Tetrarch (Well of Echoes)

by Ian Irvine

SIXTY

  Tiaan dreamed that Old Hyull, a glowing mushroom on his head, was stripping her backbone out from its surrounding skin and flesh, smacking his lips as he slurped down the slippery marrow. She woke squirming with horror, but it was only a dream and a ridiculous one. Backbones did not have marrow, did they? Or was it her spinal cord he was devouring?

  Later she woke in what she supposed to be a different kind of patterner, hanging upside down in a collection of translucent spheres as green as grass. She felt blurred in the head, as if she’d had too much to drink. It wore off during the day but her back began to throb low down, where she had broken it. The pain grew until it made her cry out, whereupon Liett pulled her mouth open and forced in half a mug of sweet syrup. It sent Tiaan to sleep within minutes. When she woke, the pain was no more than a nagging ache. She felt that days had passed.

  Tiaan kept expecting Tutor to appear around the door, but he did not come. She had not seen him for days and missed him.

  That afternoon she was taken to another room and put onto a curving platform covered in what felt like hide. It was mottled in shades of grey and was yielding yet firm beneath. Her hands were slid into receptacles like shoulder-length gloves, her legs fed into thigh-high envelopes of similar material. Suckers were attached to the back of her head, her neck and all the way down to her tailbone.

  Ryll tightened leather straps across her body and nodded at a lyrinx standing to one side. She reached beneath Tiaan’s head. The thigh envelopes began to move in constantly changing directions. Sometimes they went up and down, at other times round and round or from side to side, or made all of those movements at once.

  Tiaan cried out as a series of pangs struck her backbone. Liett gave her a half-dose of syrup and her vision faded. People moved across the room from time to time, so slowly that it could not have been real. Time slowed to a standstill.

  The exercises went on until Tiaan felt as though her bones were dissolving. She was removed and laid out to sleep on a couch at the far end of the room. As soon as she woke, the exercises began again.

  There were many more sessions, over as much as a week, before Old Hyull seemed to be satisfied. Ryll carried Tiaan back to the patterner. The jellyfish mask went over her head and they began to repattern the faulty torgnadr. Again she woke weeping. The top of the device was beaded with her tears.

  Tutor was sent for. He dried her face and sat unmoving until she stopped crying. ‘Patterning had the same effect on me.’

  She raised her head. ‘They patterned you?’

  He smiled. ‘They tried everyone, back in the early days when they were learning. They thought torgnadrs were going to win the war in a few weeks, by draining the nodes each time clankers went into battle. They probably would have won, had they been able to pattern enough of them. Fortunately for us, nearly all failed. The lyrinx got no torgnadr out of me, but I cried for a fortnight. I can still remember how it felt.’

  ‘When was that, Tutor?’ The title still felt wrong. She did not like using it.

  ‘A long time ago. Five or six years? You lose track of time down here.’

  She felt closer to him. Tutor was a nondescript fellow, neither tall nor short, handsome nor ugly. He was thin, but every human here was. And pale; few of the prisoners ever saw the sun. His dark eyes were kindly, his brow lined. His hand was callused – evidently they worked him hard and not only as a teacher.

  ‘This torgnadr of mine, if they succeed with it, will cause the deaths of thousands. Are all these people in the patterners –?’

  ‘No, Tiaan. I told you, torgnadrs are hard to make. The others are just patterning weak devices like limnadrs and phynadrs, and most of those fail too.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Limnadrs are spying devices. They can sense moving clankers, though not well, since the design was changed last year. Phynadrs draw small amounts of power from the field, for one purpose or another. They’re a bit like clanker controllers. I think they got a limnadr out of patterning me. Because of my gift for languages, you see – useful for spying.’

  ‘Yes. Do you mind if I call you Merryl? Tutor seems like a slave name.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Before he could say any more, Merryl was called away.

  He came back several times, when she was overcome by melancholy. They did not talk much but she drew comfort from his presence. The other humans felt alien but he never did.

  Tiaan wondered, as she often did, what they were doing with Gilhaelith. He had been kind to her in his own strange way, but in the end, like everyone else, he had made his choice. No doubt he was looking after himself, though she could not see how he could get the amplimet.

