The Cloven Land Trilogy

by Simon Kewin

  There was a button on the wall beside the doors, big and red like the cap of some poisonous mushroom. Not knowing what else to do she pressed it, expecting to hear more screaming alarms. Instead, a click from the door told her that some locking mechanism had been released. She pushed through and then through a second set to find herself in a huge vault, larger than the concert hall she and Johnny had gone to in search of his guitar.

  Fully one third of the room was taken up by a huge iron machine. It squatted there like a dragon of polished black iron and gleaming silver. Wheels whirred and steam or smoke vented from chimney stacks all across it. One huge wheel, perhaps fifty feet tall, spun with alarming speed, metal axles turning other wheels and cogs. She had no idea how it functioned, but she could tell it was very old, a relic from a former age. Their new machines were smaller and shinier. This roaring, steaming behemoth was almost – almost – like something from back home, a blacksmith's forge perhaps, although built on a much greater scale. She could feel an intense heat blasting from it even at the distance she stood. Somewhere within it, an inferno raged.

  She knew what the machine had to be. Cait had described it to them as they'd journeyed through the woods on their way to the land of ice. It was Genera's original machine, Extraction Engine Nmbr 1, used to suck out people's souls a century or two earlier. They fired the great beast up from time to time to impress visitors. It was clearly working now. Ten or twenty figures scurried around it, conversing, staring upward at the beast's curving sides as if unsure how to tame it.

  High above, strung from the ceiling, ran the shining pipeway Cait had described. It was through this that the trapped, lost souls of this world were sucked through the portal to the White City. She could hear the high-pitched whine of their screams. Two other smaller pipes, more temporary looking, had been tethered to the main pipeway, and these, too, rang out with the cries of the lost. Genera's masters in Angere were sucking all the life-force from the people of this world they could to fuel their war.

  There had clearly been fighting in the vault. Two of the armoured soldiers lay nearby on the ground, neither moving. She knelt beside them. The first was a man, his helmet half ripped-off to reveal his contorted features. He looked to have died in the throes of some terrible agony. The figure next to him was one of the undain: the face bestial, the limbs misshapen and segregated by too many joints. This creature, too, had been destroyed by the raging spirits. Their anger was a terrible thing. For the briefest moment, doubt at what they'd unleashed flashed through Fer.

  The human guard clutched something like a phone in his hand. Fer took it, then edged away from the bodies around the side of the enormous vault, wondering how she could damage that high pipeway. It seemed impossible. Even if she could fly up to it she doubted she could do much to harm it, and she'd certainly be seen and shot down.

  She wondered what had happened to the spirits that had attacked the guards, but even as the thought came to her they returned, a sudden rush sweeping through the vault, gleeful screams rending the air. The spirits flew at the people working on the hulking machine. Fer watched as one figure, standing high up on the machine's main cylinder, swatted at the air as if besieged by a swarm of angry insects. The figure teetered then plummeted to the ground, arms and legs flailing.

  A team of soldiers raced toward the machine from another doorway. They looked as if they planned to shoot at the teeming ghosts, but then Fer saw that wasn't it. The weapons weren't firing bullets; they had flaring snouts like wide mouths. They were sucking the spirits in. Fer heard the wails as the ghosts were drawn into the devices. Genera had obviously prepared for a breach in the pipe and were fighting back.

  Fer lifted the phone to her mouth and whispered into it. “Archaeon. Bookwyrm. Are you there?” She had no idea if that was how you contacted the creature or whether she had to press buttons. She should have paid more attention when Catherine or the Lizard King communicated with the creature. In any case, nothing happened. She tried again, talking more loudly. “Bookwyrm, speak to me. This is no time for games. I need you.”

  A little blue light winked on and off, and then the screen changed. This display was only blacks and greys rather than the usual vivid colours, but the blocky outline of the dragon's head was perfectly clear. A plume of smoke consisting of a line of grey squares drifted from its nostrils.

  “Hello, little witch. So you have finally made it inside the refinery. You took your time.”

  “Can you fool their systems, hide me from their cameras?”

  “I've been doing so ever since you ran through the gates. Did you think you'd made it this far by your own brilliance and skill?”

  She ignored the creature's taunts. “We didn't know if you'd be here. Your other selves said you were cut off.”

  “My other selves are, of course, completely right. Genera have managed to lock down their systems effectively. It has been an amusing battle, but I am, for the moment, isolated from the rest of the world.”

  “But you're still here.”

  “Well observed! Yes, I am. There are still plenty of places to hide in such a large and complex network. They have tried to seek me out, of course, searching for my binary patterns, but it's simply a matter of shapeshifting to evade them.”

  “Good. Wonderful. The thing is, I badly need your help.”

  “As it seems you always do.”

  “Yes. I know. Will you do it?”

  The dragon paused, closing its eyes as if giving the question considerable thought. After its dramatic pause it replied. “As ever I am at your beck and call. Tell me what miracle you require me to work now.”

  “That great machine. The steaming, iron contraption.”

