Osiris
Page 45
New voices. What’s going on? It’s burning, the tower’s burning! Panicked screams. The stairwells filled. Cats and rats emerging from crannies, streaming ahead. The acrid smell of smoke beginning to filter down through the building.
Fire! The tower’s on fire—it’s the skadi, the skadi are here—
Not running now, she was fighting, using elbows and fists to barge her way down another flight and another. Hot with sweat and the crush and then she realized it wasn’t that. It wasn’t people. It was the heat of flames.
It’s happening again, it’s burning!
A woman in front of her held a baby. The child wailed, the two of them rocking and keening whilst the human tide pushed downwards.
Doors banging.
Not doors, gunshots.
She didn’t know what floor she was on. She shouldn’t have run. The keening woman stopped and sat in the middle of the crush. She couldn’t go back. Someone tried to take the child from the woman but she resisted and the child’s small body was tugged between them. Adelaide tried to help the woman move. The woman lashed out and Adelaide tumbled half a flight.
A kick to her bad leg. The pain almost paralysed her. She clawed herself upright.
A colossal rumble from above. Cries, one person to the next—
It’s coming down! The tower’s coming down!
Adelaide fought her way out of the stairwell, back into the deserted maze. She ran from room to room. Light streamed inside, half-blinding her. Now, when she needed a broken window-wall, there were none. She ran back and forth. Surely this was the same room, hadn’t she been here before?
Finally she found a gap, sharded with glass and dripping ice, barely large enough for her head to fit through. In one corner was a heater, still hot. She swung it at the grimy window-wall. The bufferglass cracked, but did not give. Her palms burned. Again and again she pounded.
The window-wall gave in a rain of bufferglass. Particles showered her hair and clothes. She leaned out and gasped.
She was fifteen floors above the sea, facing the volcanic city. Below, she saw the skadi boats, black dots circling the tower’s base. Above her, the fire. Plumes of smoke rose in other areas of the city. The sky was red and utterly cloudless.
The remaining lights in the city flickered and went out. She knew what that meant. The Guard were rerouting energy. She saw a hive of activity at the base of the adjacent tower, the mouth of a huge cannon, angled upwards. She had heard of these monsters but never seen one until now. The cannon jerked as it began to spit out liquid fire. She, like Vikram, had been deemed dispensable. Who had given the order? Had the skadi overridden her family, or had the Rechnovs consigned her to Axel’s fate?
Flames licked at the tower wall, billowing from broken portals. A piece of burning junk rushed past, narrowly avoiding her head. She ducked back. Beneath her, the foundations growled. Stars, the tower was coming down.
She inched towards the edge. Fear paralysed her.
Somewhere up there was Vikram. No, he couldn’t be, they must have deserted their stations by now—they must see it was futile?
But what if he hadn’t—
She took a step back, prepared to turn and run back up—she’d deserted him once, she couldn’t do it again—but he’d told her to go—
The floor shook beneath her. Her feet slid apart.
She leapt, and was surprised for an instant to find herself falling, as though she might have flown after all. The wind flung her limbs wide. The world somersaulted. She strained to point her feet towards the waves—the waves, the sea, so close now—take a breath! she thought, take a deep breath now—
She smashed into the water. Icy shock, a burn like lye. It coursed up her spine and then she was under.
Water filled her mouth. Her legs flailed. She pushed one toe against the other heel, trying to get rid of her boots. It was stuck, it wouldn’t budge, she needed air—
Her head broke surface. She dragged in oxygen but another wave pushed her back under. She tugged at the boot, got it free. Her coat weighed her down. She grappled with it before her shoulders shrugged free, then her hands, and she hauled herself once more to the surface—
Oxygen and noise and light—
Currents tugged her below. Her arms were no match for the ocean. Bubbles streamed from her mouth. Her lungs burned. She couldn’t fight it for long. She got the next lungful of air and screamed for help. She saw a boat, close enough to reach her. The hull gained and they hadn’t seen her. She floundered to the left to avoid being hit, heard shouts on board, the air full of cries and the smell of fire. Other boats, not far away. Their occupants standing transfixed, the searchlights redundant echoes on the tower—
Get away, swim, get away—
Under. Arms and legs barely moving, her body numb everywhere but her heart and lungs. She opened her eyes. Flares of light through the water. Was this how Axel died? Drowning, like Eirik 9968 had drowned, like Adelaide was going to. Had he thought of her at all, falling, dying? Did he have time to think? Did the sea take him quickly? Did he open his mouth to welcome the water?
She drifted.
They were drowning, she and Axel. They did everything together. It made sense that they would die together.
