable. I hear they blame us, which is a worry. We have no answer to their constructs, and maybe the lyrinx don’t either. We’re both weak after so much war. The Aachim are strong. What they choose to do will decide the fate of the world.’

  ‘So how important is our work? Really?’

  ‘Finding out what happened to the node is vital.’

  ‘Then why don’t we do that first?’

  ‘Because without crystal this entire manufactory, and the others we supply with controllers, are useless. If we can’t produce them, my head will soon be hanging over the gate and a new scrutator will take over. You would be out within a week. You’re tainted, Irisis.’

  ‘Who would the new scrutator be?’

  ‘I can’t talk about things like that. However, I can tell you one thing – I was premature to write off Nish’s father. Perquisitor Jal-Nish Hlar has fought back from his injuries. He will always be a horror to look at, he will always be in pain, but that has only hardened his ambition. He still wants to be scrutator and there’s only one way he can get there. Over my maimed and mutilated body.’

  She wrapped her arms around herself. It felt as if something had just scuttled over her coffin and was clawing at the lid, trying to get in. ‘Were you ever friends?’

  ‘No. I was his mentor for a time, but that was terminated by mutual agreement. Jal-Nish is too ambitious, and ambitious people can’t be trusted. They’re always looking out for themselves.’

  ‘Coming from someone who has been scrutator for thirty years, that’s a bit rich!’

  ‘I was made scrutator because I was better at what I did than anyone else. I never wanted to be on the Council, though having got there, I cling to it because I know what happens once you let go. I still think I can do the job better than anyone else, in spite of the last few months. Ah, it’s hot in here. You don’t mind if I take off my shirt, do you?’

  ‘I’ve seen your chest before,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I don’t expect to lose control.’

  He pulled it over his head, revealing a scarred and sinewy torso that looked as though all the flesh had been gouged out from under the skin.

  ‘I wonder about you,’ she said, fascinated. He was ugly but not grotesque. The scrutator was such a likeable man, once you got to know him, that his appearance became irrelevant.

  ‘People do.’

  ‘Who did such terrible things to you?’

  He emptied his glass but did not answer.

  She held out the bottle. ‘More?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve a job to do later on and I’ll need my wits for it. The Council of Scrutators did this to me. At least, it was done at their command.’

  ‘Why would they torture their own?’ she said, appalled.

  ‘I was not scrutator then. I was a perquisitor; a young and handsome one, rising fast. I became too full of myself, and too curious. As you know, the scrutators have the best spy network in the land. We pride ourselves on knowing everything, though of course there’s no such thing as perfect knowledge. I was too clever. I pored over what everyone else had looked at, and saw something no one else had seen. I saw a pattern. People had been a little careless.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  He rubbed his chest, pointedly. ‘Do you really want to know?’

  She did not. She sipped. He reached for the bottle, drew back, then filled his glass after all. They sat in a companionable silence, listening to the crackling of the fire.

  ‘It was about our master,’ he said, now slurring just a little.

  ‘The Council of Scrutators?’

  ‘No, our real master. The Numinator.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘No one knows who the Numinator is, but be assured, there is a power behind the Council, working to its own purpose. It may not care who wins the war. It may have manipulated everything that’s happened since the Council was formed.’

  ‘The Numinator?’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘Don’t mention that name again! It’s a death certificate. I must have had more brandy than I thought.’ Suddenly he looked frail and rather vulnerable, which she found strangely endearing.

  ‘I’ve also had more than is good for me,’ she said, moving close. She traced the scars on his chest with a fingertip. ‘You must have suffered so.’

  ‘I did,’ he said, ‘and would rather not be reminded of it. Besides, you have also felt the lash.’

  ‘And I have the scars to prove it, though they are nothing like yours.’

  ‘I’m sure they are.’

  ‘Would you like to see them?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I would.’

  She unbuttoned her shirt, pulled it off and draped it over the back of the chair. Irisis had a magnificent bosom, though the rest of her did not put it to shame.

  His eyes passed over her, and again. Finally he said in a hoarse voice, ‘I see no scars.’

  She turned her back. The creamy skin was marked across with welts that, even after half a year, had a purple tinge. He laid a hard hand on her back, quite gently. A shiver went up her neck.

  ‘I’ve seen enough,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of your back, I meant.’

  She turned around.

  ‘Would you like to see the rest of my scars?’ he said.

  ‘That depends.’

  He raised his forehead-wide eyebrow. ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether every part of you is as emaciated as your chest.’

  He took off his trousers.

  Irisis considered him thoughtfully. ‘Am I the job for which you needed your wits about you?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘You’re not the handsomest of men, scrutator, nor the youngest. What gave you the idea that I would be interested?’

  ‘I told you. We scrutators pride ourselves on knowing everything.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Well, thought Irisis, smiling to herself after Flydd had gone to sleep. The things they teach you in scrutator school! Easing out of bed, she looked down at him. They must have appeared quite the oddest couple, when they were at it, for he was her opposite in every physical respect. Tucking the blankets around him, she dressed, went to the bathing room and after that to her own room, but not to sleep.

