Revenge of the Zeds

by Stewart Ross

  Another drunken yell from the square made him jump. He must leave. Turning towards the door, he gave a final glance round the room. The shelves, the body, the cushion… The cushion?

  One cut sliced open the bag, allowing its dusty contents to tumble to the floor. Hay, just hay. No, wait. What was that? Yes!

  “Double success!” he whispered as he stooped and picked up the object he had been looking for. Putting it into the pouch on his belt, he hurried out into the street without even bothering to close the door behind him.

  11

  Revenge of the Zeds

  “I couldn’t believe it, Cyrus,” said Sammy, still panting after his run up to the lower terrace. “Never knew one person had so much blood in him.”

  “And you’re sure it was Sakamir?” asked Cyrus.

  Sammy glanced at the men and women gathered around him. “Had to be. I mean, I saw her come out, and when I went in he was still bleeding.”

  “Not surprised,” muttered Bahm. “She always were vicious.”

  “Sort of glad, in a way,” Sammy said quietly. “Means I didn’t have to do it. But I would have,” he went on, louder. “I really would. I wanted to save everything we’ve been doing; you know, the mission, the Soterion, the books and all that. Trying to make a better world for everyone. Now she’s done it for us.” He paused and looked around anxiously. “Corby come back yet?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “Sorry, no sign of him, Sammy.” The young man’s face fell. “And I don’t want to make things worse, but I don’t think you’re right about what Sakamir’s done.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t think her killing Yash will make a better world for everyone.”

  “More likely an even worse one,” cut in Miouda. “She was thinking of just one person – herself. It ties in with what we’ve been saying. You reckon she was heading for the gate, Sammy?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Cyrus jumped to his feet. “Because I have a horrible feeling she’s going to let her friends in.”

  Bahm rose to stand beside him. “Friends? You mean Zeds?”

  “Precisely,” said Cyrus. “There are no guards on duty, almost the whole population is drunk, the Emir is dead – can you think of a better time to try to take over this place?”

  “So we’ve got to stop her, haven’t we?” cried Sammy.

  “Right. Grab whatever weapon you can find,” yelled Cyrus, “and do as I say. I’ll go down to the Soterion Gate with Miouda, Jannat and Sammy. Bahm, you and your copemate run to the patrol gate. If it’s already open, do whatever it takes to shut it again. The rest of you spread out and warn people about what’s going on.

  “If we hurry, we can still save the place. Let’s go!”

  After Sakamir’s departure, Xsani had worked hard to build up a sense of trust between the three tribes under her command. The last thing she wanted was a civil war on the way to Alba or within its walls. Getting groups of Zeds to work together was never easy, and the task was all the harder when one of them was female. The key, as she had realised at the beginning of her campaign, was Timur.

  Ogg was no problem. Half-blind and terrified of castration, he continued to accept Xsani’s leadership – delivered through Timur – without dissent. Periodic visits to the sty topped up his loyalty to the legendary Over-Malik. By and large, the Gurkov did as he said – those who did not were brutally punished. To reinforce his command, Xsani organised a repeat Timur adoration ceremony in Filna’s central piazza.

  “Timur! Timur! Timur!” roared the Gurkov, waving their fists and gazing in rapture at the blackened totem suspended before them.

  The Grozny received a similar reminder of their Over-Malik’s majesty, and they too mindlessly chanted his name before the skull. But Xsani still found their leader something of an enigma. Giv had learned all that Teach, his Constant slave, had to offer. He could count, speak fluently and understood abstract concepts like ‘power’ and ‘ambition’. So sharp had he become that the Malika sometimes had to remind herself that he was merely a dumbman Zed.

  What really mystified her were his continued obsessions. Every dumbman she had ever met had wanted only one thing from her – but not Giv. He seemed happy to stare at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Just a fleeting touch from her hand sent him into paroxysms of delight. It was so strange!

  Giv’s relationship with the Over-Malik was even more weird. She couldn’t believe he still took the totem seriously, but he did. He adored that thing, that shrunken clump of bone, skin and hair. Nor was he acting when he spoke with Timur’s voice – to him it was Timur’s voice and he was simply a mouthpiece. It was ridiculous! Dead people didn’t speak.

