by Mike Maddox
One of the guards lifted the visor of his gas mask as Leah approached.
"You know these people Miss?"
Leah scowled at them, feeling the delight a parent feels when finding a lost child, followed by the sudden desire to give it the hiding of its life for scaring the wits out of her.
"Never seen them before in my life, soldier. Have them buggered and dropped into the sewers."
"Begging your pardon Miss, but we're not the Navy."
"No, you're right. No point having them make the sewers smell bad is there? Better if you just run them through with your bayonets here and now. Here, pass one over, I'll give you a hand to gut him." Leah turned to Rendolph and Gim. "I thought you were dead, you stupid, lazy, drunken, smelly idiots!"
A toothy smile broke over Rendolph's face. He stood up, his arms wide to embrace her. "Ahh, bless! Come here!"
"Get off!" Leah jumped backwards. "You smell like a -" She was going to say 'a corpse' but thought better of it. "You smell exactly like you. And your brain dead friend."
"She means me," said Gim, proudly, beaming at the soldiers.
"These two 'men' - and I use the term loosely - are composting assistants, third class, Rendolph and Gim." Leah said.
"Hey! Second class!" said Rendolph.
"No, really, third class. You've just been demoted."
"Who died and put you in charge?" said Gim, laughing and putting his arm round her shoulder. Leah shrugged him off. "What? What did I say?"
She turned to face her friends. "Everyone died. It's just us now. We're all that's left of the Garden staff. It will mean us doing everything. Long hours, no rest, with no thanks and no extra pay."
Rendolph shrugged. "No change there, then."
"No change at all. Gim?"
He looked up, his face far too serious for such an idiot. "Are they really all dead?"
Leah reached out and flicked some straw from his shoulder. "Yes Gim. The sickness took them all. Didn't you think it even a bit strange that the Garden was full of soldiers this morning?" Leah turned to face the soldiers. "These two were working on the new irrigation system. Ever since the well ran dry we've had to take water from further away. I don't know if it's significant to your investigation or not. I merely mention it for the sake of completeness."
Rendolph pulled his shirt off, shaking grass cuttings from his vest.
Leah put her hands on her hips and lifted her gaze to the mushrooms towering above them. It would rain later. There were spores to harvest, sprouts to tend, cuttings to see to. Up through the reaches of the mushrooms and the vines, there was something wrong with the sky. The colour of the sun, the way the windows of the Castle reflected the dim, cold red light. It was all wrong.
Leah realised what it was that was that had been missing from the sunrise all along.
CHAPTER TWO
The attack had come without warning. The Alleshi border patrol, two days out of their barracks, were making good progress in the wastelands that nudged against the Prash-Romaria borders. The patrols had been stepped up in recent weeks, as relationships between the newly created nations in the fragmented former Bethel became ever more frayed. The illness, and the stress it brought with it, had caused many old tensions to re-ignite.
The patrol was cautiously edging its way along the abandoned trench, a relic from the last war, when they found their legs becoming leaden, their limbs heavy. Senses slipped into overdrive as the delicate smell of lavender and spring grasses wafted around them. Instinctively men dropped to their knees, loading rifles with gloved fingers, and trying not to look at the beautiful swirling patterns around them. The sky was now a myriad of colours.
"Take cover! Incendiary!"
The men threw themselves flat on the trench floor, their hands clasped tight across their chests as a sergeant, a veteran of countless skirmishes in the last war, pulled the pin from a grenade and hurled it high into the air. It blossomed briefly, like a rose, like a carnation made of phosphor. The officer at his side gazed up, his eyes seeing what he already knew.
"Genie!" He shouted. "Inject Green now!"
Genies were magical creatures, built by wizards during the war. Used by all sides at one time or another, they were officially outlawed by international agreement. Some still existed here and there, mainly in smaller nations, where resources were lacking for more robust magical defences.
