Quintessence Sky

by David Walton

  It had been Catherine's father who had helped them all see that, bonded as he was to Tanalabrinu. There was no happy ending where manticores and humans could mix and live in peace. One of them would have to win the island entirely, and the manticores were here already.

  "That was the plan," her mother said, rolling her eyes. "But your father had other ideas."

  Catherine's father took her hands in his. "Tanalabrinu asked us to stay. Just because we leave doesn't mean no humans will come to Horizon. There will be more ships, and more colonists, and more soldiers. Once the power of this place becomes known, every country on Earth will send troops to take a piece for themselves. Tanalabrinu wants to be ready. He wants me to help him make Horizon into a nation, one other countries will recognize and respect, even if they don't like it. He wants to be strong enough to fight off aggressors, but diplomatic enough not to have to, at least not always. To do that, he needs ambassadors. People who understand how to communicate effectively between manticore and human."

  "And that's you." Catherine couldn't keep the sob out of her voice. This meant she wouldn't see her parents for years. She might never see them again in her whole life.

  "Your mother and I, and Matthew's father as well. We're going to stay, and live among the manticores, and treat with the humans when they come."

  "Does Matthew know?"

  "I don't think so. We only decided for certain this morning."

  Catherine wiped her eyes. "I want to stay, too."

  Her father squeezed her hands and gently shook his head. "You and Matthew have chosen well. Elizabeth needs supporters she can trust. Most of all, she needs people who understand quintessence and how to use it. If she's going to win back her throne, she'll need the two of you. This power is going to change the shape of the world, and you and Matthew are going to be at the forefront." He kissed her. "But I will miss you terribly."

  Joan started to cry in earnest, and then Catherine couldn't hold back the tears. They clutched each other, and Catherine stroked her mother's hair.

  "A fine wedding celebration this is shaping up to be," Catherine said.

  "Nonsense." Her mother pulled back and looked her in the eye. "This is your day. Forget about what comes after. And forget about the roses and the dress. We're going to make it a day you'll remember—with joy—for the rest of your life. Understand?"

  Catherine nodded her assent, and a smile escaped through her tears. "Yes, mother."

  MATTHEW was packing a small satchel with supplies for a short journey when Blanca found him. He hadn't spoken to her since Catherine had returned. To tell the truth, he'd been avoiding her.

  "Please let me talk to you," she said.

  "Of course. I’m sorry," he said.

  "I really am glad Catherine is back. You know that, don't you?"

  He set the satchel down. "Yes, of course I do. She's your closest friend."

  "And I'm happy for you both. You're so in love. I'm glad she's found someone. She's had a lot of hard things in her life, and . . ." She trailed off.

  She was truly beautiful, soft and uncertain, her eyes expressive in that exquisitely carved face. But despite her beauty and kindness and gentle grace, he could say without hesitation that she was not for him. Catherine fit him perfectly. She could be brash and impatient, but it was just what he needed sometimes, when he tended toward self-pity. And her strength and intensity reminded him of what was true and right and mattered in the world. He loved Catherine.

  But Blanca was hurting. He had to respond. If their situations had been reversed, Blanca would have had the perfect encouragement, known just the right thing to say.

  "There is someone for you," he said. She started to object but he held up his hand. "Somewhere there's a man who is fervent and wild and passionate and needs your gentle strength to ground him. Someone bright and good who fits you like Catherine fits me. Believe it. You're not limited to this island anymore. You'll have all of England and France and Spain and beyond to choose from."

  She gave a wavering smile. "I'm fine on my own. I don't need a man."

  "But somewhere there's a man who needs you."

  She squeezed his hand. "You're a good friend," she said.

  Matthew tied his satchel shut and went in search of Ramos. They had a job to do, and not much time in which to do it. In fact, he probably shouldn't be doing it at all this close to his wedding; Ramos could handle it on his own. But Catherine knew how much he wanted to, and didn't object.

  Ramos was down by the water, on a stretch of sand. The Spanish ships still floated at anchor in the bay. He had the stick that was connected, by quintessence thread, to a chicken bone in London. Parris was there, too, with a small vial of vitriol.

  Ramos placed the stick on the sand. "Ready?" he said.

  Matthew nodded. The stick was such an ordinary piece of wood, by appearance, but it was their only link back to Europe, the only means by which they could make this work. Parris poured a drop of vitriol, and the void sprang into being.

  Now that he was standing here, watching it grow, Matthew realized how incredibly brave Elizabeth had been to leap into it for the first time, especially knowing as little about it as she did. Even Matthew, knowing it had been done successfully before, had a hard time looking into that black hole and deciding to jump into it. Parris split another stick in half and threw half of it into the void. He would stay here, with the ability to come after them if something went wrong, and they didn't return.

  Ramos went first, and once he had gone, Matthew could hardly fail to follow. He took a deep breath and plunged into the darkness.

  He fell out of the void onto a stretch of country road under a blue sky. Ramos had just stepped out of the way, avoiding a collision. The destroyed carriage had been dragged off the road, where it lay rusting and forgotten, but apparently the chicken bone Ramos had used to anchor to the thread had fallen out here. Ramos kicked around in the dirt and found it. He bent and picked it up, then put it in his pocket.