  Her room was small, dark and airless, like every chamber in the manufactory, and even after all this time she found it confining. As a child of the wealthy House of Stirm she’d had a room bigger than some people’s homes, with views of meadow, lake and forest. Having been surrounded with beautiful things, the profound ugliness of this place was a drain upon her soul. Her work was, too. Irisis had always wanted to be a jeweller but her family would not hear of it. For four generations they had been crafters or better, and it was her duty to raise them back to the pedestal they had slipped from.

  Irisis hated them for it, but with the world at war she had no choice. Family and Histories were everything to her and she could not go against them. She had become an artisan, and was now crafter, but her mother demanded more. She must rise to chanic, the pinnacle of the artisan’s profession. Irisis was going to, though not for herself. She still planned to be a jeweller once the war was over.

  Her gaze wandered the walls, which were decorated with things she had made in her spare time, mostly miniatures created of silver, plentiful here, and semi-precious gems. They gave her more pleasure than anything she had done as an artisan. It was a canker in her soul. Many women in the manufactory wore jewellery she had made, which was remarkably fine. But making jewellery did not aid the war, and the war had to come first. She understood that, and accepted it, but it was not enough.

  Irisis sighed and turned her mind to duty. The mountain might be full of crysta
l but not even Ullii could sense it through a league of rock. However, if the miners could get her close enough, Ullii would see the crystals like plums in a pudding, and then it would just be a matter of mining them out.

  The failing nodes were another matter. Finding out what had gone wrong with them was vital to the war, and for the scrutator to have given her the job meant that he was unhappy with the work of the other teams.

  But I don’t know enough, Irisis thought. I don’t know anything about nodes, except that’s where the field comes from. This is a job for a mancer, not an artisan, and I’m neither. I can’t do it.

  It became clear, as the night wore on, that she really only had one option. She must go to the scrutator and confess.

  She knocked on his door at six in the morning, carrying a loaded tray.

  ‘Yes?’

  She put the tray on the bed, since his table was littered with work. Flydd laid the pen aside, rubbed his temples and sniffed appreciatively.

  ‘That smells nice. I’ll bet a bottle of last night’s brandy you didn’t get it from the refectory.’

  ‘I made it,’ she said. ‘Specially.’

  He gave her a keen stare, picked up the tray and placed it on his maps and papers. He took the cloth off to reveal freshly baked buns, a piece of grilled fish, still hot, and a bowl of ginger tea.

  ‘Will you join me?’ He indicated the other chair.

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.’ That was a lie, but she did not want to share food with him. It would make it even harder.

  ‘All the more for me.’ He broke a piece of pink flesh from the fish with his eating sticks and ate it with relish. ‘Very good!’ He tore a bun in half. ‘Is there nothing you can’t do well, Irisis?’

  She did not answer, just sat watching, enjoying his pleasure in the meal. He sipped his tea, stirred honey into it with a crooked finger and looked up at her.

  ‘Of course I know you want something, crafter. What is it?’

  The lump in her stomach felt like a pumpkin. She caught his eye and for once had to look away. She liked the man; they had been lovers. How could she let him down like this? But then, how could she not tell him? He had to know.

  ‘I want to confess. No, that’s not true. I have to confess. I cannot bear it any longer.’

  He considered his plate, selecting a choice morsel of fish, and licked his lips. How could he be so casual?

  ‘Confess, Irisis? You surprise me. What can you possibly have to confess to me?’

  It burst out of her. ‘I’m a fraud, scrutator. I can’t draw power from the field. I lost the talent when I was a child of four and I’ve never been able to get it back. I’ve been lying and cheating ever since. I can’t do the job and I can’t possibly help you see into the node and find out what’s gone wrong with it.’

  ‘But you do do the job, Irisis. This manufactory produces the best controllers in the east, and more quickly than most. The Council is rather pleased with your work.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Besides, we know you have drawn power. You did it up on the high plateau when the clanker controllers had to be re-tuned to that strange double node. Fyn-Mah told me so.’

  ‘That was … Ullii showed me the way, surr.’

  ‘I don’t answer to “surr” from my lover, Irisis.’

  ‘Xervish –’ The name felt wrong; she could hardly bring herself to use it. ‘It was Ullii’s doing, Xervish. She showed me the path and power just flooded from the field. I could not have done it on my own.’

  ‘But I’m sending Ullii with you to the node. Where is the problem?’

  ‘I’m not what I’m supposed to be.’

  ‘None of us are what we’re supposed to be. I’m a pragmatic man. It’s the result that counts. You worked well with the seeker so I trust you will again, artisan.’

  ‘I don’t answer to artisan from my lover, Xervish.’

  ‘I’m sorry. The scrutator in me.’

  ‘I prefer the other meaning,’ she said wickedly.

  He smiled. ‘Ah, yes. Very good. Might …’ He hesitated, unsure of himself for once. ‘Might there be further opportunities in that regard, do you think?’

  She pretended to consider it, blank-faced. Her eyes met his. ‘I’m mindful that we each have a duty to perform, Xervish.’

  ‘I prefer the other meaning,’ he grinned.

  ‘Er, I’m not sure I take your point, Xervish.’

