The Icefire Trilogy

by Patty Jansen

  Chapter 31

  * * *

  WHEN THE FIELDS became smaller, and the houses closer together, Milleus found it harder to concentrate. His mood swung wildly between melancholy and fear. He hadn’t been this way for so long, and all these people who might recognise his face made him nervous. What if they booed him and chased him out of the city? The peasants might listen to his arguments, but the folk in the city would be more cynical. They were, after all, the ones who had cheered when Destran had deposed him and at times, especially at night when he lay in bed staring at the ceiling in the van, he could still hear that cheering.

  He fell into a brooding silence, but the youngsters didn’t seem to notice. They found so much to look at or express their wonder about.

  Then they crested the last hill of the plateau and came to the lookout. From here, undulating country sloped down to the city. Tiverius lay stretched out before them.

  Row after row of blocky buildings made from pink stone crowded rolling hills. Trees lined the roads, which were straight and lined out in geometrical patterns.

  In a strange way, he felt relieved. Tiverius was still here. It looked like it always had. Life here went on as normal.

  Seated in the back of the van, Nila leaned over his shoulder to look. She pointed ahead at the golden dome. “That is where the Chevakian Doga sits.”

  “Yes, very good. Do you know the building next to it?” All that was visible of the building in question was a squat round tower four storeys high. There were arched windows all around, which you couldn’t see from here.

  She frowned.

  “It’s the Scriptorium.”

  “That is the place where . . .” Her frown deepened. “You keep books.”

  “Yes and no. The books go in the library. The Scriptorium is where people work to further their knowledge.”

  He remembered spending much time in a room on the top floor of that tower. His friend Alius’ office.

  From the crest of the hill, the column of vehicles snaked down the slope that led into the outskirts of the city. Forest on both sides was used for firewood. Here and there farms dotted the landscape. There were many fields with sunflowers, all pointed in the same direction where the sun, at that moment, wasn’t.

  Isandor whispered, “Wow. It’s beautiful.”

  “Pretty,” Milleus said. “A woman is beautiful.” It could be a lot more pretty, if it had been sunny. But the sky was grey with low scudding clouds.

  “Isn’t a city like a woman? You have to care for her, otherwise she ceases to be beautiful to you?”

  That comment hit him in the gut. Like Suri.

  Milleus swore that sometimes that young man said things that would be more appropriate to come out of the mouth of someone three times his age.

  Like Suri indeed. While he was here, he should go to her grave and bring her flowers, and hope his sons didn’t come chasing after him.

  What are you running from?

  Mercy, the voice of his conscience was starting to sound like Isandor’s. He had no time for family business. Most likely, his sons wouldn’t have the time either. He wondered if Markian was still with that silly woman—oh, mercy, what was her name again?—and wondered if Parto and Lyvia had their much-wanted girl yet.

  “Where are the goats going to graze tonight?” Isandor asked, shaking Milleus from his thoughts.

  “We’ll bring them to a commercial stable at the edge of the city. You’ll see.”

  The van rolled down the hill, following the column of refugees which slowly made its way down. It grew very crowded here, and progress slowed further and further, and came to a complete stop.

  Ahead, the motionless column stretched around a bend.

  People were hanging out the windows trying to see what was going on. Others had left their vehicles and stood on the side, or sat in the grass. Some people piled up wood for fires.

  Isandor gave him a worried glance. “What is going on here?”

  “It looks like the road is blocked further on,” Milleus muttered. That was something he hadn’t considered, that the doga would simply block the city to keep any refugees out. They wouldn’t be that stupid, would they?

  He opened the door and slid stiffly from behind the wheel.

  The van rocked with the movements of the goats in the trailer. They were bleating and pushing each other. Panicked by all the noise and the barking of dogs and smells of too many people.

  He walked down to the trailer and banged his hand on the side. “Oy. Quiet, you.”

  The familiar voice did seem to calm them some.

  When he turned around, a man stood behind him. “Do you sell meat or milk?”

  “Yes, I have milk.”

  The man rummaged in his pocket and produced a fat purse. “How much?”

  Milleus frowned. “Not now. At milking time.”

  “Please,” the man said. “The wife has twins to feed and we’ve travelled for three days without food.”

  “There will be milk later.” Some other people had turned to him. “But I’ll need feed, for the goats.”

  A woman said, “That’s no problem. We’ll get hay. You give us milk.”

  A queue had already started forming, and two boys were running towards the forest, presumably to get grass.

  “Hey,” he said. “I said this afternoon. There is no milk right now. Goats are not machines you can turn on and off at will.”

  But no one was listening.

  Mercy, milk for this many people? He’d never have enough. There were hundreds of people here. Hungry, thirsty, annoyed that they had to wait so close to their destination.

  Isandor stood on the truck’s doorstep, looking over the chaos from his point of vantage.

