Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra

by Stephen Lawhead

  “Your news is that important?”

  A tight smile stretched the edges of Tvrdy’s lips. “Do you think I would have pulled you from the arms of your Hagemate if it was not?”

  “Listen!”

  “That will be Piipo. He said he would come after us and seal the entrance. That way we will not fear discovery—at least while we are here.”

  There was a slight rustle of clothing close by, and Piipo slipped into view from behind a small pyramid of grain sacks. He walked confidently toward them, his hood thrown back on his shoulders. “This is the best I could provide,” he said, indicating their surroundings. “There was not much time.” He regarded Tvrdy frankly.

  “The information could no doubt have waited until tomorrow, but by then we might have lost an important opportunity to make contact with the intruder in Sirin’s custody.”

  “Yes?” Piipo looked surprised.

  “You were right to call us,” said Cejka. “I wouldn’t care to miss such an opportunity. How did you find out?”

  Tvrdy settled back on his grain sack, and the others gathered close. “For several days I have been receiving reports of a stranger moving through the Hages in the company of a Saecaraz magician—a female called Calin. They have been careful not to go into deep Hage, but have moved freely enough among the populace. There does not seem to have been any attempt to disguise their visits.”

  “I have heard nothing of this,” said Piipo.

  “They came to Hyrgo two days ago,” said Tvrdy dryly. “And to Rumon the day before that. It is not likely they would have been reported—the visits did not draw attention. They traveled on foot for the most part and were observed together at all times. There was nothing at all unusual about their visits.”

  “Then how do you know it was the intruder?” Piipo frowned, and Cejka glanced at him sharply. “I assure you I do not doubt your sources,” Piipo hastily added. “But I don’t see—”

  “If Tvrdy says it was the intruder,” Cejka cut him off decisively, “then stake your life on it.”

  Tvrdy raised his hands to quiet the two and continued. “Today, however, they stayed within Hage Saecaraz. In fact, they left the intruder’s kraam three times only—yes, Sirin has given the intruder a kraam within the Supreme Director’s chambers— and twice they went to see him in the audience room.”

  “A kraam for the spy?” wondered Piipo. “What does it mean?”

  “And the third visit?” asked Cejka impatiently.

  “To the Archives. They have not returned.”

  “The Archives!” Cejka gasped.

  Piipo stared incredulously. “I don’t understand. What does it mean?”

  “It means,” replied Cejka, recovering quickly, “that we may already be too late to learn much from the intruder. Either the psilobe has permanently altered his memory, or he has joined Rohee’s reign.”

  “The Archives,” Piipo muttered. “You put too much store by them. They cannot be that important.”

  “We have seen records—” began Cejka. Tvrdy warned him off with a stern glance. “You have no idea how important the Archives are. If we told you, you would not believe us.”

  “It is all old mother’s prattle,” Piipo scoffed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Tvrdy. “All that matters now is whether we should risk trying to contact him. That is why I called you. I would not implicate you without your knowledge. If we tried and failed …”

  Cejka nodded silently. Piipo looked from one to the other of his co-conspirators. Tvrdy’s gaze was steady and patient. He had worked through the problem in his own mind, and wanted to allow the others a chance to reach the same conclusions for themselves.

  “Well,” Cejka said, breaking the silence which had grown heavy as the grain in the great vault of a room, “I see no other course but to try. We must be certain. And even if he has joined Rohee, we may discover a way to use him to help us gain entrance to the Archives.”

  “And you, Piipo?”

  “I agree. In any case we have to know whether he has joined them or not. Yes, contact him as soon as possible.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Tvrdy beamed at them and began explaining his plan to make contact with the stranger. They discussed his plan from every angle and in the end agreed on how it should be carried out.

  As they rose, stretched, and made to leave, Piipo asked, “Tell me—any news of our latest acquisition?”

  Tvrdy shrugged. “Still too soon to tell. He was given a large dose—much larger than normal. They were taking no chances. But he is beginning to ask questions.”

  “That’s a good sign,” put in Cejka.

