The Walls of Westernfort

by Jane Fletcher

  “True. So why are you asking?”

  Natasha hesitated. Maybe there was genuine grief behind her mother’s evasiveness, but it was far more likely just another childish game. Cilla enjoyed feeling that she had a hold over everyone, and little else was left in her power to grant or deny. In fact, now that Natasha was an independent adult, the information was the only thing her mother had that she wanted. Direct threats did not work well when Cilla was drunk; they only provoked a hysterical outburst. But it might help to remind her that Natasha also had something to withhold.

  “I assume she’s dead, since she never visits or writes, and there seemed no point stirring things up. But now that I’m leaving town, I thought I should visit her grave and maybe have a statue or something put there. It would only be right, as I’m her daughter. I could have my pay sent to a stonemason instead of here.”

  “You can save your money. She isn’t dead.”

  “So who is she?”

  Cilla scowled into the fire. Initially, it looked as if she were not going to reply. Then she shifted her gaze and stared blearily at Natasha. “Who is she?” Cilla repeated the question and then answered it. “She was once a lover of mine. And she left, like they all do.”

  The response was not very informative, but at least she was talking. Natasha leaned forward and said, “But she must have meant more than all the rest. You must have had to save the imprinting fees for the temple. And...” Natasha halted. What she wanted to say was, I can guess why she left you, but why did she leave me? The approach was not a good one to take. “Separating can’t have been quite so easy.”

  “The imprinting fees were nothing to her. She was rich, really rich. One of the Tang family. She wanted a child, and I thought she’d look after me. I thought...” Cilla’s words faded, and her face crumpled. Tears formed in her eyes.

  There was no need to say more. You thought you’d be living in luxury for the rest of your life. Natasha mentally finished the sentence. She slipped back in her chair and looked at her mother cynically, watching the first of the tears trickle down Cilla’s face. The loss of the money, rather than the lover, would be the cause of her distress. Lovers had never been in short supply. Natasha closed her eyes, thinking bitterly of the small fantasy she had once concocted for herself: that her mothers had adored each other; that some awful tragedy had overtaken her gene mother; and that her birth mother had treated sex as a job thereafter, because she had lost her only true love. It had been a childish daydream; she should have known better. Mention of the Tang family was the only truly surprising bit.

  Cilla was rapidly sinking into a maudlin state. “You were just a little baby. You’d think she’d have wanted to keep her daughter.”

  “She can’t have just abandoned you,” Natasha pointed out, although actually, the Tangs could do whatever they wanted. They had enough money to bribe a magistrate. They probably could afford to buy off even the Sisterhood.

  “She bought me this house,” Cilla mumbled. “Sent money until you were sixteen, but she never came to see you...never came to see me. They leave me; they always do. Why don’t they stay?”

  Tears were now flowing in earnest as Cilla wallowed in self-pity. Natasha could almost bring herself to pity her mother too. It was rarely more than a few months before a new lover would see through the beautiful exterior to the petty, insincere, self-centered woman beneath. The lover would leave and would be instantly replaced. Cilla had been spoiled, quite literally, by her good looks. With a never-ending stream of women to tell her how wonderful she was, she had never needed to listen to criticism. Perhaps if she had been ugly, she might have been a nicer person.

  The door to the room opened, and another woman entered. Cilla wiped the tears and sprang up, her face transformed into a smile of delight. This must be Louise, Natasha thought, but it would not matter if it was not. It was someone to reassure her mother that she was the center of the universe, which was the only thing Cilla wanted.

  Natasha’s words of farewell were answered with the barest effort at courtesy, and she let herself out of the house. As she walked along the road, she wondered how long it would take her mother to drink her way through the death-in-action payment.

  *

  True night had fallen while Natasha had been inside. The streets of Landfall had become much quieter. The only people visible were two members of the Militia, strolling with the unhurried tread of a patrol. As she overtook them, Natasha thought about her time policing the city. The only way to enter the military was via the Militia. Then, after a two-year probation, and if she could pass the entrance tests, a soldier could transfer into either of the elite services: the Rangers or the Temple Guard.

  The Rangers dealt with any physical threats too difficult for the Militia to handle. In the main, they guarded the borders against the wild animals and occasional gangs of bandits that lived outside the domesticated Homelands. The Guards’ responsibilities covered not just this world, but also the next. In accordance with the Chief Consultant’s orders, they protected the spiritual integrity of Celaeno’s daughters. They were holy warriors of the Goddess, the martial counterpart of the Sisterhood.

  Becoming a Guard had been Natasha’s only ambition. At the time of enlisting, she had viewed the subsequent probation period as an upcoming ordeal. Her only intention had been to get through it with as little fuss as possible and apply for transfer to the Guards on the very first day she was eligible. She was certain that her record and knowledge of theology would get her through the entrance tests without difficulty. But she had not disliked being in the Militia as much as she had expected. Many of the Militiawomen paid no more than lip service to religion. Some were little better than the criminals they pursued. But the difficult task of enforcing the law in the swarming city engendered a real camaraderie. It had been an exciting time—and, of course, there had been Beatrice.

