by Ian Whates
It wasn't just machines doing the hard graft. Armies of workers in bright orange overalls swarmed over everything like ants, and there were others: figures in powder blue gowns who were often there, directing and organising. The robes might have been bulkier and longer than he was used to but these could only be arkademics, or their forefathers. On a couple of occasions he saw these blue-robed figures take a more active role. A small group of them would stand together with hands raised, and from their palms energy poured out; blinding light that disappeared into the now honeycombed depths of the mountain. He had no idea to what purpose this energy was unleashed but it was impressive all the same. Was that really an example of what the founders could do? Was that what he could do if he only knew how? The idea seemed absurd.
Seeing history compressed like this brought home just what a colossal undertaking the building of Thaiburley had been, and as he watched the city take form Tom felt awed that anyone would ever attempt such an undertaking, let alone succeed.
He caught glimpses of Thaiss several times, and of her brother; once even, a fleeting view of a Jeradine, its presence a surprise. What part had the bipedal reptilians played in the founding of Thaiburley? Thaiss looked younger – confirming that this was no "eternal goddess". She aged like everyone else, if a good deal slower.
In the final scenes, as the City of Dreams he recognised began to emerge from the face of the mountain with miraculous speed, Thaiss became a constant feature – an observer in the foreground, overseeing the work, often grasping a staff as tall as herself, the crown of which ended in a cylinder of what appeared to be swirling energy. Never static, the staff's top broiled and flashed, a stunted pillar of light ranging from gold and orange to red, bound within clasps of silver metal. Beyond these clasps, there was no obvious container to hold this writhing of light.
The intertwining energies were mirrored in a far larger object which Tom witnessed being installed towards the end of construction by two of the monstrous machines working in tandem. With the roof still only half formed, a huge column was lowered with great care into what looked to be the centre of the city. Scale wasn't always easy to judge, but it seemed to Tom that this column was two or three times as wide as a man was tall and longer than any twenty men put together. He had no doubt that this was the core, the heart of Thaiburley which the Prime Master had spoken about, the element that the arkademics and the healers and the seers and even Tom himself drew upon when using their talents. Despite the hulking size of the two great lifters involved, there seemed a great delicacy in the way they handled this kaleidoscopic pillar, as if it were something immensely fragile. Looking on, Tom couldn't escape the feeling that the changing patterns of colour and shape the column displayed had some underlying purpose, that they represented communication of some sort, albeit beyond his understanding. It seemed to him that here was something alive, and caged.
The column disappeared in short order, lowered into the heart of the half-sculpted city. Within a handful of breaths Thaiburley was finished. The City of a Hundred Rows stood proud, all new and gleaming and beautiful.
Tom had grown up knowing that his home was vast, and had gained some sense of just how huge the night he ascended the walls, but seeing it like this brought home the full scale of the place for perhaps the first time in his life. He felt humbled at the thought of the ambition and effort that had gone into the city's founding, but he was also vaguely troubled. As yet these memories had no context. He still didn't know why Thaiburley had been built or how long ago all this had happened. That was the problem with this form of forced but disjointed learning; it lacked logical progression. As a result, the more he discovered the more the questions mounted, a great heap of them gathering to taunt him.
Chief among these were questions about the goddess. He'd seen Thaiss and her brother enter this world through a great rent in the sky, a slit that glowed with light at its edges, a light that glittered and twinkled like illuminated jewels as the gap widened to accommodate their passage. It was like a long vertical rip in a curtain being prised apart – that was the only way Tom could think to describe it. There had been nothing regal or divine about the appearance of the godly pair, no slow descent on a raft of clouds, no celestial spirits to herald their arrival, no choir singing of their glory, just a stepping through from one place to another. It was obvious that Thaiss and her brother had come from somewhere else, but Tom had strong reservations about just how heavenly either their place of origin or they themselves might be.
This wasn't a riddle he was likely to solve here and now. Besides, when all was said and done, he reckoned the pair's divinity or lack of it didn't really matter. After all, they came from another realm, had knowledge far beyond that of anyone in this world, could perform miracles, were worshipped, and had been around for centuries. As definitions of gods went, that would do for Tom. It was only his innate curiosity that made him determined to find out more.