  “Yes, there is some small hope. A partial recovery at least.”

  “What about the woman and the fourth intruder? Still no word?”

  “The woman has been seen from a distance. Two attempts at contact have failed—the Chryse troupe she is with did not appear as scheduled. It could be that the troupe’s leader has been instructed to keep her under close security.” Tvrdy paused and added, “I wasn’t going to tell you now—we’ve had enough bad news for one night…”

  “Go on,” urged Piipo, “we might as well hear it all. The night is too far gone for sleep anyway.”

  “The fourth intruder was taken to Starwatch level of Nilokerus several days ago. Condition uncertain, but he has been attended continuously by Ernina herself since his arrival.”

  “That’s Jamrog’s doing!” muttered Cejka.

  “My source thinks not,” replied Tvrdy. “There have been no official orders regarding his disposition upon recovery. I think Hladik is responsible and doesn’t want anyone to know what has happened to the captive assigned to him.”

  “Conditioning?”

  “That’s my guess. I told you it was bad.”

  Piipo took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “All the more reason to make contact with the remaining intruder as soon as possible. We are running out of alternatives.” He smiled unexpectedly.

  “Well? What is it, Piipo?” asked Cejka.

  “Excuse me, I am still new to the ways of a cabal and I have difficulty believing in the need for such urgency. I am quickly learning, however, and I just had a thought. Why not take all the spies? We know where they are. It could be done. Isn’t tomorrow a Holy Day?”

  Tvrdy stared at Piipo, then broke into a wide grin. “Excellent! I like the way you think. I was afraid you were beginning to doubt your decision to join us.”

  “Never! It is the one thing I am pleased with in a very long time. I do not regret it. Once my word is given …”

  Tvrdy clapped him on the shoulder. “It will soon get much worse, you know.”

  Piipo’s smile broadened. “How else can it get better?”

  The three sat down again and reformed the plan, each taking responsibility for securing one of the intruders. Another hour passed before they were satisfied and adjourned the Cabal. Piipo put his fist to his heart and then slipped away, dodging behind sacks of grain. Tvrdy and Cejka nodded silently, returned the salute, and then hurried off, leaving the way they had come.

  Jamrog, forehead bulging menacingly, lips compressed into a tight line, twirled a bhuj between his quick hands. The spinning blade dashed light from its mirrored surface, flashing like the anger smouldering in the Director’s eyes. Hladik sat to one side, frowning, dark brows pulled together into a ridge above his eyes, his jowls spreading over his collar.

  Fertig, Nilokerus Subdirector, sweated into his yos and blurted out the rest of his news. “… but the usual procedures proved ineffectual. He lost consciousness when the second eye was burned out and died before we could administer revivants.”

  “What was he given before interrogation?” growled Hladik unhappily.

  Fertig spread his hands in a show of innocence. “The usual pain enhancers. Nothing more. It was not known he had such a weak heart.”

  “Did you think to check his records?” Jamrog sneered.

  “My men are better tra
ined than that!” Hladik snapped. “Records are not kept on wastehandlers. Only the higher-order Jamuna have permanent files. This one was merely a recycler; the only record he possessed was his dole number. I looked into that myself.”

  Jamrog groaned and smashed the bhuj against the floor. A starburst pattern appeared in the cracked stone tile at his feet. “How is this possible?” he demanded. The Nilokerus at the ready behind Fertig stiffened.

  “Calm down,” Hladik soothed. With a wave he dismissed his aide, who, with the rest of the Nilokerus contingent, retreated gratefully without hesitation. “A third-order recycler’s death—this Nendl, whoever he is—will not change anything. We’ll get the spy back—where can he go? He has no friends; no one will help him. I would not be surprised if he were apprehended before the day was out.”

  “Are you really so stupid? Save your mindless chatter. I know better. We don’t know how long Pizol has been missing. His absence was discovered this morning, but as far as we know he has not been seen for three days at least. Obviously he’s been taken in somewhere. I suspect Tvrdy is behind this.”

  “What an accusation! Listen to yourself. Tvrdy is a Director, after all.”