The soldiers pulled green phials from their webbing, and slotted them into their wrist-ports, granting immunity from the Genie's assault. One raw recruit, who had been a farmer's boy but six weeks ago, fumbled through his thick gloves and dropped his. Cursing to himself, he pulled the glove from his hand to better retrieve the phial. The sergeant screamed at him from the other side of the trench. "No! Glove back on! Now!" But it was too late. The soldier stopped and looked up, lost in wonder at the beauty that surrounded him. The pharmaceutical weaponry floating around him entered his bloodstream through the follicles on his unshielded skin. He lifted his bare hand, allowing the gossamer strands to sift through his fingers like warm, scented sand. His eyes filled with tears.
"It's beautiful," he whispered. The Genie swam towards him, its arms reaching out as a lover would reach for his beloved. Oh, but it loved him. Wanted him. How could he not embrace such beauty?
The men in the trench looked away, squeezing their eyes tight shut as the young man fell dead to the ground, hitting the earth like a wet grain sack.
"Rear section, open fire!" yelled the officer, flicking the safety catch from his rifle. Three soldiers jumped up, showering the Genie with a concentrated hail of gunfire, the silver and mistletoe tracer fire ripping through the creature. There was a noise, something between a sigh and the sound of tearing paper, and the Genie melted away to nothingness.
The Sergeant tore off his gas mask, gulping in deep breaths of air. Around him soldiers were doing the same. He knelt by the body of the boy, already pulling his ident tags from his uniform.
"That was the last of our Green, Sergeant." An officer said. "If we come across another one of these things out here then... Well. Then it'll be a hard fight."
The Sergeant pocketed the tags, reaching to switch off the good luck charms that all recruits wore, despite what the regulations said. No sense in wasting batteries. "Nothing the lads can't handle." They nodded at each other. They both knew this wasn't true.
"Send a message back to the Castle, alerting General Vale. Genie sighted, one casualty. They'll need to alert aircom."
The officer turned his head from side to side, suddenly aware of a stiffness in his shoulders. The result of two weeks on patrol, no doubt. "What's going on, Sergeant? We shouldn't be meeting magical constructs this close to our borders. The Prash-Romarians must be more rattled by the sickness than we thought." He knelt by the dead soldier, his stomach in knots as he mentally began composing the letter to the boy's parents. Worst part of the job; worse than killing someone.
Around him, men peered out into the wilderness, bayonets fixed, safety catches off, the hard plastic armour digging into their mud stained uniforms.
It would be daylight soon.
Perhaps the dawn would bring some hope with it.
The great hall of the Castle was quite rightly considered one of the architectural wonders of the modern world. Even the Alleshi's harshest critics had little choice but to acknowledge it as a work of genius. The pillars that rose from the marble floor twisted and turned as they wove into each other, reaching up into the darkness, defying gravity and simple common sense as they did so. It should have been impossible for something so delicate to bear even its own weight, and yet somehow they did. The gravity suppression fields that allowed the gossamer strands to hold the vast domed ceiling were maintained by the combination of a powerful repulse engine in the crypts, and the constant prayers of magicians in service to the Mage.
The word 'Castle' never did this place justice, but there was no other word for it. Magic and beauty filled the very sunlight that shone in through the high
stained-glass windows. The smooth floors were like an incandescent polished marble that by rights should have been as slippery as ice, and yet held the footing of even the unsteadiest.
Gentle lights flickered a myriad of colours along the walls; the statues seeming half-alive as shadows caressed them. It was common knowledge that one or two of the statues were far more than half-alive. The eyes followed you too closely; their gestures mirrored real life too keenly to be something as simple as mere art.
The two Sages entered from the north transept, their robes hissing softly as they dragged over the cold, smooth floor. The air of magic and chemistry hung thick about them, so that they left a faint trail of condensation on the ground as they passed. Like all Sages, their faces were partially obscured by the hooded robes they wore when outside of the laboratory temples that were their home. Their skin was pale and their clothes damp with the chemicals that protected them.