  The idea of Timur talking was as stupid as the Long Dead picture in her residence showing crowds of people gazing at the dead dumbman in the large yellow hat. It was pointless. The dead were gone, finished. That was what her plan to get the Soterion was all about, wasn’t it? Once its knowledge was hers, she would force dumbman Cyrus to find the Salvation Project. With that, she would defeat death. Her power would be limitless and eternal. No more would fools adore shrunken heads or dead dumbmen in yellow hats – everyone, the whole world, would adore her!

  Malika Xsani would reign supreme.

  Two days before the full moon, Xsani gave the order to march. Her forces went in three columns. The Kogon were in the centre, led by Timur’s head carried high on a spike; the Grozny took the left flank and the Gurkov the right. To check that Sakamir had not been luring them into an ambush, Kogon Eyes scoured the countryside ahead of them as they advanced.

  By the time they reached the woods that surrounded Alba, they had met not a soul. Xsani was relieved. Though no traitor could ever be really trusted, Sakamir had told the truth when she said patrols had been cancelled. Would she now open Alba’s gates to them?

  Early in the evening of the festival, Xsani divided her forces. The Gurkov were lined up opposite the Soterion Gate. Giv’s Grozny were sent higher up the mountain, where the defensive wall was lower. Xsani concealed the Kogon in trees facing the Patrol Gate. It was a deliberate choice: once inside, they would be only a short distance from the Ghasar. As the moon rose behind them, all was ready for the assault. Everything depended on Sakamir.

  Yash’s murder had been a messy business. The blood came out in spurts, splashing over her face and hair and down the front of her tunic in a most disagreeable manner. She managed to wipe some of it off. Nevertheless, Alba’s new queen was a pretty gruesome sight and was relieved to reach the Soterion Gate without meeting anyone. Remaining in the shadows, she glanced around. Not a guard to be seen. She heaved at the heavy wooden bar that held the gates shut. After a brief struggle, she raised one end from its iron bracket and, using it as a lever, pulled the gate open.

  From the darkness outside a raucous cheer arose, followed by the sound of feet running towards the gate. Sakamir darted up the steps that led to the battlements. Despite her Z tattoo, she had no intention of being in the way when the Gurkov came howling into Alba intent on slaughter, rape and pillage. Zeds were not renowned for their discrimination.

  At the top of the steps, she paused. Below and to her left, a stream of barbarian warriors was making for the opening. A number had already passed through and she could hear the first screams of dismay as they fell upon the unsuspecting Albans. Beyond them, in the square, the revellers danced on.

  Sakamir glanced along the wall towards the Patrol Gate. She had to get there soon, open it to let in the Kogon and dash up to the Ghasar. She had to reach it before the Zeds. Once in possession, the final stage of her plan could begin.

  By morning, Cyrus and one or two others from his class would be the only Albans left alive. After Xsani had ‘tamed’ them, Sakamir would kill her. She hadn’t decided how, but something along the lines of the Yash murder probably. She’d put the blame on Jinsha. No, not her – on Yalisha. She wanted Jinsha for herself. The stupid smoked head would come next. Once she had that in her possession, the Kogon,
Grozny and Gurkov would fall in behind her. At that point – commanding three tribes, in control of the Soterion and the only people able to read – her triumph would be complete.

  Like so many dreams, it was as simple as it was impossible.

  As she ran in the direction of the Patrol Gate, Sakamir saw three figures clambering unsteadily up a wooden ladder to the battlements. At the top, they would be directly between her and her destination. She couldn’t avoid them. Fortunately for her, they weren’t there for any military purpose – full of wine and oppressed by the stifling atmosphere in the square, they were looking for a breath of fresh air. None of them was armed.

  Without breaking her pace, Sakamir crashed straight into the astonished revellers. Her knife pierced the first in the stomach; the second she pushed off the wall onto the rocks below; the third, terror-stricken by the bloodstained fiend careering out of the darkness, fled towards the ladder. Sakamir’s knife plunged directly between her shoulder blades.

