by Keira Drake
“I was never smug,” my father says.
She smiles. “True.”
“He’s got an eye on Vaela. Mark my words.”
“That’s something we can add to his list of virtues, not his faults.”
My father makes a disagreeable sort of noise but doesn’t pursue the subject any further. We all wait in silence until the steward returns and extends an arm toward the hallway. “Shall we?”
“This building is lovely,” my mother says as we follow him down the hall. “Very warm and inviting.”
“Oh, yes, the facility is wonderful,” he says. “Everything you’ll need to enjoy yourselves has been built right into this complex. There’s a dining hall, of course, and a recreation room—plenty of books and other amenities in there—an exercise facility, a fully-equipped lounge…we hope to fulfill any need you could possibly have.”
“I’m quite interested in the island itself,” I say, “and I’d love the opportunity to take an excursion of some sort. Would that be possible?”
He stops walking. “You do know it’s quite…cold? Far colder out in the open than it was in the hangar.”
“I understand.”
He looks at me for a moment longer. “Weather permitting, I suppose something could be arranged. We do have a lovely indoor promenade, if you’re merely interested in the view?”
I smile. “I’d prefer to do a bit of exploring.”
He turns and continues walking. “Then I’ll see to it, Miss Sun. We want your stay to be as satisfying as possible. Will Mr. and Mrs. Sun be joining you?” he adds, glancing back at my parents.
“Oh, no thank you,” my mother says. “The promenade will do just fine for me.”
My father shakes his head. “I have no interest in the snow, sir.”
“Very well,” the steward says, and then stops before a door marked B4. “Here we are—your suite.” He opens the door and hands the key to my father. “Go ahead and make yourselves at home; I’ll be just down the hall in the lobby if you need anything. Dinner will be in…” He pauses for a moment to check his timepiece. “…about forty minutes. I’ll be along to call for you then.”
“Thank you kindly,” my mother says. “We’ll be ready.”
Mrs. Shaw was right: everything here at Ivanel seems to be of first-class quality. The accommodations are very fine; our suite is filled with elegant furniture, and possesses all of the luxury one might expect from a top-tier hotel back in the Spire. There are two bedrooms and a sitting room, all with floor-to-ceiling windows that provide extraordinary views of the island. There is also a spacious washroom that includes a sauna; the scent of warm cedar lingers like an almost tangible comfort.
By the time the steward returns to collect us for dinner, I’m famished. He is accompanied by the Shaws, who occupy the suite down the hall from our own. Aaden looks very handsome in a black suit and white bow tie, and I feel momentarily self-conscious in my simple gown of blue silk. But he smiles appreciatively when he sees me.
“You look lovely, Vaela,” he says. “I don’t know which suits you more: your traveling clothes, or your dinner finery.”
“Why, her dinner gown, of course,” says Mrs. Shaw, oblivious to the compliment behind his words. “Honestly, Aaden. It’s like you have no manners at all.”
As we head down the corridor to the dining hall, the steward extols the virtues of the Ivanel facility, telling us how well it functions with an incredibly small group of personnel—between twenty and thirty workers at any given time—and how it has served as a desirable holiday spot for the Spire’s most elite citizens for more than twenty-five years.
Aaden peppers him with questions about the island, and the steward is only too happy to oblige. About halfway through their conversation, it occurs to me that Aaden probably knows more about Ivanel than the steward, and is only posing questions because the steward is so delighted to be asked. It seems a kind thing to do.
When we reach the dining hall, the steward takes his leave and we sit down to a beautiful table. The dishes are exquisite: fine cream-colored porcelain edged in gold, with gleaming flatware and crystal goblets that have been polished to a shine. The servers enter without a word to set the first course on the table; it’s some sort of vegetable soup with a heady aroma. Mrs. Shaw looks very pleased.
“Wonderful to have a nice meal, isn’t it? After those foul refreshments on the plane.” She leans over and closes her eyes, inhaling deeply, then sighs. “There’s nothing like a bowl of warm soup. I believe I’m still frozen to the bone after that walk through the hangar.”