  They had met while Natasha was engaged in identifying the rightful owners of a recovered haul of stolen property. Beatrice was a clerk in the jewelers’ guild who had helped in the search. She was a few years older than Natasha, with casual grace and a wry sense of humor. On the last day of the investigation, Natasha had surprised herself by inviting the clerk out for a drink on impulse, and Beatrice had surprised her even more by accepting.

  For a while, Natasha’s intention of joining the Guards had faltered. Celibacy was essential for Imprinters and compulsory for Sisters. For the Guards, it was officially no more than a desirable trait, but it was taken as a good marker of a woman’s devotion. Before long, Natasha would have been obliged to choose between Beatrice and her career.

  As her probation period had drawn to a close, the arguments had begun. Natasha had retreated into an obstinate determination to apply for transfer, refusing to show any emotion, including anger. They had tried to part in a civilized fashion, and failed. Beatrice had felt rejected, which was not unreasonable. She had been. But had love of the Goddess triumphed, or had the relationship simply run its course?

  Natasha remembered the last time they had spoken. Two years ago, Beatrice had made the gesture of inviting her over on Natasha’s nineteenth birthday, an attempt to relinquish the past and rebuild their friendship: a meal, a drink, and a chat. And Natasha had awakened the next morning in Beatrice’s bed, which had led to the worst argument of all. In hindsight, Natasha knew that she had been totally in the wrong. Beatrice had not seduced her. If anything, it had been the other way around.

  Natasha’s footsteps halted. The house where Beatrice now lived was only a few streets away. She could go apologize and make a decent finish to the whole affair. Natasha bit her lip; then she turned and continued walking. It was doubtful that Beatrice would be pleased to see her, and the new lover certainly would not.

  Natasha passed through the market square and entered the road leading to the Guards’ headquarters. Ahead of her, the imposing bulk of the temple was a hole in the field of stars. A jumble of associated buildings lay to one side. Among them was the sch
ool where the daughters of the well-off were tutored by the Sisters, receiving a more comprehensive education than that available in the public institutions. Natasha had been a pupil there. She smiled grimly. The anomaly had never occurred to her before, but it must have been her wealthy gene mother’s doing. Cilla would never have wasted good beer money on her daughter’s education.

  Natasha remembered the day she had decided to become a Guard, sitting in class, listening to Sister Kapoor read from The Book of the Elder-Ones. The Sister had described the purity of devoting one’s life to the glory of the Goddess and the honor of being ready to fight and die in her name. Natasha’s smile softened at the thought of Sister Kapoor, the short, round Sister with kind eyes who had played mother hen to all the youngest children. Sister Kapoor never hit her, never got drunk, and never had trouble remembering the name of the woman she was eating breakfast with.

  The gateway to the headquarters was getting closer with each step. Soon, Natasha was inside and threading her way through the rows of stables, stores, and barracks. When she entered her dormitory, a group of comrades from her company were sitting on the bunks, talking. They looked up, their faces revealing a fair degree of speculative interest. The news that she had been summoned to the sanctum must have made the rounds.

  “Hi, Tash. How’s it going?” one asked with poorly disguised curiosity.

  “Not bad.” Natasha sat down on the end of one bunk. She was going to have to say something without compromising her oath of secrecy. “I’ve…er...been given an assignment that will take me out of town for a bit.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  Natasha shrugged. “Well, hopefully, a bit more interesting than sentry duty.”

  Several laughed. “That’s not saying much.”

  Another asked pointedly, “Have you been offered promotion?”

  Natasha hesitated and then said slowly, “Nothing was promised, but…um...it’s definitely the way I want my career to go.”

  The sergeant smiled and said, “Then we should offer prayers for a successful conclusion and your speedy return.”

  Without need of more inducement, the Guards slipped to their knees and began an impromptu rite of worship. The thought drifted through Natasha’s mind that in similar circumstances, the Militia would have headed to the nearest tavern.

  *

  It was getting late. One small lamp burned in Commandant Jacobs’ office. The day’s business had not been easy—too many critical decisions to make and not much time to make them in—but the end was getting close. Jacobs stifled a yawn and watched the woman sitting on the other side of the desk, whose attention was in turn focused on the piece of paper in her hand. The woman had been announced with the rank of major, but her manner did not show the crisp formality of military protocol. Neither was there anything military about her appearance. In fact, there was nothing noteworthy at all about her. It occurred to Jacobs that the woman could have walked through any street, shop, or tavern in the Homelands without getting a second glance from anyone.

  As the Intelligence Corps major read, she spoke aloud, voicing her thoughts. “Just under 170 centimeters. That’s good...Broad shoulders...solid build, but not overweight...quite attractive?” Her tone made the last two words a question as she looked up.

  Commandant Jacobs shrugged. “That has to be a matter of opinion.”

  “But do you think most people would describe this candidate of yours as quite attractive?”

  “I think most people would use the word very, rather than quite.”

  The major laughed. “And as you say, it is a matter of opinion.” Her eyes returned to the sheet, scanning for the information. “I though I saw her age here somewhere.”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “A touch on the old side. Could she pass for eighteen?”

  Jacobs was thoughtful for a moment. “It shouldn’t strain people’s credulity too much.”