But Axel’s not here.
She kicked. She broke surface, heaved. Water streamed from her mouth. She spat, gulped in air. She would live. She would.
Fighting to stay afloat, she saw a terrible and unreal sight. The leaning tower began to shudder. Ablaze, it collapsed in on itself like a castle made of sand. One moment it was there, black and burning. The next there was only a strip of lightening sky.
The sea boiled. She screamed.
Vikram!
Hands hauled her out of the water. She fell back into the stern of a boat. She lay prostrate, unable to speak, staring at the space where the tower had been.
“It’s alright, we’ve got you.”
“Breathe easy now, cough up that water.”
Two westerners leaned over her, a man and a woman. Their faces were thin and anxious.
The sound came then, a high, eerie, keening sound. She did not realize at first that the noise came from her. Even when she knew, she found that she could not stop, even when the woman crouched close to her, patted her shoulder gently, and the boat sped away from that absence on the horizon, from the fire on the surface, everything growing smaller, everything fading.
“It’s alright,” they said. “You’re safe now. You’re out.”
50 ¦ ADELAIDE
In the night, the bodies that they found were piled onto rafts. They stiffened and frosted. The flames would unglue them. The mourners gathered in boats and wept, but no words, no tears passed Adelaide’s lips or eyes. She watched as a woman with long grey hair was ferried from raft to raft. The woman drew a line of salt on their foreheads and then she poured oil onto the human pyres.
The mourners threw burning torches through the air. Flames leapt from the oil; embraced the hands and feet and faces of the dead. They wore no shoes. Their shoes had been taken for others to use. Her rescuers said they would not mind.
The fires crackled and spat. She watched the flames unravelling vessels that had held running blood, flickering consciousness; returning matter to the ashes and salt it had once been. The bodies, none of which she had recognized as his, were swarmed by smoke.
Austral lights glimmered overhead. In another week it would be midwinter night. Four boats towed the pyres away. They glided on their final journeys, the cradles of fire dimmer and dimmer, out to the ring-net. She wanted to call out—stop! Don’t take them! Don’t exile them. Just in case he was there. In case he could not get back in.
Now a soft keening filled the air. It was a sound like none Adelaide had heard before, neither crying nor song. The wind was in it, the waves. The ghosts, too.
She imagined Vikram’s ghost was standing beside her, seeing what she saw, hearing what she heard. He asked, “What do you want to do?”
She l
ooked at the tiny lights on the ocean surface.
“I have to get into the Silk Vault. There’s something there that I need to see.”
“And then?”
“I want to disappear.”
EPILOGUE
Aflock of birds rose, circling. The ships creaked in the derelict harbour. Beyond them, a salmagundi of floating crafts lined the ocean, crammed with spectators. Boats nudged against rafts; coracles skidded between barges. Early spring was still cold, but the sun turned the water silvery gold and the illusion of warmth almost convinced the crowds that a fabled summer was here. On the sixth clear morning of that month, the first expedition boat in fifty years prepared for departure.
Dignitaries stood upon the pier, Councillors in purple surcoats, founding families; the Rechnov family, amongst others. They were still in mourning. Earlier that week, Sanjay Hanif had formally closed the investigations into the twins’ disappearances. Adelaide and Axel Rechnov had been pronounced missing, believed dead.
Feodor gave no speech today. The Rechnovs were quiet, and others did the talking. Eyes watching closely might have observed that the Architect stood a little way apart from the rest. It was said that the loss of his grandchildren, the boy to a terrible accident and the girl to the hands of western extremists, had broken the old man’s heart.
The expedition boat rested by the end of the pier, at the mouth of a corridor leading out to sea. The corridor was lined with bunting. On either side, well-wishers waved bright squares of cloth. The expedition crew could be seen making last minute adjustments, checking equipment and saying farewells to family, or simply standing on deck, looking back at the city. On the far side, a man emerged from the hatch and climbed up onto deck. He raised his hand to his brow, scanning the crowds.
Vikram did not expect to see anyone he knew; nor did he intend to be seen. He glanced up at the burnished skyscrapers that rose beyond the rusting ships, the waving banners, the cheering crowd. There was nothing left for him here. He owned nothing but the unknown future, or perhaps it already owned him.
As people strained to see, there was a small commotion to the left of the corridor, and the boats surged forward in a tidal wave.
In one of the jostling crafts of the western section, Adelaide steadied herself as the boat rocked. She pulled her hood back up over her shorn hair. She was no one now, just a girl called Ata, her drab clothes inconspicuous in the crowd. Rows of boats ahead, the crew of the expedition boat moved over the deck like ants, making their goodbyes. Her heart ached. For the crew, about to discover that distance. For all of her own denied farewells.