With a flash of insight, Tom wondered whether this might be the cause of Mildra becoming more distant. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him after all but went deeper than that. If she'd begun to suspect, as he had, that Thaiss and her brother were not in fact the divine, omnipotent beings that religious doctrine painted them, wouldn't that affect her profoundly? After all, it was difficult enough for him to adjust to the idea of their being mere flesh and blood, and he'd never believed in them as gods in the first place. How much harder must it be for someone whose life had been dedicated to serving the goddess?
Was that it? Was she suffering from a crisis of faith? He resolved to try talking to her when circumstances allowed. He knew he'd have to choose his moment carefully and that, even if he did, she might not be willing to discuss the matter, but he had to try.
Tom stood up, reckoning he'd spent enough time collecting his thoughts, and followed in the wake of the two women. If his feet dragged a little, it was only because he knew that his arrival would signal the start of another lecture from the goddess, intended to bring the latest jumble of submerged knowledge into focus. All well and good, but what was the point in cramming his head full of all this history, when whatever threat Thaiburley might face was bound to be in the here and now?
Tom couldn't help but worry about what was happening back home while he was cooped up here in the frozen north. Were things really as bad as the goddess claimed?
"I'm coming with you."
"No you're not."
"I know I might seem old and crotchety to a young whippersnapper like you, but I can still swing a sword with the best of them."
Kat sighed. This wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion. "Shayna, Shayna, this has nothing to do with your age or your ability to hack people to death with a sword, I need you here." While she'd need the very best warriors the Tattooed Men could field for her trip into the Stain, despite her protestations, that wasn't Shayna.
"Course you do. You're about to go traipsing off into the most dangerous area of the under-City, a wasteland stuffed full of monsters, wild beasts and creatures we haven't even got a name for, oh, and you're intending to beard the most villainous fiend of the lot in its own lair… so naturally you need your healer to be somewhere else. Have you any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"
When she put it like that, yes, but Kat wasn't about to be swayed. "It's not my healer I need here, it's you. Someone has to take charge while I'm gone, a person the men will look up to and respect; someone they'll listen to without question, someone I can trust to begin carving out the territory the Tattooed Men both need and deserve. If we don't make our move now, when everything down here is still in flux, we'll miss our chance."
"Pfff…" Shayna pulled a face. "You could ask any one of half a dozen to do that. I'm the only real healer among the lot of us." Kat had rarely seen her so worked up. "Answer me this: what happens out there when one of the men gets their guts torn open or loses a limb? How are you going to feel when you watch one of your friends bleed to death, knowing that I could have saved h
im if you'd brought me along? You need somebody in charge back here, no question, but you need me out there!"
Kat shook her head in exasperation. "Were you this much of a pain to my sister?"
"You bet I was when she was wrong; every single time."
Kat glared at the older woman. She never imagined that leading the Tattooed Men on her own would be so trying. "Out of everyone," she muttered, "I thought I could always count on you for support." She regretted voicing the thought as soon as she'd said it, knowing that what emerged sounded like the frustrated mewling of a petulant child; not exactly the image she was going for.
"You can," Shayna assured her. "In front of the others I'll toe the line and back you up every which way, but, at the same time, when it's just the two of us don't expect me to hold back. I'll let you know whenever I reckon you're making a god-awful mistake and being a stubborn ass about it, like now."
Kat grinned. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
It wasn't as if Shayna didn't have a point, but in truth Kat was worried about her. The healer was the oldest of those who'd survived the Pits and she'd done little fighting since they'd emerged, protected because of her talent rather than her age but protected nonetheless.
The Stain was unknown territory, shunned because it was feared, feared because it was deadly. Kat simply didn't want to put Shayna at risk by including her in the expedition. She was too valuable, to the group for her healing abilities and to its leader as a friend.
She took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to say might jeopardise that very friendship. "I'm sorry, but no. You're too important, too valuable. You're going to stay and take charge of things this end."
"You're making a…"
"I've heard your arguments and taken them into account, but I've made up my mind."
"Then you haven't been listening closely enough."
"Shayna!"