  Old Hyull now inspected the torgnadr after every patterning session. After the fifth such visit he gave the faintest of toothy smiles as he hefted the bucket, peering through the glass from below.

  Ryll spoke to him. Old Hyull shook his head violently. Ryll cast a glance at Tiaan. Old Hyull put down the bucket, rasping a series of orders in which all Tiaan could make out was her name and, once, torgnadr. Old Hyull went out with the torgnadr.

  ‘Is it fixed?’ Tiaan whispered to Ryll.

  ‘No,’ he replied, after looking over his shoulder. ‘And Old Hyull can’t understand why not. But it’s better than it was – it will do.’

  She wondered what she was responsible for. ‘Aren’t you going to take me out of the patterner? My skin feels all lumpy and hot.’

  ‘There isn’t time. We must pattern another torgnadr from the beginning and hope we can complete it.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t take any more, Ryll.’

  ‘You must.’ He did not meet her eyes.

  The patterning began, exactly as before except that the sessions were much longer. Perhaps it was easier the second time. But if that was so, why did the enemy have so few torgnadrs? Maybe the second time was fatal.

  The growing torgnadr was a blob the size of a large melon when the cavern shook, as if something had thumped into the ground overhead. Ryll set down the bucket. His eyes were huge. Threads of red and black inched their way up his arms. The sight made her afraid.

  ‘What is it, Ryll?’ she whispered.

  ‘The battle for Snizort has begun and we are not ready.’ Ryll closed his eyes. ‘I can see Snizort burning. Fire!’ he gasped, looking around like a desperate animal.

  ‘Ryll?’ Too late. He was gone.

  Tiaan felt an urge to scream. If Snizort was on fire, all she could do was await her death with whatever dignity she could muster. She took deep breaths, which was no help at all. She hoped it would be quick.

  Some minutes later, Ryll returned, his skin now showing camouflage colours. He approached, head hanging. ‘I’m sorry, Tiaan. I am proven to be a rank coward. Fire is my greatest terror.’

  She said nothing. The patterning resumed, but some minutes later the room shook again. Old Hyull bounded through the door and dragged Ryll out, flashing distress markings. Down the row of patterners, someone screamed, but thankfully no one else took it up. The women chattered among themselves in their own language, ignoring Tiaan as usual.

  More lyrinx ran in, gathering inside the door and skin-speaking furiously. It looked like a general panic. There were two more thumps. The lyrinx disappeared again.

  She was glad when Merryl came up the row a few minutes later.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she yelled. ‘Are we being attacked?’

  ‘Yes, but we’re not in danger yet.’

  ‘Then why the panic?’

  ‘The old torgnadr has finally failed and yours is not proving as effective against the enemy as they had hoped.’

  She was pleased to hear it. ‘You mean at draining the node?’

  ‘Yes, and channelling power to their great project.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘One picks things up. But –’

  He looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was, though Tiaan was uncomfortably aware of the growing torgnadr besi
de her, so similar to their spying devices.

  ‘What are they going to do?’

  ‘Their great project is not yet complete, and that they are determined to do. The defenders will fight to make time for it, to the last drop of their purple blood. The battle is going to be vicious.’

  ‘Our people are already dying,’ said Tiaan. ‘And these torgnadrs will destroy many more. My torgnadrs. I’m sick of being used, Merryl.’

  ‘There’s nothing you could have done.’

  ‘If I ever get the chance,’ she vowed, ‘I’ll smash the amplimet to pieces. I would destroy every node on Santhenar if it would only stop this endless war. I mean it, Merryl.’ As she spoke, the amplimet flared, then faded, and the skin-creeping feeling reappeared.

  ‘I know you do, but there are no simple answers.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ If the field was gone, both clankers and torgnadrs would be useless, and no one would want to use her either. She just wanted to be ordinary; anonymous.

  Ryll came hurtling through the door. ‘Begone, Tutor!’

  The patterning continued, now with breaks of just hours in between. Her skin chafed constantly, she could not sleep and Tiaan was struck by an old fear that she’d not thought about in her weeks here – what the amplimet was up to. That sudden surge, and the earlier pulsing, suggested that it was watching her. It might not let her destroy it.