  Milleus said to him, “I’m going to see if I can find out what the hold-up is.” Would it be worth waiting for? “You better keep an eye on the animals.”

  Isandor nodded.

  From the other side of the truck, Nila said, “Can I come?”

  “Sure,” Milleus said, and then he looked back at Isandor. “Is that all right with you?”

  Isandor glanced over the crowd. “I’ll be fine.”

  Milleus saw through his veneer of carelessness. Isandor didn’t like this seething mass of people any more than he did.

  “You know where the gun is . . . if you need it.”

  Isandor nodded.

  Milleus and Nila went on their way through the chaos of vehicles, campfires, tents, yelling people, screaming children. At the bend in the road, where there was a small glade, several people were trying to turn their vehicles around, but once they were turned, there was nowhere for them to go, because of all the people still arriving from behind. Men were shouting at each other to get out of the way.

  Knots of young men had gathered on the roadside, glowering at everyone who passed.

  There was a fence across the road ahead, blocking it off completely.

  A couple of uneasy city guards stood sentry on the other side of it, in the field where normally circus troupes or travelling merchants would camp if they didn’t want to stay in the city. Now there were rows and rows of army tents. Milleus could see some people walking between them, but they were too far away to see who they were.

  “Hey!” Milleus called out to the guards.

  They didn’t react.

  “Hey, you! I want to talk!” he yelled again.

  “It’s no good. They won’t talk to us,” said a man next to him, a middle-aged fellow who had the clean hands and finely-cut clothes of a small-town administrator.

  “What’s going on?” Milleus asked.

  Nila pressed her nose against the fence and stare
d in the distance.

  “I’ve been told they are setting up a camp for refugees.”

  “Why are you all waiting here? The road is blocked.”

  “We’re waiting to be let in.”

  “Let in?”

  “Yeah, they’re setting it up for us, surely. We got nowhere else to go.”

  A lot of things started to make sense now. “How long have you been waiting?”

  “Most of yesterday and today. I hope they hurry up. People are getting very impatient back there.”

  “Have they said anything about how long it’s going to take?” Would there be a way to get out of this queue and contact Sady? “I have a brother in Tiverius. I don’t need to get into any camp.”

  The man shrugged. “I can’t help you there.”

  Nila was still staring at the tents down the hill. He touched her shoulder. “Come, we’re going back.” He was surprised by how angry he felt, a sensation he remembered well. He needed to get really fired up about something to act, but once he did, there was no stopping him. Yes, he would march into the doga with his signatures and face Destran, if only it could mean that his countrymen could be properly helped.

  Nila came without speaking a word. He noticed how tired she looked. He’d promised them they’d sleep in a real bed, safe from the world, safe from their countrymen.

  Around the corner, the attempts to turn some vehicles around had escalated in full-scale shouting matches between families.

  A woman was shouting, “Oh, I didn’t? And then what about you, fat cow. I saw you take two loaves of bread yesterday . . .”

  More young men had gathered to watch. They stood with hands in pockets or arms crossed over their chests. They watched Milleus and Nila walk past with suspicious looks.

  Nila said, “We shouldn’t get involved.” As if she felt that he was on the verge of doing just that.

  “I don’t like this,” Milleus said. “People are angry. I don’t understand why those soldiers don’t let anyone into the camp. There’s going to be grief if they don’t.”

  “Soldiers in a position of power don’t care about anything except maintaining that power.”

  He glanced at her sideways. Mercy, where did she learn things like that at her age?

  Back at the truck, a huge queue had formed. Many people were sitting in the grass, prepared for a long wait. Many were holding buckets. Isandor sat on the railing of the trailer, holding Milleus’ gun.

  He said nothing, but Milleus saw in his eyes that he was glad to see them return.

  “We can’t get through,” Milleus said. “The army is setting up a camp in a stupid place, and there is an idiotic fence across the road. No one knows when they’re going to let people in. Ridiculous.”

  Isandor flicked his eyebrows. “Can we turn back?”

  “That’s not so easy.” Milleus looked up the hill, where the long line of refugees completely blocked the road.

  Whoever’s stupid idea it was to block the road. Did they want the people to start fights out here? Was this the way Destran thought to control who came into the city?

  Mercy, the doga had no idea, absolutely no idea at all. Who ever could have approved of such a stupid idea—

  Isandor was still watching him, eyebrows raised as if he wanted to say, What’s the matter with you?

  Oh, mercy. The kid couldn’t understand. He stomped away from the truck. “Right, people, listen to me.”

  A few people gave him strange looks, but many gathered around, probably for the lack of anything else to listen to.

  “It’s pretty clear that no one’s getting through this way. And some of us have families in Tiverius and don’t need this camp, so let’s organise for everyone who wants to turn around and get into the city by some other road. I want this path . . .” He waved at the right side of the paved road. “. . . cleared of all vehicles so those who want to leave can do so.” He waved at a truck which blocked the road. “Move aside, please, sir, so people can get past. Move aside, move aside!”