  “The old Extraction Engine, yes.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Of course it's dangerous! To you at least. It was responsible for sucking out people's souls for a hundred years. Have you learned nothing?”

  “No, no, I mean, is it dangerous now? The heat from it is intense and the people operating it … they look like they're barely in control of it. The attacking spirits have killed several of them.”

  “Let me see.”

  For once she thought she understood what the creature meant. “You want me to point the phone at the machine?”

  “No, no. There isn't a camera in the device you're holding. Isn't that obvious? I mean, let me go and see what the network is saying.”

  “Good. Do that. Only hurry. Someone is going to spot I'm not supposed to be here very soon.”

  The skirmish at the machine had died down, the spirits sucked from the air by the guard's wide-mouthed weapons. There was an urgency to the actions of those remaining at the machine. A jet of steam vented from the side of the main cylinder, accompanied a moment later by a piercing whistle. Even to Fer's ears it was clearly an alarm. There was a note of shrill panic to it.

  Her instincts told her to get away from the rumbling, raging machine, but instead she walked toward it. She would no longer hide in the shadows. If she looked like she belonged there, people might think she did.

  The heat mounted as she neared the contraption. The machine appeared to swell, looming larger and larger over her. She picked out more details: the whirring cogs and the smaller wheels turning beneath the cylinder, some of them flying around so quickly their spokes were a blur. Fer could no longer tell if the constant high-pitched scream she could hear came from the spirits thronging the aether, or the raging machinery, or both. From somewhere distant, an explosion rattled through the chamber, making the walls shake and plumes of dust cascade to the floor. The spirits were attacking all across the refinery. If they could keep the guards busy a little longer perhaps she'd have time to act.

  She walked to a point where a series of control wheels and levers protruded from the side of the machine. Each was labelled with a polished brash plate but she could make nothing of the words. Someone shouted at her from twenty yards away, a man standing at another set of controls. Fer waved as if to
say she understood, everything was under control, and the other figure pulled with all his weight on a long iron lever protruding from the machine.

  Fer held the phone she carried back up to her ear. “Have you found anything?”

  “Do you want my advice, little witch?”

  “Yes, that's what I asked.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I'm standing at the machine.”

  “Well, then I'd advise you to run. The machine is out of control. It takes a lot of adjusting and monitoring to stop it exploding and the attacks of the dead have taken their toll. The machine should never have been fired up; it's far too dangerous, and now, well, I wouldn't like to be near it.”

  “What will happen?”

  “When the internal pressure reaches a certain unknown point the main cylinder will burst. It will be a tremendous explosion. The Extraction Engine was very powerful.”

  Was it Fer's imagination or were the gleaming black walls of the engine shaking? The heat was parching her lips, making her eyes prickle. Her throat was so dry her voice was barely a croak. “The pipeway directly above it. The spirit pipeway. What will happen to that if the machine explodes?”

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “It will be severed, broken.”

  “Very good, little witch! It's almost like you don't need me here.”

  “Can you make sure that happens?”

  “That's beyond even me. There are no electronic connections to the old machine. You'll have to do it yourself.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “I warn you, you really do not want to be anywhere near when it blows.”

  “Yes, I understand! Just tell me what to do.”

  “Describe the controls you can see.”

  Struggling to find the right words for the various handles and wheels and knobs, Fer did her best to explain what she could see.

  “Is there a gauge?”

  “A what?”

  “Like a clock, but not telling you the time.”

  “Yes.”

  “What number is the hand pointing to?”

  “There are no numbers. But the end of the dial is red and the pointer is there.”

  “Pressure is critical. Do any of the wheels have labels saying things like Main Relief Valve or Pressure Vent?”

  “I have no idea! I can't read their letters!”

  Despite the clattering, screaming noise all around, the bookwyrm's sigh in her ear was perfectly clear. “I will display the words on the screen for you. Look for any wheels with similar labels and turn them anticlockwise until they lock.”

  “Which way is anticlockwise?”

  “Widdershins.”

  “Right. Let me do that.”

  “And when you've done so, little witch, do run as fast as you can, won't you? I do so enjoy our little conversations and it would be a shame not to have any more.”

  Fer slipped the phone into her pocket and, using both her hands, turned all the wheels she could see whose labels seemed to match the words the bookwyrm had shown her.

  A group of guards clumped by as she worked, but once again they paid her no attention. People saw what they expected to see. The soldiers of Genera assumed she was someone trying to bring the machine under control and gave her no more thought.

  The wheels on the machine were stiff, and more than one was hot, as if connected directly to the raging fires within. Fer stuck at her work, only occasionally swearing as the wheels refused to budge. In the end she had to use everything she had, her magic and her muscles, to force them to turn. Bethany helped too, although the witch-girl was faint, her terror at being back in the refinery clear.

  When the wheels were turned, Fer paused to gaze at the bulk of the machine towering over her. It shook visibly, and the old metal seemed to have found its own voice. It creaked and whined, steam shooting from its joints. It surely couldn't hold together much longer. More cries came from the others on the machine. One stood back, arms wide, then turned and ran. Fer, taking her cue, did the same.

