Beyond the Wall of Time

by Russell Kirkpatrick

  The travellers were met in front of a large building by the city Factor, a tall, cadaverous man without a single hair in evidence anywhere: not on his head, arms, legs—what Stella could see below his ceremonial robes, anyway—ears or nose. He uttered a few words of greeting, indifferently phrased and completely insincere, then beckoned them into the interior of the building.

  “Huh,” Seren said, his eyes as round as saucers. “These buildings were not built.”

  “What d’you mean?” Mustar asked him. “How else did they get here? They didn’t grow them from seeds!”

  “No,” said the miner. “They carved out the roads and spaces between the houses, then the spaces within each house. This city is carven.” He ran his hands over the nearest wall. “The craftsmanship is perfect.”

  “Are you a worker of stone?” asked the Factor, the question seemingly torn out of him.

  “I am a miner,” Seren said, “as is my friend here. We work in a vast open-air quarry, have done all our adult lives. Nothing compared to this though; nothing at all.” He stood transfixed. “I can feel the stone here in a way I’ve never felt stone before. Is that foolish? I’m not a religious man, but such work makes me wish I was.”

  As though this praise was only to be expected, the Factor nodded, but Stella could see the corners of his eyes crinkling in hastily stifled approval. Of course, the dolt Noetos nearly undid all the goodwill generated by his liegeman.

  “It’s just stone, for Alkuon’s sake,” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  The Factor scowled. One of the men who had come for them cleared his throat, and the Factor nodded to him. The man spoke, addressing his words to Noetos.

  “True builders know the difference between stone cut from the ground and stone still part of the earth. Your companion senses it without understanding it. You will never know what we mean. This city is the unceasing work of many generations, stretching back thousands of years. Rather than building something human on the earth, we have cut away what we do not need, revealing the hidden strength and power of the rock. Thus we have made caves within the cave. This is not cut and dressed stone. It is the bedrock of the earth.”

  Clearly the words impressed Seren and his fellow miner, but they meant little to Stella. So every man feels about his long-lived-in home: parochialism turns mere quirkiness into something sacred, unique, more to be prized than that found in other places.

  Servants brought food and served it on a long stone table carved out of the floor. Or, better to say the rock had been hollowed out, leaving a table, immovable chairs and an intricately decorated surface under their feet. The seats were cool but comfortable, their surfaces polished into comfortableness by the posteriors of thousands of previous feasters, no doubt. The Factor headed the table, and Kannwar was given the honoured place at his right. To the Factor’s left sat his family: wife, three daughters of marriageable age and a younger son. The boy looked sufficiently different from the girls, and was at least fifteen years younger; the Factor’s wife seemed little older than the eldest daughter. A second marriage then. The rest of the places were taken by the travellers and three of the guards.

  The young boy gave the blessing. In a high, sweet voice, and under the proud eye of his father, he thanked the god for keeping them another day intact, for providing sustenance and—here he hesitated, before extemporising—for bringing their exalted visitors to share their table. “In the name of El Kuhon,” he finished.

  Out of the corner of her eye Stella saw Noetos start violently, while beside him his children raised their heads, as did the others from the Fisher Coast. She had no idea what had caused this reaction, and as no one passed comment, she let it be.

  The food tasted heavenly. Partly, Stella surmised, because of the monotony of the simple fare they had been forced to subsist on for many weeks; but beyond this explanation there seemed such a delicacy in the blend of spices, now cooling, now firing her palate, far greater than she had experienced even in the high feasts of Instruere. Oddly, there were no plates: they were expected to serve themselves, placing the food directly on the table in front of them. Stella supposed it would be sluiced down once the meal was finished, a most practical idea. The seemingly flat table had slight hollows in its surface and the juices from the food contained themselves close to each person’s meal.

  “Nice grub,” Sauxa said, ladling more food from a delicate stone bowl. His son grunted agreement.