Following at a respectable distance came four Chemical Warriors, the Sages' honour guard, sworn to protect them at all times. Following strict protocol two warriors always looked outwards, their eyes flitting round the hall as they scoured the shadows, looking for any physical dangers that may lurk there. Another kept his eyes constantly fixed on the Sages, never wavering for a second. His eyes were searching for signs of moral weakness, or signs of possession. The fourth followed behind, his eyes tightly closed. Looking inwards, he focussed on dangers that could not readily be seen by the sane or sober. He focussed on psychological, mental and even spiritual threats.
It would normally take a full five minutes to walk from one side of the hall to the other. The Sages did so today in two, moving with unseemly haste. Even if the Castle itself were on fire, it would not do for them to break into a run, and so their hurried gait was all the more unusual.
The Sages stopped by the door at the south transept. Two blue uniformed Castle guards barred their way, spears crossed threateningly. The Chemical Warriors narrowed their eyes suspiciously; their thumbs rubbing the stoppers on the phials of potion they wore on their uniforms.
"Who comes, in the name of the most high Mage?" shouted one of the guards; his eyes fixed on the middle distance. Respectfully, he avoided eye contact with the Sages.
"Friends," whispered one of the Sages. He made a subtle gesture with his hand. A complicated pheromone spray drifted from his fingertips, the particles carrying complex biological data through the air. The LED jewels on the guards' spear glowed a soft azure as the bio-data was analysed and deemed acceptable by the tiny artificial mind lodged there.
"Advance friends!"
Passing through the door, and out of earshot, the Sages at last lowered their hoods. The taller of the two turned to face his companion, his features white with rage.
"What is this madness, Niaal? Are things so mismanaged that protocol has been abandoned, all manners allowed to die?" His friend, shorter and stockier smiled calmly back at him.
Whereas Grefno was tall and nervous in demeanour, Niaal was shorter, with a gentle benign air. He radiated calm and reassurance, the very picture of the aloof magic user that the Sages of Allesh prided themselves to be. He had distinguished himself in the war, and had quickly risen through the ranks of the military wizards to become a Sage in the Castle. He had been one of the officers responsible for bringing about peace in Western Bethel, and indeed was among those who had rallied around the Mage when he put himself forward as their leader.
"Peace, Grefno."
"Peace? Niaal, we are nearly in a state of war again!"
"We have been at war before. We survived, and we rose above it. The treaty, signed by all the Mages of all the lands of Inan saw to that, and granted us peace. We have all seen the horror of war first hand, and yet we still live."
"For which I am grateful." Grefno followed him along the vast corridor; his face wrought with worry. "There have been... reports, though."
Niaal smiled "Reports? There are always reports, I am sure they are nothing."
Grefno drew a circle in the air, producing an image of a group of soldiers, black-armoured frontline troops. "See this? Only this morning one of our patrols was attacked by a Genie, of all things! And close to our borders, too. This should not be tolerated. We should be at work, we should be finding a cure for this illness, not spending our time seeing our patrols attacked by the magical constructs of foreign powers! Wretched things were outlawed by the peace treaty. The Prash-Romarians should know better than allow their continued use."
The corridor opened into a large wood panelled octagonal room, adorned with paintings of the Sages and heroes of the Great War. Waiting in the middle of the room stood an officer in the brown of the local militia, although in affectation of a cavalry style. As the Sages approached, he squared his shoulders and bowed his head in greeting.
"Honoured Sages, you sent for me." The Sages' entourage of Chemical Warriors surrounded him, probing with their eyes, reading his heartbeat, the electricity on his skin, the movement of his pupils. "I realise how unusual this must be for you," the officer continued nervously, trying to ignore the Chemical Warriors, "but please be assured it is a very real pleasure for me. One so rarely gets the chance of an audience with such learned company."
Niaal smiled back, a superior expression on his face. He nodded at the Warriors and they glided back, standing at equal intervals around the edges of the room. "The pleasure is all ours, Captain Krillan. We are but simple men of science. Cloistered here in the Castle we owe our continued safety to the bravery of men such as yourself." Krillan bowed his head once more, unsettled but deeply flattered to be so acknowledged.