  It felt strange to be in England again. Everything looked both familiar and foreign. The sun seemed remote and cool, the air dry, the trees exotic with their broad green leaves. It was everything Matthew had grown up with, but after more than a year living on Horizon, it was surprising how different it all looked.

  There was no one in sight. Their task was simple: to make sure the connection was still working, and to find a safe place to put the bone so that when the larger group came through with Elizabeth in a few days, they could be reasonably certain they would arrive safe and unnoticed. There was no guarantee, of course, but Matthew and Ramos wanted to minimize the chance of surprises.

  They turned east, away from London, and began walking down the road. They hoped to find a village of some kind, perhaps an inn with a room they could rent for several days. Matthew darted glances at Ramos while they walked. He had hardly known the man before the battle, but it was disconcerting to see his flawless skin and newly-youthful face. Ramos had explained what had happened from his perspective, but Matthew barely understood it. He got the impression that Ramos barely understood it himself.

  They each had several shekinahs with them, keeping them alive, as well as giving them all the quintessence abilities they had enjoyed back on the island. They broke into a run, easily covering as much ground as a horse might, and without feeling tired. They passed small farm after small farm, each scratching out a subsistence in the muddy earth. In the distance, Matthew saw a stone barn with weathered edges and a half-collapsed roof.

  "How about that?"

  Ramos skidded to a stop, kicking up a cloud of road dust. "The barn?"

  "It's large enough for a group, and it looks abandoned."

  They jogged across the field and examined the building more closely. The door hung askew on broken hinges. Inside, moldy straw and spider webs were all that was left of what must have once held a large number of animals. Matthew suspected a large number of rats now lived there, but that no humans had been here in some time.


  "It will suffice," Ramos said. "It's large, and remote enough to cause little comment. We can clean it out, and with your building methods, it should be a simple matter to repair the roof. For a few days, at least, while Elizabeth contacts her supporters, we should be safe enough."

  "Why did you convert?" Matthew said.

  Ramos frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You're Spanish, but you support Elizabeth. I never asked you, and I wondered what made you convert to Protestantism."

  "I'm no Protestant," Ramos said. He spoke sternly, but he didn't seem to mind the question. "Any problems the Church has—and she does have them, I admit freely—should be resolved inside the Church. It does no good to splinter the Holy Faith into a thousand pieces, each of them free to pursue their own heresies."

  Matthew was taken aback. "But . . ."

  "But why do I support the Protestant princess?" Ramos shrugged. "She convinced me."

  He dropped the chicken bone on the floor and kicked some straw over it. It seemed strange to leave something so precious lying around on the floor of a barn, but then, it had most recently been lying in the middle of the road. It was the sort of the thing that was safer if no attention was drawn to it.

  A drop of vitriol opened up a void. It had taken all of Matthew's courage to step into it the first time, having seen and experimented with its destructive power, even though he knew that Ramos and Elizabeth had successfully made the trip before. This time he hesitated less, but it still made him nervous. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and stepped through. He fell and fell, no less terrifying for having done it before, but after what seemed like only moments, he crashed hard onto the stone floor of the caves. He was back on Horizon.

  Strong hands pulled him to his feet. Parris brushed the dirt off of Matthew's front. "I thought you were only going to be gone a moment," he said. "Are you trying to miss your own wedding?"

  THEY were married at the edge of the world. Bishop Marcheford stood with his back to the precipice, while the guests—both human and manticore—gathered closer to the tree line. Catherine didn't care about the color of her dress or the kind of flowers in her bouquet. Standing here, the sky almost close enough to touch and the breeze caressing her face and hair, she felt beautiful. Matthew clearly thought so, too, the way he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. His hair was askew, testament to his hasty preparations, but she didn't mind. He was back safely, and all was well for their return.

  Blanca stood next to Catherine, and Elizabeth beyond her. On Matthew's side were her father and Tanalabrinu. The manticore looked awkward; the rite of marriage was completely alien to him, and Catherine couldn't guess what he felt about it. He had agreed to participate, however, and accepted it as the honor it was meant to be.

  "Dearly beloved friends . . ." Bishop Marcheford began.

  The sky was clear and blue for the first time in what seemed like months. Now that the quintessence cycle was restored, the novas had faded from the sky. The violent storms that had wracked the island were gone, and the soil, though not yet returned to its former levels, was increasing in salt content. Even the miasma was gone, the blighted hollows in the ground restored to quintessence life.

  Catherine knew that all this had been Maasha Kaatra's doing. It had been he who had caused the novas in the first place, but by walking into that fire, he had set it right again. He had concluded the cycle that should have been completed by the leviathans whose power he had usurped. She hoped he hadn't suffered.

  ". . . and forsaking all others keep thee only to her, so long as you both shall live?" Marcheford said.

  Matthew gazed at her face, his eyes alight. "I will," he said.

  Catherine responded in kind, flashing him a quick grin. Matthew struggled to keep his expression solemn, as fitted such a holy occasion. She winked at him on the western side, where no one could see it but him, making him bite his lip to keep from smiling. They were giddy with excitement and love.