  On reaching the gate, she sped down the wooden steps and threw back the bolts fastening the door. A sharp hiss told her the Kogon were on their way. Immediately, she turned and ran towards the Ghasar. By the fireburn rock, she passed Bahm and his copemate running hard in the opposite direction. Moments later, she heard a ferocious roar as he launched himself on the intruders. Bloodcurdling shouts and clashes ended in a long hiss of triumph.

  Sakamir, half-expecting to meet Cyrus in the Ghasar, was relieved to find it empty. A pair of oil lamps threw flickering shadows onto the walls and ceiling. Closing the door, she arranged the lamps on either side of her and sat on a stack of books placed against the back wall. There, seated on a throne of learning, the Queen of Alba listened to the sounds of her handiwork.

  The drumming had stopped. In its place a hideous cacophony of screams and yells floated up from the square. The queen smiled with satisfaction. The massacre of her people was going well, she noted. Everything was falling into place just as she had planned.

  She had to wait longer than she expected for Xsani to appear. And when the Malika finally pushed open the door and looked cautiously round, Sakamir had the strange sensation of waking from a dream.

  The normal route from the lower terrace to the Soterion Gate passed through Lion Square. Cyrus glanced down at the seething crowd.

  “We’ll never get through that lot,” he decided. “Better along the wall. Come on!”

  Followed by Miouda, Jannat and Sammy, he sprinted left along the terrace. At its end, they crossed the path and an area of scrub to the wall. In this section, the concrete inward face was low enough for Cyrus to leap straight onto the battlement. He pulled the others up after him and they ran along the top towards the gate.

  As their destination came into sight, they saw at once they were too late. Although the moon was on the wane, there was sufficient light to make out a dark surge of figures pouring into the settlement. The quicker runners had already reached the square and begun massacring the terrified Albans.

  Cyrus turned away in despair. Jannat gasped and covered her face with her hands. Sammy reached down instinctively to stroke Corby and, finding him not there, stared in open-mouthed disbelief at the dreadful scene. He knew he would probably never see his dog again.

  Miouda was the first to speak. “Oh, Alba!” she wept. “What have we done to deserve this? All our friends … all our work … all we believed in…”

  She stood in silence for a moment, taking in the full horror of what was happening. Then, with an extraordinary effort of will and showing a side of her the others had rarely seen, she said, “But we can’t give up, we just can’t. This is Sakamir’s doing, so she can seize the Soterion. But we can still stop her.”

  Cyrus read her mind. “Yes – as long as we get to the Ghasar before her. It’s pretty extreme, but it’s our only chance.”

  “But worth trying,” continued Miouda. “We’ll grab the SP laptop – and another two or three if we can manage it – then set fire to the place.”

  “What?” cried Sammy. “Burn all them books?”

  “Yes. She’ll be left with nothing – but we’ll have whatever’s in the laptops. If we can get out of here with them, find a source of electricity –”

  “If, if, if…” cut in Sammy. “Too many ifs, Miouda.”

  “There isn’t any other way, Sammy,” said Cyrus. “Burning the books will break my heart – and we don’t even know whether the laptops work – but what else? And we’ve got no time, so let’s do it.”

  He clenched his fists in determination. “We’ll return to the terraces – we should be safe there for a while. I’ll dash down to the Ghasar, grab a couple of laptops and bring them back to base. After that, we’ll figure out a way of getting out of here.”

  Miouda shook her head. “No, Cyrus. You’re not going alone –”

  “Yes, Miouda! It’s my duty. No argument – and there’s no point in risking life unnecessarily. Besides, it’ll be easier on my own. Less conspicuous.”

  She gave him a look that seemed to say she agreed but wanted to add something else. In the end, she kept quiet and the four friends turned to run back along the wall.

  Miouda’s plan almost failed before it began. They had hardly taken a step before seven or eight pairs of grimy, broken-nailed hands appeared on the edge of the parapet. A shaggy head emerged … and another.