  A gentle lassitude began to creep over Stella. So many months in motion, day after day walking until her feet blistered or, occasionally, bled. Burned by the sun, soaked by the rain, subjected to storms natural and unnatural, witness to violence and death. It felt good to be somewhere safe, a place where some of the good things of life could be enjoyed. She sighed, wishing she could stay in this city for a while, not caring for the moment whether she met with the approval of the locals, able to forget for a time the hole in the world that surely lurked outside.

  She desired to throw herself into selfish reflection and ease, but her damnable conscience would not let her. Once, seventy years ago, she had left her Company because of what she believed was true love, only to be betrayed. Robal had, it seemed, done a similar thing though in his case he ran from it rather than to pursue it. How could she not wish his return? How could she think of ease when he no doubt suffered confusion and loss, alone in a strange land? It seemed she was more selfish—

  Shouting outside, the raised voices carrying an uncomfortable booming quality in such a confined space. The noise drew closer and two men burst in on them.

  “Factor,” one said, “there’s a man on a wagon. A stranger. Chen brought him in. Says he wants to speak to the Undying Man.”

  “Conal,” said Stella, her mouth going dry. Two other voices—Kannwar and Noetos—said the same name. The travellers looked at each other, horrified.

  Stella stared at Kannwar. “I thought we were safe here.”

  “As did I.”

  The Factor stood. “Who is this man who calls for you, lord, and why does he frighten you so?”

  “Not who, but what. He is a dead man, a corpse, made into a host for the Daughter of the Most High, our enemy. Tell your people to take shelter where they may. I do not know what is about to happen.”

  The man hissed. “Had we known you were pursued, we would not have invited you into our secret heart.”

  “You had no choice,” Kannwar said tersely. “Send runners. Get your people off the streets. Do it now. I do not wish to be responsible for their deaths.”

  White-faced, the guards vanished in several directions, their swift passage disturbing the yellow glow-globes set into the walls. Shadows flickered all around the room, giving an ominous cast to every face, then settled again.

  In the silence Stella could hear a man crying: “Kannwar! Undying Man! Destroyer! Come outside!”

  “She is desperate,” Noetos said, “to risk all in this way.”

  “That’s not Umu,” Lenares said.

  “Who else could it be?” Kannwar said. “I’m going out there. Stay inside, everyone, until I call for you.”

  He rose, easing his long limbs from underneath the table, and strode to the door. As soon as he had gone from sight, everyone of the travellers stood, united in disobedience, and followed him.

  Things had not gone well for Robal since he’d taken the farmer’s life. His sour luck was a punishment of sorts, he supposed; had he kept the man alive, the farmer might have helped him understand this strange, accursed valley. No roads, no visible tracks, no houses, just seemingly pristine emptiness. Having spent years on the Central Plains of Faltha, themselves grasslands—though vaster by far than these—the guardsman could not imagine such a valuable resource as this valley lying fallow. There must be some explanation, he told himself, and again wished he’d not yielded to the frightened impulse to shut the farmer up.

  His self-control deserted him entirely when, some time after dark, he stumbled across the travellers’ camp
site. He had not been able to resist approaching the camp during the night, listening to their conversations and trying to discern their plans, but later wished he had not. He’d heard intimacies to sicken his stomach, belittling words from his own beloved queen’s mouth. Fool, fool, fool. Everything had gone wrong since he’d left Stella’s side, unable to bear any more of her consorting with the Destroyer.

  Worse, the delay meant he found himself exposed in the middle of the tall grass plains as the sun rose, easy for the natives to spot. And spot him they had: one moment he sat on the wagon, chivvying his donkeys to make progress towards the nearest of the impressive green hills; the next he was surrounded by club-wielding men who had simply appeared from nowhere. He might perhaps have killed one or two of them before they beat him to the ground had he struck immediately, but had he done so his plans would have ended in failure and the farmer would have died in vain.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the moment his blade had entered the fanner’s chest. It was as though the man’s frightened soul had poured out of the wound, flowed along the blade and entered his own body. He could feel it now: a dark weight dragging him down, making it hard for him to think. Not a religious man, no… but his mother’s teachings crowded into his already cluttered mind, setting his knees shaking.