  ‘There’s not time!’ Ryll said to Liett several days later. ‘We can’t fail now. Not so close.’ He looked desperate.

  The shocks became more frequent. They had been going on for three days, judging by her sleeps. The lyrinx panic grew. Ryll forced the patterning so hard and fast that Tiaan began to have a hallucination. For a few seconds the stone walls thinned to transparency and she saw lyrinx and humans struggling in a long black tunnel. Gilhaelith was among them.

  Her viewpoint drifted outside her body. She could see right through the patterner, and her own flesh, to her bones. A hot yellow glow throbbed in the middle, where her back had been broken.

  After another hallucination, Ryll realised that she could be driven no further that day. The torgnadr almost filled the bucket, but was still immature. He ended the session but left Tiaan in the patterner. She had been inside for more than a day now.

  ‘Take me out,’ she said exhaustedly. ‘It feels like beetles are crawling over my skin.’ Even with the mask gone, things still seemed strange.

  Ryll looked equally worn and, for the first time, showed no skin colour at all. ‘We must begin again in three hours.’ He held a mug to her mouth.

  She gulped it, eager for the oblivion of sleep, but in her dreams the faulty torgnadr was fountaining sparks like a firework. Tiaan was shaken awake. It was deadly wrong, but she could not tell why.

  The room shook again, followed by a dull boom. Sand rained down on her hair and, as the shuddering continued, chunks of sandstone began to fall. One smashed a glass bucket further along the row. A line of tar filled a crack in the wall beside her.

  A massive blow shook the room, making the walls quiver like the muck she was suspended in. Lyrinx raced back and forth, yelling and skin-speaking all the colours of the spectrum. A gaggle of humans fled past the open door, including the man with the withered shoulder, urged on by a lyrinx carrying a prod. Ryll raced up the row to Tiaan, but before he reached her Old Hyull roared at him from the doorway. Ryll’s eyes met hers. He flashed distress patterns, then pulled the jelly mask over her head.

  ‘Ryll?’ she screamed. ‘What’s going on?’ Too late. The mask cut everything off and the patterning resumed, though it did not seem to be working properly. The flow of power kept fluctuating wildly. Was it failing?

  Thump! She wanted to scream but couldn’t – the patterning had become one continuous hallucination. Battle scenes crashed through her mind: clankers firing blazing missiles over the walls of Snizort; a squad of human soldiers being beaten back by a single, blood-drenched lyrinx; a tar bog ablaze, flames reflecting on it like a black mirror. Thump!

  Abruptly the mask was ripped from her head and the hallucinations vanished. A strange lyrinx thrust his face at her, grunted and turned away, taking the immature torgnadr. Chunks of roof were falling all around. There was confusion everywhere. The women in the patterners were screaming. Tiaan wanted to scream too.

  Thump, thump, thump. She caught sight of Liett down the far end. ‘Liett?’

  She was running along the line of patterners, slamming her fist on the release levers. The top of each sprang open. She was about to do Tiaan’s when a lyrinx yelled at her from the doorway. Liett lifted Tiaan halfway out but the other lyrinx roared an order. Liett let Tiaan go and ran.

  Silence fell, broken by repeated shockwaves that rattled the tops of the patterners and shook down more of the roof. Along her row a woman began to push herself out. She emerged slowly, her big muscular body glistening with muck. After shaking herself, she sprang up on the next patterner and heaved the occupant out. Each then went to another machine. Within minutes, fifteen women and two men, everyone except Tiaan, had been released.

  ‘Hey!’ Tiaan yelled. ‘What about me?’

  The big woman tapped her legs and followed the others. They could not afford to carry anyone.

  When Liett dropped her, Tiaan’s arms had remained outside the patterner. Instinctively, she felt for the amplimet, and it was there! Ryll always put it around her neck before a patterning session and in the panic both Liett and the other lyrinx had forgotten to take it. As Tiaan touched it, she sensed the field swirling around Snizort like an exploding star. It was strangely deformed and bore a distinct signature that she recognised: the faulty torgnadr. Was the torgnadr deforming the field, or the amplimet deforming both? She did not want to find out.