  “A Director who will stop at nothing to worm his way into power over us. Don’t be a fool. You know he is cunning. He’s not a brainless lump like Dey or Bouc. Who can guess what he’s thinking in that tight mind of his?” He glared at Hladik, defying him to contradict this.

  “I know you and Tvrdy have your differences—”

  “Differences? Hah! He’d kill me without a second’s hesitation if I ever gave him the chance—and I would do the same. We are enemies, Hladik. Or are you talking this way because you are weakening?”

  Hladik pulled a hurt face. So far his little exercise had accomplished his goal: averting Jamrog from further questioning him about their other prisoner—the one he had nearly killed through the conditioning. That had been his own idea, a little insurance. If Jamrog ever found out—better not to think it. That was inviting disaster. With any luck the spy would recover before Jamrog suspected anything was wrong. He made a mental note to pay the prisoner a personal visit.

  Jamrog, still scowling, flung out his hand. “Stop playing the wounded innocent and tell me what we are to do now.”

  “As I said, Pizol will be found soon. In all probability he is still within Jamuna Hage. He will turn up. All dole kiosks have been alerted. It’s only a matter of a few hours. Leave it with me.”

  “I wish I had your confidence, Hladik. All right, I will leave it with you.”

  Glad to change the subject, Hladik asked, “What have you learned abut the Fieri spacecraft?”

  “Very little. Their magic is of a different kind than ours. Completely different. Much of it is incomprehensible, although there are a few minor similarities, I am told.”

  “Is it genuine?”

  “Yes, very much so. And that is the mystery of it. If the Fieri have regained flight, why did they send such a small force? It makes no sense.”

  “I begin to think we may have to interrogate the spy under Rohee’s custody after all. I understand the Supreme Director has given him a kraam in the High Chambers. He’s mad.”

  “Sirin is old but not insane. He has his reasons. We would do well to find out what they are before moving against the spy he has befriended.” Jamrog fixed his eyes on a spot over Hladik’s dark head. “I wonder—” He tapped the staff of the bhuj gently in his hand.

  “Yes?”

  “I wonder if we have not made a mistake in placing the intruders in Hage so quickly. You should have killed them.”

  Hladik’s answer was direct. “The Supreme Director wished otherwise. We chose the best course open to us. If the Dhogs had found out about them, who knows what could have happened? This way we have kept them safely hidden from their own, and beyond the reach of Tvrdy’s faction too.”

  “Ah, so now you admit that Tvrdy has a faction, do you?”

  Hladik answered benignly, “Of course, was there ever any doubt?”

  Jamrog’s lips twitched in a thin, ruthless smile. “It seems to me he has shown less than a healthy interest in Threl unity of late. I think Tvrdy’s kraam could bear additional watching.”

  “An excellent idea. I will see to it.”

  “Use Invisibles—this is no reflection on your security forces, but the fewer people who know about this the better. Agreed? I will see that Sirin sends his authorization at once.”

  Hladik nodded, pulling his chin thoughtfully. “If Tvrdy and his little enclave are up to something, we’ll soon know it.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  As Treet stood peering into the gathering gloom, wondering how and where to start searching for his lost guide, he saw what appeared to be a faint glimmer of light reflecting off the metallic surface of a large cylindrical object which rose up from behind the foremost rank of a series of stacked ventilator louver frames. He stared at the glow and it did not go away. So, tapping for the ledge’s edge, he made his way toward the place, waving his hands in front of him like a blind man.

  Ducking around a pile of motor housings, Treet lost sight of the light momentarily and spent a panicky few seconds trying to gain his bearings. When he found it again, the dull, yellow radiance was much closer than he had expected. He crept carefully around a pile of filthy hydroponic seeder tubes and stepped into a little circle of light cast by a yellow globe lamp on a stand. Beneath the lamp was what appeared to be an open, oval manhole in the floor.

  Treet knelt down and hollered into the manhole. “Calin! Are you down there? Calin?”