  He sincerely hoped her stories were not true. And that if they were, he would never find out.

  Two of the natives climbed onto the wagon, taking a seat either side of him. “Ride on, stranger,” said one, holding a knife to his ribs, while the other relieved him of his sword.

  “What do you want from me?” Anger rather than fear animated his voice. To have come so close only to be thwarted now!

  “We have sent men to surround your friends. We will leave none of them alive, as is our gift from the Lord of Bhrudwo. You we will spare for a time. You will appear before our Factor to explain your purpose in entering Zizhua Valley.”

  Robal laughed. “You think you are going to ambush my companions?” he said with as much scorn as he could manage. “You won’t harm a hair on any of their heads. They are a group of powerful magicians and soldiers, led by the Undying Man himself. You had better look to your men!”

  At that the two men fell to jabbering in their own language for a few moments, then turned back to him.

  “Ride on,” directed the man with the knife. “You will still make your explanation to the Factor.”

  “Very well,” said Robal. Be patient and wait for the opportunity. If there is any justice in the world, it will present itself.

  They had led him on a long circuit around the hill, halting before the wide entrance to a cave hidden in the shadows. There they exchanged information with other strangely clad men that Robal took for scouts, dressed in colours to blend into the landscape. The donkeys had not wanted to go inside, but the men struck them with large feather-like sticks and into the darkness they went. It was like entering a children’s tale. A city under the earth! His sleep-ridden eyes could make little sense of the vision blurring in front of him. Yellow lights, white lights, pale stone walls, massive carvings, a multitude of people calling out to him, some obviously not friendly.

  “We have brought your friends here,” said the knife-man, and Robal felt his luck turning for what he hoped was the final time.

  “They’re here? Can I meet them? No… not yet.”

  “You are in no position to ask any favours. Do you not understand? You will be asked questions, after which we will have no further use for you.”

  Robal smiled at the man. “Do you think I am a fool? Your men were supposed to kill my companions, yet brought them here to your secret city instead. That tells me they discovered the truth of what I said to you.” He’d seen the knife-man talking to another fellow as they descended to the city, no doubt being told of what had happened when the natives had confronted the Undying Man. Robal didn’t know exactly what had transpired, of course, but he could guess. “The Lord of Bhrudwo goes exactly where he wants. I am his trusted companion, with my own abilities as yet unrevealed.” There, let them consider that half-truth. “I wish to speak with my master immediately,” he finished.

  More jabbering. “Very well,” the man said finally. “Your wagon is blocking the street. We will find you a place to store it, and inspect the cargo as our gift requires us to. Then we will alert your master to your presence.”

  Robal nodded, determination replacing doubt in his mind. “Don’t take too long,” he warned them.

  They found him a largely empty building the size of an Instruian warehouse, and he urged the two nervous animals through the wide door and into the vast space. Oddly, he felt more uncomfortable in here than he had “out in the open,” as he’d already begun thinking of the cave itself. Two men remained, tasked with inventory.

  “Be careful with my cargo,” Robal warned them. “It is special material commissioned at great expense by the Lord of Bhrudwo himself. He is most anxious that not a single stick is damaged.”

  “Oh,” said the younger of the men, clearly impressed. “Sticks? What do they do?”

  “They are tools designed to help carve the rock more efficiently,” Robal extemporised. “Small explosions, cracking the rock and making work easier.” He waved his hands around vaguely.

  Both men broke into smiles. “We have heard of such material!” the older man breathed. “I am surprised the Factor and his elders have allowed it in. The more progressive among us have long argued to be allowed to acquire some, even if only on a trial basis. I am pleased the Lord of Bhrudwo has seen fit to respond to our petition.”