Grefno frowned. "And The Mage, of course." he muttered.
Niaal looked up him, a pleased look on his round face. "But of course. Preserve him."
Niaal sat down in one of the many high backed wooden chairs that were set into the wall of the room, but Grefno kept pacing around the captain, full of nervous energy.
"Tell me Captain... Krillan, was it? How is containment of the sickness progressing? Have you been able to limit the spread?"
Krillan shuffled his feet, his hands twitching restlessly by his side. He smiled weakly. "Honoured Sages, I am doing my best in exceptional circumstances with appallingly limited resources. I asked for a squad of regular infantry, and yet have to make do with..." He paused. "With militia men." He said the word as if his mouth were full of vinegar. "I am doing the best I can. They need to be driven constantly; they require a firm hand to keep them in place. I am pushing them to their utmost, naturally."
Niaal sighed. "Naturally." He stood up, adjusting his robes, flicking at an imaginary fleck of dust. "But have you actually contained the spread of the sickness? Have you done what you were asked?"
Grefno placed a soft hand on his colleague's shoulder. "I'm sure the Captain is doing his best, dear friend."
"I'm sure he is, and yet the facts remain, Grefno. The sickness must be contained. We are no closer to understanding what causes it than we were this time last month." Niaal gestured with his hand, casting a minor spell. At once, a window appeared in the air. Straining his eyes Krillan could see it showed a view of the hospital, the sick and dying lined up in beds. In another corner it showed a map of the immediate lands around the castle, with points in red where the sickness had been reported. A complex pattern of brightly coloured spheres and lines appeared to one side, representing what Krillan assumed to be possible cures. There were many more things that he did not recognise, and knew he could never hope to.
Niaal pointed a long pale finger at the window. "We should divert less energy into understanding it and more into containing it. The Captain here will see to that. I take it the village has been cordoned off?"
Krillan looked up, eager to bring good news "It has. Although the inhabitants are as yet unaware of it. They will find out soon enough, of course. Tomorrow is market day. When they see the empty stalls, they'll work it out for themselves."
Grefno made his way to the magic window, gazing w
ith interest at the jewel bright pixels that hung in the air. "This is the third outbreak this week."
Niaal nodded. "If the disease is airborne, and we must hope that it is not, it could breach the Castle defences. It needs to be contained at all costs."
Grefno rubbed his eyes. "Nearly all costs. We will not have this place sterilised." Krillan startled at the words. He knew what sterilisation entailed. He felt a thrill of terror at the word. Sterilisation was a military term for the complete and total destruction of life in an area, even down to microbe level. As a form of warfare it was now banned, but the remote possibility of future use remained, as a last ditch solution to containment of disease.
Grefno turned slowly, facing him. " I take it you have been screened and are safe?"
Krillan burst into an instant sweat, his hands clammy by his sides. "I have followed all decontamination protocols to the letter, honoured Sage!"
"But the protocols don't work! If they did we wouldn't be in this mess, would we?"
"But honoured Sage, if they don't work then why do we still adhere to them?"
Niaal turned away from the window, smiling kindly at the uncomfortable soldier. "It helps maintain public confidence. Gives them something to do while dying. However, I asked the Captain to join us here, and personally oversaw his screening. He's as clean as snow. For the moment." Niall turned to face Krillan. "We need to keep the villagers alive," he said. "Without them there will be no one to tend the Gardens, and without the Gardens we cannot effectively defend our borders. What level clearance have you been given, Captain?"
"Level three."
Niaal blinked twice, triggering a file upload. "I have just given you level four."
Krillan bowed, his heart pounding with excitement. "I am honoured."
"We know," said Niaal.
"Thank you for your confidence in me. As a professional soldier I am too young to have had the privilege of serving my country in war, obviously, but all the same I hope I would not be found wanting if tested."