“You ought to try the sauna,” my father says. “I used one last year during a visit to the North. Very therapeutic.”
“I believe I will,” she says, a note of excitement in her voice. “Otherwise I shan’t sleep a wink.”
“How do you like the rooms?” Mr. Shaw says to my father.
“Very nice indeed. The view is exceptional.”
“It’s truly spectacular,” says Mr. Shaw. “In fact, I was just suggesting to my lovely wife that she might prefer to stay at Ivanel for the duration. No sense traipsing through the hangar every day when she has a perfectly adequate view of the scenery.”
“If she does stay, I might consider keeping her company,” my mother says. “I’m not exactly looking forward to another ride in the heli-plane.”
Mrs. Shaw wipes her mouth with a napkin and gives a sour look to her husband. “I already told you, I haven’t flown across a vast ocean to take in the sights of an island no bigger than a field of periwinkles. It’s the Continent I’ve come to see, and see it I shall.”
“I’m only thinking of your delicate sensibilities, darling,” Mr. Shaw says. “You did seem upset by that sight on the bridge, and I simply—”
“My mind is quite made up.”
Mr. Shaw hesitates for a moment, then seems to think better of pursuing the matter any further. He turns to my mother. “Will you be joining us on the flight tomorrow then?”
“If it’s all the same to my husband and daughter, I would prefer to stay here,” she replies.
“Mother, no!” I say. “You can’t! We’ve come all this way, and I just think—”
“We have nine days to tour, Vaela,” she says in a soft voice. “I could use some time to recover myself after today’s flight. You can tell me all about the Continent when you return to Ivanel.”
I want to protest, but in truth, she still looks a bit pale. “All right. Whatever suits you best.”
“I don’t mean to encroach, Miss Sun,” Aaden says to me, “but I overheard the steward making inquiries as to setting up an expedition for you here on Ivanel. Are you quite serious about trekking around in the icy wilderness?”
“I just want to get a feel for the terrain,” I say. “It won’t help me with the maps—not strictly speaking—but I find the landscape to be very inspiring.”
“It all sounds very sensible to me,” Mr. Shaw says. “You want to embrace the science of cartography, you ought to get your feet on the ground.”
“Right,” Aaden says. He puts down his glass and looks at me thoughtfully. “I wonder if I might join you, Vaela? I wouldn’t want to impose, but it sounds like fun.”
“It’s no imposition at all. I’d be delighted to have you along. I’m hoping we can go the day after tomorrow—once we’ve had a proper tour of the Continent.”
“Well,” says Mrs. Shaw, “you two can tromp around in the snow all you like, but don’t come complaining to me when you’re both dead with cold.”
“How might we complain if we’re dead?” Aaden asks, his eyes wide in mock earnestness. I cover a smile with my napkin.
Mrs. Shaw ignores him and turns to her husband. “Have you no opinion about this?”
He shrugs. “At least he’ll be outside.”
We eat for a few minutes in silence, Mrs. Shaw picking up her fork and setting it down again with a clank after every bite. At last, the servers bring in the dessert: delectable-looking pies
filled with sweet-scented berries and smothered with warm chocolate sauce.
The steward enters the room as the servers leave. “Have you all enjoyed your first meal at Ivanel?” he asks.
“Everything has been wonderful,” my mother says.
“Surprisingly satisfactory,” adds Mrs. Shaw. “I say, what are these berries? They’re divine!”
“Those are clayberries,” he says. “They’re unique to this region—you can’t find them anywhere in the Spire. I’ve developed quite a taste for them myself.”
“Well, I should like to have them every evening,” says Mrs. Shaw. “You’ll see to it?”
“It will be my pleasure, madam,” he says. “And now, I will bid you good night—I’ll be by at nine a.m. to collect you all for your first real tour. Get plenty of rest—it will be a very exciting day!”
CHAPTER 4
THE HELI-PLANE RUMBLES TO LIFE AND, AFTER A moment, begins to roll steadily down the runway. The steward mentioned icy conditions, so this morning’s takeoff is a bit more frightening than yesterday’s departure. But before I can work myself into a state of nerves, the plane lifts from the ground and rises above the island.
Mr. and Mrs. Shaw have taken the two front windows, respectively. I’m once again sitting in the middle row on the left side, and Aaden is seated across the aisle from me. My father is sitting by himself in the seat directly behind me. He was very gracious to my mother this morning and assured her that we’d be fine flying alone; her response was to plant a kiss on his cheek and promise that she will take at least one more tour before the holiday is through.
As the plane glides over the sea, the steward makes a quick announcement: today, we’ll be touring the west, followed by the northeast region of the Continent—specifically, we’ll be observing an area where the Aven’ei and the Topi are often in dispute, a place that has seen some exciting skirmishes. Mr. Shaw and my father immediately strike up a robust discussion of territories, war, and other such things, while Mrs. Shaw contents herself with sighing and clucking and otherwise affecting a generally bored disposition. Aaden is quiet, looking out the window at the icy waves below, and I busy myself with organizing my notepads and pencils.
I don’t know anything about territory disputes—the histories we read in school pertained more to items of cultural interest, and truly did not include much detail—but the northern corner of the Kinsho mountain range holds a particular interest to me: it is home to the Riverbed, a great canyon carved by water and ice. I’ve seen one or two phototypes of it, but its depiction on maps tends to vary depending on the cartographer. The opportunity to see it for myself is a dream come true.
“All set there?” my father asks, peeking around the seat.
“Oh, yes,” I say. “I only wish I had been able to requisition a camera from the Chancellery.”
Ever listening, Mrs. Shaw pipes up by making a sort of snorting sound. “Technology,” she says, “is best left in the hands of those who know how to use it. Look what happened when the Chancellery tried to fix up the train stations with those telly-phones—some idiot messed with all the wiring and circuit boards and whatnot, and set the whole Kinsey Metro on fire!”
“I remember that,” says Mr. Shaw. “What a mess.”
“Yes, and four people were dead by the end of it,” Mrs. Shaw replies. “No. I’m happy to call round and leave a card like a civilized person, not to ring through like an alarm bell into someone’s parlor when they’re least expecting it. Cameras, tele-video, computers—those are sorry things indeed, if you ask me.”
“Ah, but this heli-plane,” Aaden says. “This the height of technology and engineering! Surely you can appreciate something so sophisticated?”
“I can appreciate something without wishing it to be operated outside the supervision of qualified government professionals.”
My father laughs. “Well said, Mrs. Shaw. Very well said. In any case, Vaela, that mind of yours is as good as any camera, and your sketchbook more valuable than any phototype.” He gives my shoulder a pat, then disappears behind the seat.
Aaden smiles over at me. “I suppose you’re interested in the Riverbed?”
I cannot hide my pleasure. “I might have guessed you would know the topography, though I must say, I’m no less impressed!”
He laughs. “I know a thing or two about the Continent itself, you know. Not just the natives.”
“Most people have never heard of the Riverbed.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing it. Although I must confess, its proximity to the Aven’ei-Topi border in the north is not unwelcome.”
I crinkle my nose. “You really go in for all the violence?”
He is silent for a moment. “Living in the Spire is like looking at the world from behind a veil—we don’t have a true sense of what things are like. Not really. I just want to see something real.”
“And bloodshed will satisfy that yearning?”
He shrugs. “It’s something.”
Mrs. Shaw begins yammering at her husband as to why he didn’t suggest she bring one or two bags along for the flight, as she’s dreadfully bored by all the snow and ice and sea. I give Aaden a quick smile and turn my attention back to the window, and to my sketchbook.
Shortly afterward, the pilot begins a slow descent, and we fly over a small Aven’ei village—a place complete with wood and stone buildings, piping chimneys, and what looks to be a market square. A long, winding road can be seen stretching northward—probably connecting the little hamlet to another settlement.
“It looks like an actual town,” Mr. Shaw says. “Could you have imagined?”
A couple of children point up at the heli-plane and wave their mittened hands, while a woman glares up at us and tries to corral the young ones. I know the natives can’t see me through the tinted glass, but I give the children a little wave anyway.
“Aren’t they little dears?” Mrs. Shaw says. “Such a shame they have to grow up in a place like this.”
The steward, all smiles, rises with a flourish from his seat at the front of the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you will allow me at this time to share some information about the Continent. In particular, a small geographical clarification may be of interest. The Continent, all told, encompasses a total area of approximately one million square miles—much smaller, as you know, than the land mass of the Spire, which comes in at around 3.9 million square miles. Now, to put that into perspective for you, the Lonely Islands—where the exiles and defectors abide, far to the east of the Spire—amass a total of only 32,000 square miles. So, while the Continent is neither the largest nor the smallest of the land masses on our beautiful planet, it is interesting to note that it is the least populated of all three.”
“How many natives?” asks my father.
“Recent estimates show the Topi at seventy-five to one hundred thousand, the Aven’ei at fifty to seventy thousand.”
“How can that be correct?” I say. “The histories have those numbers far higher.”
Aaden draws a finger across his neck. “Easy. They’ve nearly wiped each other out in the past two centuries.”
The steward nods gravely. “Unfortunately, young Mr. Shaw here is correct. The population has dwindled steadily, and most sharply in the past fifty years or so as tensions between the two tribes have escalated.”
“How very sad,” I say.
Mr. Shaw makes a disgruntled noise. “The natives won’t last much longer if they can’t find a way to mend fences, I suppose.”
“A sad truth,” says the steward.
We glide above the snowy landscape, taking in the splendor of the wilderness. Great are the wonders of the Continent, vast and beautiful as it is—and this tour is more comprehensive than I dreamed it would be. We head along the southern coast far into the west, where there is nothing but craggy rock and desolation—and two middling Topi settlements, perched near the cliffs at the shore, directly in the center of the Wastes.
“What is
this?” Aaden says in surprise, leaning toward the window. “These are Topi camps—what are they doing so far south?”
“Ah,” says the steward, “that is a recent development, sir. Exploring a bit of their own territory, we suspect. They haven’t been there long, and I doubt they are like to stay. Northerners, the Topi are, and the southwest has little to offer.”
“It looks to be quite a large force,” Aaden says. “Fascinating.”
I make a note of the settlements in my book, but otherwise find little to see other than hard ground and rocky terrain.
Before long, the plane is headed north, and we fly over an expansive network of Topi villages. The architecture is different from that of the Aven’ei: cruder, harsher, yet terribly formidable, even in the frozen, icy territory the Topi call home. The little towns, too, are much closer together than Aven’ei villages; I am reminded of an ant colony, with many chambers all connected together, working to support a single purpose. A great lake—shaped like a five-pointed star—lies at the near center of the Topi settlements. There are villagers below, too; they are singularly dark of hair, with beautiful bronzed skin, and look to be very tall—even the women.
“The infrastructure,” Aaden says, “is incredible. Look at the paint! It must be sleet and ice nearly all year round, yet the buildings are bloodred, sunshine yellow—incredible!”
“Looks dreary to me,” says Mrs. Shaw, entirely unimpressed. “All that stone and plaster—and what a terrible, gaudy show. Most distasteful.”
“The Topi are well-known for their use of color,” the steward says, “whether in dress, or war paint, or in the settlements themselves.”
“Gaudy,” says Mrs. Shaw once more, and she sniffs.
“We are heading east now,” says the steward, and the Topi villages become increasingly scarce as we pan toward the center of the Continent. “You will see, on the port side, a number of Aven’ei ruins within the next thirty minutes of travel. Their territory did once extend this far north, though the Topi have reclaimed it, obviously, and chosen not to inhabit these old settlements. Not to their liking, I suppose?” He laughs lightly, though I feel a chill at the notion of abandoned cities—empty buildings gone to ruin, households deserted, so many lives now forgotten.