  Robal grinned at them. Luck, luck, his luck had finally come good. But what was keeping the Undying Man?

  “Wait here,” he said to the two men, “and don’t touch anything.”

  Once Robal had found out where the travellers had been housed, he’d called out the Destroyer. Of course, the man hadn’t realised he’d been called out, not in the sense of a one-on-one duel; he had, Robal guessed, suspected nothing. He strode out of the building willingly enough, nothing more than his usual wariness on his face.

  The guardsman had considered a hundred different scenarios for this moment, each more elaborate—and unlikely—than the last. A master of deception, his intended victim would see through anything complicated with ease; so Robal had decided to use the simplest of subterfuges.

  “Need your help with something,” he said. He tilted his head as though glancing behind the Destroyer to look worriedly at Stella and the others. “Not for the women to see,” he added, rubbing his hands down the front of his jerkin, as though wiping blood from them.

  “What have you found?” the man asked, clearly curious. He turned and held up a hand. “I’ll be but a moment,” he called to his companions. “Wait for me.”

  The two men entered the warehouse. The wagon was twenty paces away.

  “Good to see you again, Robal,” said the Destroyer affably. “Stella misses you.”

  “Does she now.” The guardsman winced at the degree of bitterness revealed in those three words. Mustn’t do anything to make him suspicious…

  As part of the purchase paid for by the sliver of huanu stone, the miners had given him a slip of valuable sulphur paper—and had coached him carefully on how it ought to be used. Robal had made his own modification to the paper, an addition, no doubt, of which the miners would not have approved. He drew the lead-weighted paper from the inside pocket of his jerkin, then swiftly peeled the gum-stuck papers apart.

  Five.

  “Show my lord the contents of the wagon,” Robal said to the two Zizhua men.

  Four.

  The Destroyer frowned, no doubt sensing that something wasn’t quite right.

  Three.

  But he shrugged and strode over to the wagon.

  Two.

  One of the men stripped the oilskin covering away from Robal’s cargo.

  One.

  A young boy’s voice broke the silence. “Donkeys! Donkeys!”
>
  Every head swung in the direction of the doorway.

  Far too late to stop now.

  Robal lobbed the paper into the back of the wagon, heaved himself backwards towards the nearest pillar and took what shelter he could. He knew he might live, he knew he might not…

  CHAPTER 16

  LIFE WITHOUT END

  EAGER TO SPEAK TO ROBAL, hopefully to clear the air between them, Stella had taken one step onto the marble road when a sharp cry jerked her head up.

  The world exploded.

  She glimpsed an instant of blurring. The pale building opposite her shivered, then dissolved, bursting upwards and outwards. An indivisible moment later—moving far too swiftly for her mind to acknowledge, let alone her body to react—something solid struck her squarely in her belly, hurling her backwards into the wall behind her. Bones shattered, blood spurted; but, though consciousness faded, it did not vanish completely. For an intolerably long moment, Stella was nothing but dread of what she was about to feel.

  Immortality did not mitigate pain. If anything, it indirectly amplified her senses. Seventy years of suffering had not succeeded in inuring her to agony. Instead, it had taught her that she was not to be afforded the blessed relief of unconsciousness granted to others, to mortals. She waited for the pain to arrive.

  It arrived.

  Curse it, it did. Such pain. A hundred messages shrieking in her brain all at once as crushed limbs reported their various agonies. For a time she was drawn into a silent scream.

  Only when the initial wave of pain had rolled over her did she receive the report she really wanted. Her eyes sprang open—to a pale smear. Her ears remained un-hearing. She waited, enduring the unendurable because she had no choice, but the smear failed to resolve into anything that made sense. The world continued to blur, shake, fall apart. Dust filled the air. Rocks crashed to the ground in uncanny silence, bouncing or shattering, eerily like snowfall. She waited, waited for the world to settle, to regain its meaning, but the blurring and shaking increased.