  They were Grozny. Giv’s orders were to lead his men over the mountain wall, sweep across the terraces and cut off a possible escape route from that direction. The strategy was good, his execution of it less so. Though Alba’s wall was low in this sector, it stood at the top of a jagged rockface. Charging at it mindlessly, several Grozny fell off before reaching the top. Those who made it to the foot of the wall stared blankly up at the concrete scarp, clueless how to surmount it. Only after Giv had shouted up to them to help each other – behaviour alien to their Zed nature – did they try lifting one another up to the battlement. These were the figures confronting the Constants trying to return to the terraces.

  Well-aimed kicks sent half a dozen Grozny spinning down to the ground. But still the barbarians came on. Eventually three made it to the top of the wall ahead of the Constants, blocking their path. With more Zeds making it to the parapet behind them, retreat was impossible. Nor could they get away by jumping down on the inward side – at this point the wall rose sheer to a height of three people. They were trapped.

  The Constants’ knives were no match for the spear and gut-rippers wielded by the Zed trio ahead of them. Their only hope was to use the narrowness of the path. Jannat must have sensed this. Pushing past Cyrus, she ran with long, powerful strides straight at the nearest enemy. It was a sacrifice of the noblest Constant kind – she laid down her life for her friends.

  The spear of the leading Zed pierced her heart before she reached him. But she was moving with such force that she drove him back onto the man behind, knocking his weapon to one side. Cyrus was onto him in a flash. While his right hand sent the spear-carrier tumbling off the wall, with his left he snatched the gut-ripper off the next man.

  It was now no contest. With a single blow of his new weapon, Cyrus felled the warrior he had taken it from. Taking careful aim, he then hurled it at the one remaining Zed. The spike caught the man square in the chest, killing him instantly.

  The path was clear. Stepping over the bodies of the fallen, the three Constants ran along the wall to the point where they had first joined it. The Grozny, eager to join the slaughter in the square, didn’t bother to give chase.

  When they reached a point where the inward face of the wall was no taller than a man, Cyrus and Sammy leaped easily down. Miouda remained on the parapet, strangely reluctant to jump.

  “Come on!” yelled Cyrus. “Hurry! Jump!”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, Cyrus. You’ll have to help me.”

  Mystified and slightly irritated, he ran up to the wall and raised his arms. Miouda leaned forward, put her hands in his and let him lower her to the ground.


  “What was all that about?”

  “I’ll explain later.” She gave him a hurried kiss. “Off you go! We’ll be waiting for you on the third terrace. Take great care and whatever you do, Cyrus, come back…”

  He was gone before she finished, sprinting across the slope to their right and skirting the square before dipping down towards the children’s dormitory above the Ghasar. Miouda and Sammy stood watching until he disappeared from sight. When he had gone, she sat on the edge of the terrace and clasped her hands together in a manner the Long Dead would have called prayer.

  “Oh Sammy! I do hope he’ll be alright.”

  “Course he will! I’ve been in tight scrapes with Cyrus before and he always finds a way out. Tough and clever, he is. Special.” He sat beside her and put an arm round her shoulders. “Anyway, we couldn’t lose Corby and Cyrus in one evening, could we?”

  “Do you think Corby’s really gone?”

  With tears in his eyes, he nodded towards the square. “Don’t reckon anything could live down there. Leastwise, not anything half-decent.”

  “Oh Sammy! It’s so terrible. There’s never been anything like it, has there? It’s like the end of the world. Listen!”

  By moonlight and firelight Grozy and Gurkov, drunk on blood and cruelty, were gorging themselves on acts of unspeakable barbarity, and the hideous sounds of massacre were audible from every corner of the stricken settlement. Miouda was right. It was like the end of the world.

  She shivered and looked towards the Patrol Gate. Here, in the sector allocated to the Kogon, the scene was quieter, though no less bloody. She stared hard at the roof of the Ghasar, trying to imagine Cyrus inside, grabbing a laptop and…

  “Sammy! Sammy! What’s that? Look!”

  “Where?”

  “By the Ghasar. Smoke!”

  As they watched, flames licked upwards from one end of the roof. There was no mistaking it – the Ghasar was on fire! Cyrus had done it!

  “Told you he would, didn’t I?” said Sammy, giving Miouda a hug.