From somewhere deep in the crowd, a drum roll began. The crowd took up the beat with feet and hands. Adelaide stamped with the rest.
The ceremonies were done. The boat edged away from the pier. Cheers followed it all the way down the water corridor. It glided past Adelaide. People threw things on the deck, flowers, messages. A single rose. When it reached the gateway to the open water the boat seemed to hover. It was beyond the reach of an outstretched arm. Then it was beyond the thrown flight of a flower.
The sky, blank and blue. The sea, infinite.
Don’t look back, he thought. Never look back.
Even if he had, he would not have seen the girl far back in the crowd, her arm stretched overhead as she waved frantically, and she would not have seen him.
Osiris fell silent.
Adelaide pressed her hands tightly to her chest. She watched the boat diminish. It carried ambassadors, wishes and dreams, the memories of the dead.
Vik—
The craft became the size of a balloon, then the size of a human eye. It grew smaller and smaller on the bed of the waves until finally, it bled into the wash of the horizon and vanished.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Osiris has been a part of my life for a long time, and inevitably those around me have shared in both the joys and struggles of its creation. There are many friends without whose wisdom and support it would have been so much harder. It is impossible to thank everyone here, but in particular I would like to mention the following:
Kim, my sister, who reads everything first. My fabulous housemate M-P, for among many other things sitting up with me late into the nights to help work through seemingly impossible manuscript problems. The lovely and talented Clare, for taking the time to read and offer advice on early drafts of this and other works, and surely more to come. The inestimable Millcat, without whom there would be no Emcat. Björn Wärmedal, for being a joy to write with upon my first forays into science fiction. Fellow writers and friends David Bausor, Christabel Cooper, Jacqui Hazell, Dominique Jackson, Kyo Louis, Suzanne Ramadan, and Colin Tucker, for their invaluable criticism, support, and much consumption of red wine over the past five years. Bobby Williams, for always listening, and for making me the most beautiful piece of film any novelist could wish for. Alexa Brown and James Harris for giving their time and talent to film it. Mau to you all!
I want to thank my wonderful agent John Berlyne, who has believed in the book from the start and refused to give up on it even when I almost had myself. I want to thank Jeremy Lassen and all the folk at Night Shade Books for giving Osiris a home, and welcoming me so warmly into the fold.
Last but most importantly: thank you to my family, the often madhouse of Swifts, for encouraging me to follow my dreams; for being there all the way and always.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
E. J. SWIFT is a writer and novelist based in London. She studied in Manchester and at Royal Holloway in London, where she completed the MA in Creative Writing. Her short fiction has appeared in Interzone magazine. When not writing, Emma can usually be found festooned with cats or practicing aerial circus skills.
Osiris is her first novel.
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
1 ¦ ADELAIDE
2 ¦ VIKRAM
3 ¦ ADELAIDE
4 ¦ VIKRAM
5 ¦ ADELAIDE
6 ¦ VIKRAM
7 ¦ ADELAIDE
PART TWO
8 ¦ VIKRAM
9 ¦ ADELAIDE
10 ¦ VIKRAM
11 ¦ ADELAIDE
12 ¦ VIKRAM
13 ¦ ADELAIDE
14 ¦ VIKRAM
15 ¦ ADELAIDE
16 ¦ VIKRAM
17 ¦ ADELAIDE
PART THREE
18 ¦ VIKRAM
19 ¦ ADELAIDE
20 ¦ VIKRAM
21 ¦ ADELAIDE
22 ¦ VIKRAM
23 ¦ ADELAIDE
24 ¦ VIKRAM
25 ¦ ADELAIDE
26 ¦ VIKRAM
27 ¦ ADELAIDE
28 ¦ VIKRAM
29 ¦ ADELAIDE
30 ¦ VIKRAM
31 ¦ ADELAIDE
32 ¦ VIKRAM
33 ¦ ADELAIDE
34 ¦ VIKRAM
35 ¦ ADELAIDE
36 ¦ VIKRAM
PART FOUR
37 ¦ ADELAIDE
38 ¦ VIKRAM
39 ¦ ADELAIDE
40 ¦ VIKRAM
41 ¦ ADELAIDE
42 ¦ VIKRAM
43 ¦ ADELAIDE
44 ¦ VIKRAM
45 ¦ ADELAIDE
46 ¦ VIKRAM
47 ¦ ADELAIDE
48 ¦ VIKRAM
49 ¦ ADELAIDE
50 ¦ ADELAIDE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR