The Soterion Mission

by Stewart Ross

  “Yeah. Well, yeah. Like Cyrus said, she seemed a good sort of person, someone we could trust, and he usually gets these things right, High Father.” Cyrus winced inwardly at the repetition of the title but said nothing.

  “Seemed good…Mmm, yes. She does seem good, doesn’t she, Navid? Nevertheless, we Children of Gova prefer matters to be clearer. As clear as the might of the Great Gova himself.”

  “Eh?” frowned Navid.

  “Surely you remember our fence?”

  “Of course. It’s amazing.”

  “Amazing, certainly. A strong and visible sign of the mighty and mysterious strength of the Great Gova who keeps us safe day after day, moon after moon, winter after winter, generation after generation. And all we have to do is polish the mirror and give him thanks. Think about that, Navid. Think about that.”

  Navid did not reply, but when Cyrus looked at him again, he saw the same far-away expression on his friend’s face, almost as if he were in a trance.

  To Cyrus’ surprise and alarm, Taja was more outspoken. Yes, she told Ozlam, she had had doubts about Roxanne from the beginning. One always had to be careful of strangers in case they were spies or traitors.

  “Be quiet, Taja!” Cyrus burst out. “Think of Roxanne!”

  “That is precisely what she is doing,” cut in Ozlam. “It looks to me as if you have allowed this Z-marked woman to cast a spell on you.”

  Cyrus struggled in vain to loosen the rope that held his wrists. “Rubbish! It’s you who are casting a spell, Ozlam! You won’t accept what she says because of what she knows. She understands what we don’t.”

  “She is a heretic!”

  “What does that mean? She warned me not to touch the fence, remember? Yes, she knows something about it.” Then, struggling to figure out what Roxanne knew and infuriated by his interrogator’s stubbornness, Cyrus blurted out, “She’s cleverer than you! She can see through this Gova rubbish, and she can read – ”

  “Ah!” interrupted Ozlam. “Thank you. Another lie! She told me she was not able to read.”

  Cyrus lowered his head. Oh, no! What had he done? He had betrayed the one person…How could he have been so foolish? Oh, Roxy! I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please.

  “You won’t hurt her, will you?” Cyrus said quietly, deciding further argument was futile.

  The irony of the remark was not lost on Ozlam and his mouth twisted into a half-smile. Although his prisoners knew Roxanne was being held, they did not know sentence had already been passed on her.

  “You forget, Cyrus, the Children of Gova are a peaceful people,” he said calmly. “Just as we do not possess weapons, so we do no violence. No, your Roxanne will not be hurt.”

  “Thank you. And she will be returned to us soon?”

  The High Father made no direct reply. Saying only “All will be revealed”, he turned and walked from the hall.

  The three prisoners said not a word as they were led away to a small hut on the edge of the village. Night was falling fast and from somewhere near the hall a single male voice started to chant. It was an eerie, moaning sound, not regular like the singing of the crowd on the way back from the gate, but rising and falling like the wind. On and on it went, till the last glow of daylight had drained from the sky and a sheen of cold moonlight lit the bleak concrete shapes of the settlement.

  Within their place of detention, the captive Constants lay on their beds of dried grass and tried in vain to sleep. Above the locked door, the iron bars in the only window threw sinister silhouettes across the floor. Outside, the mournful chant continued without a break. Cyrus, who had been trying desperately to contain his frustration and annoyance, finally burst out, “Taja, why did you say that to Ozlam?”

  “I wondered when you would ask, Cyrus. Isn’t it obvious?”

  He sat up, casting a long dark shadow across the room. “No, it’s not! Here we are, locked up by these crazy Gova people who’ve taken Roxanne goodness knows where – and then you say she might be a Zed! We’ve been over all that, haven’t we? It was hardly the time to stick a knife in her back. Remember why we’re here, Taja: the whole mission’s pointless without her.”

  “Cyrus, Cyrus, Cyrus!” purred Taja. “Relax! Do you think that shouting at Ozlam, like you did, was going to do any good? It only annoyed him.”

  “I was telling the truth, Taja. And I was doing it for Roxanne.”

  “And look what happened. By revealing that she was literate, you got her still deeper into trouble. Even Navid was more subtle than that.”

  “Was I? I don’t remember. Like Cyrus, I just spoke up straight.”

  “Oh, come on, Nav!” snapped Cyrus, feeling increasingly isolated and miserable. “You told Ozlam this place was amazing.”

  “Well, the fence is amazing, Cy, isn’t it? Brilliant.” He paused for a moment, listening to the chant reverberating through the still night air. “You know, I actually could live here. Might actually get used to this funny singing they do. Quite relaxing.”

  “Nav, don’t be so stupid!” Cyrus was genuinely worried. “Anyway, you couldn’t stay here because of Corby. No animals, remember?”

  Navid yawned. “Oh, yeah! Well, what I mean is, I could live here if Corby wasn’t around. And Roxanne, of course.”

  “Well, they are,” replied Cyrus. “So that’s it, OK?”

  “I suppose so. ‘Night, Cy! ‘Night, Taja! Hope Roxanne’s alright.” With that, Navid turned on his side and was soon asleep.

  A while later, when Taja moved over and laid a hand on Cyrus’ shoulder, he shrugged it off.

  “Relax, Cyrus,” she said quietly. “It’s not that bad.”

  Isn’t it? he thought. He lay back and gazed up at the moonlight flooding in through the window. It couldn’t be much worse. Far from home, held captive by lunatics, Zavar dead, Taja being impossible, Navid coming up with those ridiculous ideas about staying here – and, worst of all, Roxanne stolen from him. He had known her only a matter of days and yet he missed her badly.

  “Please be alright, Roxy,” he mouthed silently to himself, “and come back safe. Please!” Although he knew nothing of the concept, it was almost as if he were praying.

  On the banks of the slow-flowing River No-Man, Sheza was also in need of comfort. He was regretting having ever picked a fight with so tough an opponent as Captain Jumshid. He might have been lighter and quicker, but these qualities were more than matched by the older man’s strength and experience.

  Having picked himself out of the thorny scrub into which the Captain’s first blow had deposited him, Sheza found that skipping round Jumshid and taunting him with “Jum-Jum Dumb-Dumb” was both exhausting and ineffective. At some point, he had to close with his enemy and inflict serious damage.

  Jumshid was also aware that it was up to Sheza to make a move, and he decided it would be on his terms. Somewhere to their right, a bird cried. The Captain deliberately flicked his eyes in the direction of the noise. It was a simple yet effective trick. Seeing what he thought was an opening, Sheza darted forward and aimed a vicious kick at Jumshid’s groin.

  The Captain was waiting. With surprising agility for a large man, he grabbed the young man’s ankle in both hands, and gave a sharp twist to the left. A tendon-snapping crack was followed by a screech of pain. With a desperate heave, Sheza snatched his leg away and stepped backwards. The damaged knee instantly collapsed and he rolled headlong into the scrub for a second time.

  “Who dumb-dumb now, Baby Lamb?” panted the Captain. “Jumshid winner, eh?”

  Sheza lay there, breathing heavily and wiping away the blood streaming from his crumpled nose. The pain in his leg was excruciating. There was no way he’d be able to defeat this man in a straight fight, especially now he had taken such a battering. Deceit was the answer. What was it Timur had once said to him? “Clever lies take the prize.�
� That was it. He could still win, but he had to do it by cunning.

  “Yes, Captain Jumshid,” he said, rising painfully to his feet, “you win. I will go your way, up the river.”

  The Captain eyed him suspiciously. He might not have had Sheza’s education sessions, but he had been appointed to command because he was capable of thinking for himself. More or less. And like all Zeds who survived into their nineteenth year, he had learned to trust no one and be ready for anything at any time of night or day.

  Animal instinct told him that Sheza was bent on swift revenge for his humiliation. Staring hard into his young rival’s blood-spattered face, the Captain made a plan.

  “Good,” he muttered. “Baby Lamb see sense, eh?” Sheza nodded sullenly. “I show the way,” Jumshid added. “You come following.”

  Picking up his weapon, a huge club with an iron spike embedded in the end, the Captain lumbered off along the bank, going upstream. Sheza grabbed his bow and limped painfully off in pursuit.

  Jumshid reckoned it would take Sheza about twenty paces to draw an arrow from the quiver on his back, fit it to his bow, pull back the string, steady himself, take careful aim and…

  Pretending to trip on a root, the Captain flung himself to the ground. His timing was perfect. The arrow sped over where his body had been moments earlier and splashed harmlessly into the river behind.

  The veteran warrior sprang to his feet and turned to confront his would-be assassin. Sheza, trembling violently, struggled to pull another arrow from his quiver. “Er, shooting bird – for food,” he stammered. The second arrow fell impotently to the ground from his shaking fingers.

  “Food?” bellowed Jumshid, tearing down the bank like an angry bear. “You be the food, Baby Lamb! Food for crockendiles!”

  Swiping away the knife that Sheza had drawn to protect himself, the Captain grasped his opponent round the waist and squeezed. Ribs cracked like dry chicken bones. When the breath had been almost entirely crushed from the body, Jumshid dropped it to the ground like a sack of logs and stood over it, grinning.

  Sheza was now too weak, too broken, to resist. Ignoring his pitiful moans, the Captain stretched out huge fists, grasped his human trophy by the hair and belt, and raised it high above his head. He held the pose for a few triumphant seconds. Finally, with a roar of victory and a mighty heave, he tossed the body far into the grey-brown stream.

  The end came very quickly. Sheza resurfaced and splashed feebly towards the shore for a few strokes before the fan of sinister ripples closed in on him. There followed a short scream, a moment of furious thrashing, then silence. The only sign that Sheza had ever been on this planet was a small red stain upon the tranquil waters. By the time Jumshid had picked up his club and resumed his journey, even that had disappeared.

  Cyrus was woken by the sound of the bar on the other side of the door being drawn back. The chanting, he noticed, had stopped. The door opened and one of the Magi entered, his cloaked silhouette sharp against the orange-blue of the dawn.

  “Tell me where she is,” he demanded briskly. “And the dog.”

  It took a few seconds for the questions to register. Navid was first to react. “What do you mean, ‘dog’?” he muttered, sitting up and feeling in vain for the axe that he had always kept at his bedside.

  “The heretic and the dog have disappeared.”

  Another Magus appeared in the doorway. “The High Father says it is your doing. You must tell us where they are.”

  By now Taja and Cyrus were wide awake and on their feet. “Wait a moment,” said Cyrus, wiping the sleep from his eyes and running his fingers through his tousled brown hair. “You yourselves removed Roxanne and Corby, Navid’s dog, and now you ask us where they are…Is this some kind of joke?”

  The Magus who had been first to enter made a scornful sound through his teeth. “The Children of Gova do not joke. We are serious people and –”

  “I want my dog!” shouted Navid, rushing over to the man and grabbing the front of his robe. “Where’s Corby? Tell me!”

  Cyrus and Taja pulled him back before he could harm the startled man, and the second Magus resumed the explanation. “The heretic, the Zed woman you know as Roxanne –”

  “She’s not a Zed!” interrupted Cyrus. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

  The Magus gave him a look that was part apprehension, part contempt. “You do not know, but the High Father had decreed that the heretic should die this morning –”

  Cyrus opened his mouth in disbelief. “What did you say?” he growled, striding up to the man and almost spitting the words in his face. “Repeat those words, you freak – if you dare!”

  The two Magi stepped back and glanced nervously at each other. “Violence is not the way of Gova,” stammered the first.

  “Hang your Gova! Hang him on that evil fence of yours!” yelled Cyrus, finally giving voice to the thoughts that had been building from the moment the gate had slammed behind them. “You’re mad, all of you! Do you hear? You’re twisted! More like Zeds than true Constants!”

  “Take heed lest you too fall into the pit of heresy, Cyrus,” said a familiar voice from outside the door. It was Ozlam. “Control your fury and hear the High Father of the Children of Gova,” he continued, coming into the room and standing next to the Magi. “I will enlighten you.”

  Taja, who until this moment had kept quiet, urged Cyrus and Navid, for all their sakes, to hold back until they had heard what Ozlam had to say. He thanked her and resumed his explanation.

  The previous evening, when glorious Gova had retired to sleep, Roxanne had been taken to the prison chamber to await her sentence. Yes, as the Magus had said, she would have been executed in the morning.

  Cyrus swore. “Sanctimonious liar!” he went on. “And you said no violence. Huh! I promise you, if she hasn’t got out and you really have killed her, it’ll be your turn next. As painfully as I can manage, too!”

  Ozlam remained curiously unruffled. Resuming, he said that, contrary to Cyrus’ accusation, he had not lied when he said no violence would be used against Roxanne: burying alive – “interment” he called it – would simply have involved shovelling earth on to her. That was hardly a violent act, was it?

  “So what happened?” asked Cyrus, still shaking with rage.

  This morning, Ozlam said, before the rising of Gova, a pair of Magi had gone to the chamber in which Roxanne was being held. She was not there. The door remained locked, but she had vanished. Shortly afterwards, they found Corby was also missing. If the other members of the mission had not freed the heretic, she must have managed somehow to get away on her own and was now making her way back to rejoin the Zeds. She was taking them a present, too: a fine hunting dog named Corby.

  A stunned silence followed Ozlam’s speech. All three Tallins struggled to make sense of it. Cyrus felt it most deeply. He was pretty sure Ozlam was lying and that Roxanne and Corby had both been secretly done away with. But what if the story were true? If Roxanne had managed to get out of the prison, wouldn’t she also have tried to release them? The fact that she hadn’t might mean Taja’s suspicions had been right all along: Roxanne really was a Zed spy, a traitor who had deliberately entrapped him. It was too painful to contemplate.

  In the end, Cyrus realised, it didn’t matter which version of events he believed. Whether she was dead or had run away, Roxanne had gone. That intense, fleeting joy, the most powerful emotion he had ever felt, was over. The smile that had stirred his heart, the kindly light behind those glorious green eyes, the laughter as she had tried to teach him to read, the hand in the darkness…None of it ever again. No more Roxy.

  As if battered by physical blows, Cyrus covered his face with his hands and crumpled to his knees. What had he done? He had abandoned his community and most of his friends, thrown away a promising career, broken the principles he had sworn to uphold �
�� for an insubstantial dream. For nothing.

  What happened during the rest of the day, he neither noticed nor cared. Ozlam and the Magi went out and the door was rebarred. Later, he was aware of Navid coming over and speaking to him. Shortly afterwards, the door opened and Navid left. All this time, Taja said nothing. He was conscious only of her sitting quietly beside him.

  By mid-afternoon, Cyrus was beginning to focus his thoughts again. He was hungry and wolfed down the plate of bread and fruit brought by the Magi. After that, as his head gradually cleared, he talked to Taja. He started by asking where Navid was. Had they taken him off to be buried alive next to Roxanne?

  The truth was, if anything, worse. Devastated by the loss of Corby and the failure of the mission, Navid had decided to become a Child of Gova. At first, Cyrus couldn’t believe it. Then he remembered his friend’s trance-like expression when listening to Ozlam and what he had said about living in this settlement if there were no Roxanne or Corby…

  Cyrus’ thoughts turned to Salama, Navid’s wedun back in Della Tallis. She might have had their second child by now. How would she feel if she knew what had happened? The only consolation was that, when she agreed to Navid going on the mission, she must have known there was a good chance he would never come back. Even so, Cyrus hoped she never learned the true reason for her man’s disappearance.

  The more they talked, the more Cyrus’ hatred of Ozlam and his Children of Gova grew. The Zeds were wicked, yes, but in a different, direct way. Their cruelty, though despicable, was straightforward. In this place, evil was hidden beneath a cloak of goodness, which somehow made it worse. Navid, the true and honest friend he had known all his life, the man who had previously put his duty to the Constant cause before everything else, had been lured away by ridiculous talk of magic and Gova and polishing the panel. It was shameful, truly shameful.

  Cyrus’ thoughts went back to Roxanne. She had known the truth about this place, hadn’t she? Perhaps that was why she…No, it was impossible.