  “Good.” The major put down the paper. “Now, that’s the surface description, but if I’m going to be working with her, I need a bit more. Tell me what she’s like—your evaluation of her character.”

  “She’s a good soldier.”

  “And that can mean virtually anything.”

  “Can you be a bit more specific about what you want to know?” Jacobs hedged.

  “Is she intelligent?”

  “Yes.”

  “Able to use her own initiative?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enough to cause trouble?”

  “No...no, I don’t think so.” Commandant Jacobs relaxed slightly, sinking in her chair. “She was a student at the public school in the temple. She learned her doctrine directly from the Sisters. Her devotion to her duty and her faith is beyond question. She can think for herself, but she has no problem obeying orders. Her record has been perfect. In fact, she was in line for promotion to corporal very soon, and she would go a lot higher. She—”

  The other woman cut her off. “But sometimes, our brightest and best go off the rails unexpectedly.”

  “There has not been the slightest indication of it yet.”

  “Which is all that can really be claimed for anyone,” the major said, nodding. “So do you have any misgivings about recommending her for this mission?”

  “I’m not happy about losing one of our most promising candidates for officer.”

  “It is for the greater glory of the Goddess.”

  “I know.” Jacobs tried to express both her regret and her piety by her tone.

  “Any other misgivings?”

  Commandant Jacobs thought for a moment. She had a whole range of misgivings, but it was not prudent to express them, and it was bitter knowledge that her command of the Guards became so shaky at the first mention of heresy.

  The furrows on Jacobs’ forehead deepened. Although nominally part of the Guards, the Intelligence Corps tended to act as a law unto itself, and that was all right by her. Jacobs had found that the less she knew about the Corps’ activities, the more easily she slept at night. Everyone would be much happier once the Intelligence Corps reported directly to the Sisterhood, and that situation could not be far away. For the meantime, Jacobs tried to focus solely on the candidate and the mission in question.

  “I would not have said she was a natural candidate for undercover work. I don’t think she’ll be happy playing a part. It will be a bit too much like lying for her comfort.”

  “But you think she’ll be capable of it?”

  “Oh, yes. As I said before, she’s bright. And she’ll willingly do anything necessary to fulfill the mission...for the glory of the Goddess.”

  “Any doubts about her courage?”

  “None whatsoever,” the Commandant said firmly.

  For the first time, the other woman smiled. “Then I think she’ll do very well.”

  Chapter Three—Jess Korski

  Natasha was shown in immediately when she reported to the Commandant’s office the next morning. The senior Guard looked up from the papers on her desk.

  “Guardswoman Ionadis. Have you thought things over?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And are you still willing to undertake the mission?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Commandant Jacobs nodded and then picked up one sheet that had been lying slightly apart from the rest. “I have here a recommendation for your promotion.” She took a pen and quickly signed the bottom. “I’m approving it. Congratulations, Corporal.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “If, by the grace of the Goddess, you return successfully, you will have more than deserved it.”

  And if I don’t, the death-in-action payment will be bigger, Natasha added to herself.

  “You need to meet with the other agents on the mission and receive a detailed briefing. Go straight to the intelligence block and ask for...” The Commandant paused and consulted another paper. “Rohanna Korski. She’s the commanding officer of your group. And Corporal...” Commandant Jacobs looke
d directly into Natasha’s eyes. “Remember how important this mission is. It’s for the glory of the Goddess and the honor of the Guards. I’m sure you’ll prove worthy of the trust laid on you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You are dismissed.”

  Walking through the sunshine, Natasha felt herself swelling with pride, and the bitter taste left by the meeting with her mother washed away. Only as she drew near to the unremarkable brick building did her feeling of elation fade. The intelligence block, and the women who worked there, had an uncomfortable relationship with the rest of the Guards. Rumor claimed that there were underground prisons, and far more people went in than came out. It was also known that the intelligence agents traveled the country in disguise, trying to unmask the spies sent by the heretics. Of course, that was necessary; they could hardly do their job in uniform. But somehow, it seemed dishonorable to act a part rather than unequivocally affirm one’s faith. Natasha’s lips pulled down at the corners. It was the very role she was about to adopt herself.

  Natasha gave the name of her contact to a Guard stationed at the doorway. She was escorted under the archway to a central courtyard and then up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. To her surprise, the room she was finally shown into was a small, unoccupied sleeping chamber, empty apart from a narrow bunk lining one wall. One small window was directly opposite, with a view of the temple. The sentry pointed to a set of civilian clothes lying across the foot of the bed.

  “Get changed into those. Once you’re ready, report to the second room on the left.”

  Natasha nodded to show that she understood and was left alone.

  *

  She reemerged a few minutes later, transformed. Her boots were badly scuffed and liberally splattered with dried-on mud, as were the knee-high woolen socks. The pants tucked into them had once been blue but were now mostly faded to gray. The drawstring at the waist was frayed; mismatched patches covered both knees. The shirtsleeves were too long, requiring folding back at the wrist. A heavy, rain-resistant jacket had also been laid out on the bed, but Natasha had decided against wearing it; the weather was too warm for it to be comfortable. All the clothes held a musty, unwashed odor.