  "I, Matthew, take thee, Catherine, to my wedded wife," he said seriously, glaring playfully at her, "to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

  The wedding vows were the new ones, taken from a copy of The Book of Common Prayer that Bishop Marcheford had smuggled out of England. They had been written by Thomas Cranmer less than ten years earlier, back when Edward VI was still alive and it was still safe to be a Protestant in England. Catherine repeated the words, hastily memorized and unfamiliar on her tongue. ". . . and thereto I plight thee my troth."

  There was a lot more for Bishop Marcheford to read from the book, prayers and blessings and psalms. She and Matthew knelt and recited the Lord's Prayer, and there were more prayers and liturgical readings, which seemed to include a great deal about a wife submitting to and reverencing her husband, obeying him and calling him lord, and being mild and quiet in the home. Catherine wanted to pinch Matthew to make sure he wasn't taking it all too seriously, but she restrained herself. Enough time for that later.

  The wedding concluded with the signing of the marriage contract between Catherine's father and Matthew's father. Matthew had objected to that bit of tradition, arguing that it was not their fathers who were getting married, but it was such an established part of custom and legal practice that he hadn't been able to make the objection stick. Their fathers both signed with a flourish, and the deed was done. They were married. Catherine put the wedding garland on her head, whooped, and threw her arms around her new husband.

  The celebration afterwards was raucous and merry. In England, they would have had sweetmeats, baked peacock, and large quantities of wine, but none of those things were available here. They had sand pastries sweetened with honey instead, and roast diki, and some strong ale that one of the colonists brewed in the salvaged remains of Sinclair's alchemy laboratory. There was singing and dancing, both in the English style and in the manticore style, which none of the humans could come close to imitating.

  It was the first day of pure joy there had been in months. The time since the battle had been a time of grief, burying the dead, becoming reconciled to the destruction of their home, and trying to make plans for the future. The dead were not forgotten, but for this brief moment, they were able to set their sadness aside and enjoy this new beginning. It wasn't just Catherine who felt that way; she looked around at the survivors and saw real smiles on their faces. She was glad her wedding could provide such a badly needed respite from sorrow and regret.

  Matthew left her side only for one brief moment, when he approached his father, tentatively at first, then with determination, and wrapped him in an awkward hug. They didn't say much, but Bishop Marcheford's hands were strong against his son's back. Tomorrow, Matthew would be leaving for England, and his father would be staying here. The two of them might never agree, but she was glad to see this reconciliation before they parted.

  Matthew came back to her, and she took his hands. She gestured with her eyes, and they slipped away, not even saying goodbye to their guests. No one tried to stop them. After all, they only had this one night together before they returned to England. She longed for a month or a year with him, living peacefully in some secluded spot, getting to know each other as man and wife. But it was not to be. Tomorrow was a new day, and a new life.

  THE NEXT day, before they left, another ceremony was held, just as well attended if more solemn. Catherine's father and Tanalabrinu had together drafted a letter declaring Horizon to be an independent nation. They had outlined a rough policy allowing limited human immigration, but not colonization, and a desire to build alliances and open trade. All the tribes were at least loosely unified now, under Tanalabrinu as a kind of king, and all the chiefs had agreed to the main points of the letter.

  The ceremony was for Elizabeth, having declared herself the rightful queen of England, to sign and ratify the letter, the first
European monarch to officially recognize Horizon's status as a nation and Tanalabrinu's title as king. Catherine smiled and clapped as Elizabeth signed. It was a bit of a sham, perhaps, since Elizabeth was not really a queen, and had no real authority to recognize anyone. But it was an important moment nonetheless, as it represented her promise to honor the alliance if she did manage to take the throne.

  After signing, Elizabeth stood with Tanalabrinu on the raised dais built for the occasion and looked out over those who had come to witness it. There was clapping from the human contingent and that eerie rhythmic clacking from the much larger crowd of manticores.

  The applause was loud, but Catherine was close enough to hear Elizabeth say to Tanalabrinu, "You really should execute him, you know."

  Catherine knew she was referring to Rinchirith, who had sworn allegiance to Tanalabrinu and had been given no punishment that Catherine could see. In fact, he still seemed to be chief of the gray tribe.

  "He is part of my memory family now," Tanalabrinu said, as if that explained everything.

  "Aren't you afraid he'll rebel? That others will follow him again?" Elizabeth said.

  Tanalabrinu's gesture was obscure. "He tried only to unify the tribes, as I have done. I fear him, certainly. But I will not kill him."

  Elizabeth shrugged. "Your blood be on your own head. For my part, though, I hope you succeed."

  "And you as well," Tanalabrinu replied.

  The signing was the last event planned before the return to England. Crates had been packed with shekinah flatworms and other useful Horizon materials, animals, and plants of every kind. A few of the remaining colonists were planning to stay, but most of the survivors, about forty of them, would be returning to England with Elizabeth. The plan was to split up once they arrived, dividing the quintessence materials and traveling around England, raising support for Elizabeth's claim to the throne and training an army in the use of the quintessence power.