  ‘You will, later! A duty, to perform!’

  She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, listening to the clacking of his eating sticks. The scrutator was a noisy eater and drank his tea with loud, appreciative slurps. It did not bother her; that was good manners in the country he came from.

  She felt very tired. Irisis had not slept all night, and sparring with Flydd was emotionally exhausting. What was more, it still had not solved the problem.

  ‘Another thing, Xervish.’

  He gulped the last of the bowl, wiped his mouth on the cloth and swung around. ‘You’re thinking that you don’t know enough about nodes. That this is really mancer’s work and you can’t do it.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘You won’t be going alone,’ said Flydd.

  ‘Who will be going with me?’

  ‘I’ll let you know when the time comes.’

  Irisis was not at her best that day. They were now surveying on the eighth level. She was desperately tired and not up to dealing with a fractious, childlike Ullii who suffered constant headaches and would curl up in the dark at the least provocation. The miners, a rough lot at the best of times, were having trouble restraining their tempers. They were bitter about the loss of the reward, more so that the enemy had infiltrated their mine, not to mention anxious at the danger of working beneath such unstable rock. Dandri had already shouted at Ullii twice. If it happened again, it would put paid to any useful seeking for the rest of the day.

  ‘This is hopeless,’ Irisis said to Peate as they trudged down another tunnel so narrow that the sides scraped against her shoulders. ‘Isn’t there any way to tell where to look for crystal?’

  ‘The veins wander where they want to. And often, in this mine, the best veins are in the most dangerous areas. Like –’ He looked away down the tunnel.

  Irisis sensed that there was something she was not being told, or shown. They seemed to have been going around in a circle.

  ‘Could I see the map of this level, please?’

  ‘That’s miner’s business,’ he muttered, rolling it up.

  She put out her hand.

  He held the map behind his back. ‘You have no right? Anyway, you’d never understand it.’

  ‘Would you like me to get an order from the scrutator?’ she said coldly.

  ‘Just give her the blasted map, Peate!’ shouted Dandri, and marched off into the darkness.

  Peate’s arm dropped to his side. He did not offer her the map, nor resist when she took it. His face had assumed that mulish expression she had seen so often on miners over the years.

  The map was, of course, perfectly comprehensible. The tunnels were marked with double lines whose width varied according to the size of the tunnel. Shafts were shown with circles; arrows indicated whether they went up or down. Markings along the sides of the tunnel were in symbols she did not understand, though she presumed they described the character of the rock and the sources of ore or crystal. The places Ullii had surveyed, fruitlessly, were marked in red. The red marks formed an irregular ‘U’ shape around a central core of tunnels.

  ‘We’ve not been in this area at all,’ she said to the miner.

  ‘Too dangerous,’ said Peate.

  ‘Is that what these black jags show? Bad rock?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘I’d still like to go in there.’

  He threw down his pick. ‘Then you can go alone!’

  ‘I will. Give me your lantern.’

  He passed it to her, Irisis called Ullii and led her away. Around the corner, she s
aid to the seeker, ‘We must go down here. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ullii. ‘We can go anywhere you want.’

  ‘You’re not afraid to go without the miners?’

  ‘Don’t like Peate. He is an angry man.’

  ‘The rock is bad down here,’ said Irisis. ‘It might fall and kill us.’

  ‘I know you’ll look after me.’

  Irisis sighed. ‘Let’s get to work.’

  ‘Nothing here either?’ said Irisis about six hours later. The silent darkness of the mine was getting to her. She had been edgy from the moment she’d entered.

  Ullii shook her head. ‘Head hurts. Want to go home.’

  ‘Let’s just look around the corner first.’

  Irisis trudged off. Ullii plodded after her. It was no wonder the seeker’s head was aching; the air was really bad down here. It had a faintly sulphurous smell, overlain by the odour of stagnant water, though the map showed no water on the eighth level. Where could it be coming from?

  Around the corner the tunnel narrowed between two bosses of massive white quartz, free of any kind of crystal. Irisis held her lantern out. Ahead she could see only sheared pink granite in walls and roof. Wet mounds of crumbled rock, nearly waist high, partly blocked the tunnel. The roof must be really unstable. Water dripped all the way along.

  ‘Well, that’s one place we’re definitely not going.’ Turning away, Irisis rotated the half-shuttered lantern so it would not dazzle Ullii.

  The seeker slipped by her and went up to the obstruction, staring into the dark and sniffing. Irisis kept going. Ullii needed no light; in fact, she could employ her seeker’s talent better without it.

  Irisis had been walking for some five minutes before realising that Ullii was not behind her. She held the lantern up. There was no sign of the seeker. No point yelling or cursing her, that would only make things worse. Irisis returned to the roof fall. Ullii was not there, though there was a small print in the clayey muck.

  ‘Ullii,’ she called, not too loudly.

  Grit sifted down from a crack in the roof. Irisis felt afraid. Rotten wet rock was far more perilous than dry stuff. She squeezed through the gap, scraping breasts that were still tender from the previous night, and edged forward. A flat piece of granite detached itself from the roof, landing with a plop in front of her. Irisis shuddered and kept going.