  He waited, received no answer, and cautiously placed his hand into the void while his mind constructed grisly pictures of Calin’s broken body lying crumpled at the bottom far below. Dangling his arm just inside the hole, Treet found what he was looking for: the rungs of a metal ladder attached to the side of the hole just beneath the rim. He eased himself down into the hole, placing his feet gingerly on the unseen rungs.

  If she had fallen in, wouldn’t he have heard a scream or something? And who had turned on the globe? Maybe she hadn’t fallen, he thought as he went down slowly, placing his feet securely on one rung after another. Perhaps she had climbed down—as he was doing—in order to check out what was hidden below. Then again, perhaps she was nowhere near the manhole in the first place.

  He touched the floor and looked up to see the bright oval above him—a good five meters. He squatted on his haunches and touched the floor: dry, but not dusty. As far as he could tell, it was perfectly clean. There was no body huddled beneath the rungs, so he straightened and stretched out his arms. Fingertips brushing the walls on either side, he began to walk. The passage led down a fairly steady incline, and the walls were seamed at intervals, which made Treet think of pipe rather than a corridor. Perhaps this tube was part of a disused drainage system. If so, there was no real point in continuing the search—there was no telling where the pipeline led.

  Just as Treet had made up his mind to turn around and go back, he came to a junction box. Two other large pipes converged to join into one enormous conduit, which showed a light a little further along. Treet entered the conduit and felt his way toward the light.

  In a moment he stood blinking in the entrance to a large underground gallery lit with vapor tubes in long parallel lines above row upon row of metal shelving stacked with lightprint disks and holoreader cartridges. Amidst an untidy mound of disks sat Calin, her nose in a blue plastic-bound notebook.

  “Comfortable?” Treet stepped into the room, gazing along the shelves and at the dark-haired magician engrossed with the book in her lap.

  Calin smiled and looked up. “I have found a find,” she said proudly, holding out the notebook to him.

  Treet stooped to retrieve the book and closed its brittle cover to read the label: Interpretive Chronicles—1270 to 1485.

  “Indeed you have, dear sorceress,” said Treet softly. “You’ve found the granddaddy find.”

  “Banza
i jackpot!” she shouted, beaming.

  “Quadruple banzai jackpot!” He raised his eyes to look at the long rows of neatly arranged materials. It was all here—everything he needed, at his fingertips. “Do you have any idea what this means? It means that you have saved us both a carking fat lot of work, among other things.”

  He held the notebook in his hands and flipped it open at random. The pages were acid-free printout paper—thank the gods of small favors for that—written in a crisp hand, clear and readable in black ink. The margins were wide all around, allowing for the notes which had been added and initialed at a later date and in a different hand.

  The dates caught Treet’s attention. They were all wrong— unless, of course, the colony had simply begun its own reckoning. Even then, could they be right? He turned back to the title on the cover. 1485? Nearly fifteen hundred years?

  He was convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that the time displacement or compression or whatever involved probably several hundred years at least. But a millennium and a half? Judging from the amount of material gathered on the long ranks of gray metal shelves, fifteen hundred years was just the beginning.

  “Where did you get this notebook?” he asked, handing it back.

  Calin pointed to a nearby shelf where a row of orange, blue, and green notebooks stood in an orderly row. “There are many more of these,” she said.

  “So I see.” Treet stepped up to the shelf and scanned the dates on the spines of the notebooks. He called them out. “Foundation to 98, 110 to 543, 586 to 833, 860 to 1157 …” He ran his fingers along the row of notebooks as he moved to the end. “Incredible!” he cried as he came to the end. “It goes all the way to 2273!”

  His head snapped around. “Calin, what year is this?” Why had he never asked her before?

  The magician’s face scrunched in thought. “It is the year 1481, I think. So say the priests.”

  That’s why I never asked her before—they’re dating from something other than the foundation of the colony. Think! There must be a key here somewhere. He scanned the orderly row of books. “If I go back 1,481 years—” He ran his finger along the spines of the notebooks, stopped, and frowned. “No, that’s no good. I don’t know how much time has elapsed since these books were placed here.” His frown deepened.