  Tiaan saw points of light in the field – places where the lyrinx, and the human armies, were drawing on it. Another point was in this room, the drain from the patterners, though that was fading.

  The field went whoomph, like a furnace pumped by a bellows, then dropped to nothing before flaring up again. Something was terribly wrong. Had too much been taken from the node? The draw from all those clankers outside must be monumental. If the node went dead …

  She tried to push herself out but the muck had too much suction. Tiaan kicked feebly. It made no difference. She was trapped in the patterner. Laying her head on its flat top, she tried to resign herself to her fate. She was wondering what the manner of her death would be when the realisation struck Tiaan like a physical blow. Had she moved her legs? It must have been a hallucination. She tried to clench her toes and definitely felt them move.

  Tiaan did not allow the hope – soldiers sometimes felt their limbs years after they had been cut off. She kicked herself in the ankle, and felt it, as well as a pain in her toe. It was true! She could move, and feel pain. She was not a cripple any more. She would walk again some day. Soon, if she could just get out.

  Tiaan slid back down, her mind awhirl. So that’s what Old Hyull had been doing. He’d put her in that other device to pattern, or more likely flesh-form, her severed spine together.

  Had she been flesh-formed? Tiaan felt sick. Had they used part of some other creature to join the severed ends of her spinal cord? That aching point in her back now seemed to be swelling as if something lay inside, feeding on her. But she had her legs back and, for the moment at least, it seemed worth it.

  Tiaan kept trying to push herself out but her arms did not have enough strength to break the suction. She rested her head on the top of the patterner and eventually, in spite of the continuing shocks, exhaustion overwhelmed her.

  ‘Tiaan?’

  She roused. It sounded like Merryl’s voice. Tiaan opened her eyes. The patterning chamber was full of mist and the air smelled stale, as if the ventilation bellows had stopped working a long time ago.

  ‘Merryl?’

  He raced up the line of patterners. ‘Tiaan, thank heavens I came back.’

  Climbing up, he pulled her out easily, despite his m
issing hand. Merryl found some rags and she wiped the muck off while he looked for her clothes. Her skin was red and blistered all over.

  ‘What’s happening, Merryl?’

  ‘The lyrinx were called out to the battle. It’s a desperate struggle out there, and now something has gone wrong down below. There’s smoke in the lower tunnels. The remaining lyrinx are abandoning Snizort.’

  She wrapped her arms around herself, wary of trusting anyone, even Merryl. ‘They just left me behind to die.’

  ‘I’m sure that wasn’t meant to happen.’

  ‘Ryll abandoned me!’

  ‘He was sent into battle. I was sure they would have taken you, with the other important prisoners, but in the panic …’

  ‘Do you know the way out?’

  ‘Of course … if I can get to it.’

  She managed to dress herself, but her legs would not support her. He had to carry her and her precious pack. After some minutes, when he began to show the strain, she said, ‘Leave me, Merryl. You can’t carry me all the way.’

  ‘I’m not going to leave you.’

  ‘You’ll die too.’

  ‘I’ve faced that risk every day since I was captured. I’d sooner die than leave a friend behind.’

  ‘I left mine behind,’ she said. ‘They were dead.’

  They sat on the floor while he got his breath. ‘That’s a beautiful crystal,’ he said.

  She touched it. ‘It’s a special kind of hedron, an amplimet. It can power my walker – do you know where that is?’

  ‘In one of the storerooms near where you were brought in, I’d imagine. But if the field dies it won’t be any use.’

  ‘The amplimet is powerful enough to draw on a distant field.’ If it could be trusted, and how could she trust it? Only because it, too, must want a way out. The heat of the smallest fire would destroy it.

  ‘Then let’s see if we can find the walker. I think I know where to look.’

  After many dark corridors and crowded storerooms they found it. Merryl helped Tiaan into the seat. She had done up the straps and was just reaching for power when there came a blast and roar that shook the floor and filled her ears with grit. The walker was thrown off its four feet, coming down on Merryl’s thigh. He let out a gasp.