  The truck’s owners, and extended family, started pushing the vehicle aside. Others also moved to make room for them.

  “Move aside, move aside, so people can get out!”

  More trucks moved.

  Milleus progressed further up the road, but there, people had made a huge fire right in the middle of his intended path.

  Someone had caught an animal that looked suspiciously like a goat—mercy—and which was now roasting over the fire. On both sides of the road were trees and fenced paddocks. People had set up tents. There was no way any trucks could get through.

  Milleus let his shoulders slump.

  “Pity. Good try. We’ll try to keep going tomorrow,” one of the drivers said. He had a young family and didn’t look entirely unhappy to have found a place where people had food.

  Well, important things first, huh?

  Milleus went back alone, still burning with anger inside, and fearful for Isandor and Nila, and his goats.

  Isandor was making preparations to start milking. Most of the goats were inside the pen, watched by Nila. He had put grass on the feed trough, placed his stool on the trailer bed. The animals were pushing each other to be the first to be milked. Their udders were fat and swollen, some already leaking milk.

  A male voice behind him said, “Are these animals yours?”

  Milleus turned around. Behind him stood a soldier in uniform. “Yes, I took them all the way from my farm.” What did he mean are these goats yours? Didn’t he have anything better to do than harass people?

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “There have been reports of theft from farms.”

  “That’s what happens when you let people wait for too long. They run out of food. They start getting it wherever they find any.”

  “We’ve told people that there is no point in waiting here. Everyone should clear this area as soon as possible.”

  “Let me tell you, I’d love to get out of this mess, but we’re stuck here because no one can turn around, and there are still people coming. Why do you even let them come here?”

  “We’re dealing with that right now. We’ll start at the back of the column tomorrow, so we can have everyone on their way to the processing posts tomorrow.”

  Processing posts. What a load of rubbish. Why block a major access route unless the intention was to keep people out of the capital?

  “I don’t need processing. I have family in Tiverius.”

  “You’ll have to verify that with the processing post.”

  Milleus clamped his jaws. Oh, for mercy’s sake.

  They turned back to his van, where Nila was handing out the first cup of milk to a young boy. The queue had grown, but for now, was orderly.

  Milleus went into the truck to find something for their own dinner.

  Apart from hay, Isandor had collected donations of blankets, some jewellery, a coat, boots, a set of cups and a small heap of coins. Whereas earlier in their trip, there had been eggs and ham and fruit, it seemed people had no food left.

  There was some bread and cheese and a few eggs left in the store, but that wouldn’t last them more than a day.

  A glance out the back window showed Isandor and Nila still handing out milk, and the queue growing longer. There was no way there would be enough milk for all those people.

  Milleus cut up the ham, balancing the cutting board on his lap. He would normally take it outside, but he was afraid that he’d be mobbed.

  There were clangs of metal from Isandor shutting the goats back in the trailer. He climbed up on the railing and sat there, the gun in his lap.

  Nila opened the door and climbed into the cabin, her face harrowed. “Those people ar
e crazy.”

  “They’re hungry.”

  He passed her the bread and she ate, quietly.

  Milleus cut bread for Isandor and then left the cabin.

  It was starting to get dark, earlier than normal because of the heavy cloud cover. A cold wind made the trees whistle.

  The line of people wanting to get milk had dispersed, but several people had put up tents in the space Milleus had planned to use as corridor to get out tomorrow morning.

  Mercy, he was powerless against chaos like this. Where were those soldiers? Why weren’t they organising the crowd?

  “You go inside and eat,” he said to Isandor in a low voice. “I’ll watch here.”

  Isandor stiffly climbed off the railing and handed Milleus the gun.

  Milleus took position on the trailer, and sat staring into the darkening sky. Camp fires burned everywhere. On the other side of the road, people were chopping up fence posts for fire wood, the animals inside the paddocks already stolen or eaten. Mercy, what a mess. Wasn’t this typical of Destran? How could he contact Sady?

  He wanted to do something, but needed help. The more he thought about it, the more he concluded that if turning people around wasn’t practical, there was only one way get out of this mess: by using the road that was intended for that very purpose. Even if that meant destroying the stupid fence. The camp didn’t look particularly well-patrolled, and as farmer, he never went anywhere without a pair of wire-cutters.

  Chapter 32

  * * *

  THE GUARD at the gate waved his hand, and the truck entered the camp. From behind the glass, in the sheltered environment of the truck, Sady studied the neat rows of tents, most still unoccupied, since the first of the refugees had only just been decontaminated and were being shown their tents.

  Mercy, he was tired and annoyed. It was starting to get dark, and normally, he should have been home long ago.

  But problems multiplied. For once, Orsan’s scout had not been lied to. The Lady Armaine was really out, as were her daughters and of course the guards wouldn’t say where she had gone and how long she would be.