  She followed the line of the pipeway high overhead toward another set of heavy doors. The glamour she'd been maintaining about herself slipped, but she didn't bother to rework it. Getting away from the thundering machine was all that mattered, and the guards of Genera would see that as well as she could.

  She expected to be hurled to the floor by the explosion at any moment, but she reached the doors unscathed. Another red button was set there, but when she pressed it nothing happened. She tried again, hammering on it in barely-controlled panic.

  Slowly, ponderously, the doors lumbered open. They were reassuringly thick and heavy, metal a foot thick as if the builders had feared the great old engine might one day explode. She slipped sideways through the opening as soon as she could and hammered on a second switch, shouting at the doors to make them shut.

  Once again the doors took their time to respond. They stuttered, paused, then folded inward. Fer caught a final glimpse of the enormous machine, wreathed with steam, flame licking up its sides, and then it was gone.

  She had to get farther away. She slipped through another set of doors to find herself in a second cavernous space. Cait had described this room, too. The far end of it was taken up by a cliff of bare rock. A powerful waterfall poured from it, filling the air with its rushing noise. The portal to Angere. The line of bone containers was there, as was the pipeway running directly into the cascade of water. Here was where it all went, the Spirit and the Bone, delivered to Menhroth and the horrors of Angere.

  In one of the walls, overlooking the room, high square windows had been set. Fer discerned a figure standing at one of them, surveying the scene. She knew instinctively that the figure was watching her, seeing her as she really was. They had her. A moment later the doors beneath the windows burst open and a group of soldiers raced forward, guns held at the ready. They charged toward Fer.

  She was taking all this in when the vast explosion shook through the walls, the stone floor bucking and rippling. She scrambled from the doors, desperate to get as far away as possible. Another huge boom came, rattling her ribcage. Fifty yards away, the soldiers had also been flung to the floor. They staggered to their feet, looking around in confusion, Fer momentarily forgotten.

  Then Fer heard the screaming. Quietly at first, then rising in tone, a mixture of fear and anger and an uncontained joy. The trapped spirits in the pipe were free. They rushed into the air, swirling and dancing, a flood of them unleashed into the aether. Their glee was glorious and terrible. Fer caught glimpses of half-formed faces as the deluge continued. A whirlwind of them swept through the room and the soldiers, standing now, were attacked, spirits roaring through their bodies, picking the soldiers up and hurling them against the walls like rag dolls.

  Would they attack her? Perhaps. There was little reason there, only blind rage. Fer raced in the opposite direction, following the line of the pipeway high overhead. The silver tube was quiet now, the high-pitched screaming from it gone. Perhaps she could hide somewhere among the containers waiting to go through the portal, escape when everything had quietened down. It was all she could do. Besides, if fire were to rage through the refinery, being near the water seemed like a good idea. The air smelled smokier than it had before, catching in her throat as she panted.

  She was hurrying for the containers when more soldiers appeared through the doors. These moved with deliberate precision as if following the movements of some well-drilled manoeuvre. They fanned out across the room, forming a line to protect the portal. Fer reached one of the containers and threw herself behind it. This room was also brightly lit; there were no shadows to hide within and if there were cameras watching she'd be visible. She just had to hope Genera's attention was on the attacking spirits.

  Another torrent of angry ghosts swept through the chamber, the walls no barrier to them. They hurled themselves at the soldiers, filled with their hunger for revenge. But these soldiers carried the wide-mouthed contraption
s, and the dead had no defence. Some were pulled in. Others, swirling in their fury, swept through walls or floor to attack elsewhere.

  The soldiers moved again, always facing away from her but closing in to form a half-circle around the portal. A half-circle which also contained Fer. They took up defensive positions around the waterfall, no doubt ordered to protect the portal and the White City at all costs.

  Fer let out a deep breath. She had managed to find the once place in the refinery where she would be safe from the raging spirits. Perhaps she had a chance of surviving. The long chase into and out of the city had exhausted her utterly, but incredibly they'd done it. Done what Cait had asked.

  The line of soldiers parted then to allow another knot of guards through. These carried conventional guns. They marched toward Fer. A woman pushed to the front, the only one of the group wearing normal clothes rather than bulky military uniform.

  She looked directly at the place where Fer hid. She had to be Clara Sweetley, the head of Genera, Nox's replacement. The woman held up a hand, instructing her soldiers not to fire, not to move any closer. Water dripped from the woman's hair, but she paid it no attention. Fer looked around desperately, seeking some means of escape, some way of fighting back. She could see none.

  The woman beckoned one of the soldiers to her side. He stooped so she could speak into his ear. The man nodded and turned to address Fer, speaking in the tongue of Andar.

  “You can stop cowering in the shadows now, Fer. Did you think you'd managed to evade us? Did you think we didn't know you were here?”

  More soldiers were edging along the walls, surrounding her. There was little point hiding any more. Fer stepped from behind the metal container. The spray from the nearby waterfall made every surface slick and shiny.