"I know, and don't worry, I'll behave myself in front of the others as I promised, but you're still making the wrong decision for all the wrong reasons." There followed an awkward pause. "I can see I'm wasting my breath, though. So…"
With that the older woman stood up and moved away, leaving Kat to ponder whether she was right. Maybe, and if so this doubtless wouldn't be Kat's last mistake, but it was hers to make; not Shayna's and not Chavver's, not anymore. Kat sighed and got to her feet. In the Pits, when she was a kid, it had all been so simple. Leading the men as they fought wild animals or sometimes each other had come naturally. She and Chavver were the best fighters and the best tacticians, with an instinct for how to handle situations that she could never have explained in words. Leadership devolved to them as a natural consequence. Having them in charge meant a better chance of surviving the bouts for everyone. Out here in the real world things were invariably more complicated. There were so many other things to take into account, and Kat was increasingly concerned that she simply wasn't up to the task, not on her own.
She wondered whether her sister had ever suffered from such misgivings. If so, she never showed it, not even in the Pits. Perhaps she had after their falling out, when Kat was banished from the Tattooed Men, but Kat suspected that even then no one would have known.
The two of them might not have been close in recent years but she still grieved for Chavver. She missed her sister's certainty, yes, but above all she missed her.
No turning back though; this was a new age. Chavver was gone and the Tattooed Men were now looking to Kat to make the decisions. One of which she was about to announce. Straightening her back, doing her best to project the sort of confidence Charveve had always shown, Kat went to call the men together, to announce who would be going with her into the Stain and who would be staying here with Shayna. She knew that they'd all be hoping to go, which said something about those who comprised the Tattooed Men; though whether it reflected on their bravery or their foolishness was another matter entirely.
As Kat stepped out of the small room she'd adopted as an office, she bumped into an increasingly familiar uniformed figure. This was the man who had saved her life but she was determined not to allow that fact to rule it. At any other time she might have been glad to see him, but not now. There was business to be done, business that didn't include him; so her response to his unexpected appearance was curter than it might have been.
"You're a day early,"
"Technically, just half a day," the Kite Guard replied, "since we're due off first thing tomorrow."
Was he thick-skinned or just plain thick, she wondered. Surely her tone must have warned him now wasn't the time. "Exactly, which isn't today, so why are you here?"
He shrugged. "Everything's ready my end, so I thought I'd fly over to check on how you were getting on and perhaps have a quick discussion on how we're going to deploy tomorrow."
Kat stared at him in disbelief. "Deploy? We're the Tattooed Men, not some unit of your precious Guard. We'll deploy as I say we will."
"All right, I just thought…"
"Well don't!"
"Fair enough, bad idea, forget I ever mentioned it." He held his hands up defensively. "Now that I am here, is there anything I can do to help?"
"Actually there is."
"Excellent, just name it."
"Fly on back to where you came from and make sure you're not late tomorrow morning."
He looked startled, as if she'd slapped him. Kat relented, reasoning that the last thing she wanted to do was antagonise the man who'd be leading the authorities' part of the expedition at her side. Besides, he was kind of cute. "Look, Tylus, don't take offence, but I've got a lot on; Tattooed Men business, you know? And the only thing that's going to stop us being ready for the morning is interference, no matter how well-intentioned. So for now, just breck off and leave us alone. All right?"
He opened his mouth as if to say something but then shut it and nodded, before trying again. "Understood. I'll see you tomorrow." With that he turned on his heel and strode off, a little stiffly.
Kat lingered for a moment, watching him go. She still couldn't make up her mind about this Kite Guard captain. Her reaction to him was a jumble of conflicting emotions. He was a lot older than her but handsome enough in a clean cut sort of way; dashing even in that dark blue uniform, and she did owe him her life. He was also from the Heights, another world – one she never expected to come into contact with and was a little in awe of, truth be told – added to which he was an agent of authorities she'd never fully trusted; the people who, ultimately, had sanctioned the Pits. Or at least turned a blind eye to the place for far too long.
She smiled ruefully at her own indecision: part of her was attracted to this Tylus while another part wanted to look up to him, as if he were the older brother she'd never had, but there was a neediness about him that undermined that image and which she found just plain annoying at times. She shook her head in frustration. Perhaps after they'd been in the Stain and she'd seen how he acquitted himself under pressure her opinions and feelings would crystallise into something more certain.
Mind you, she wouldn't be at all surprised if there were a few among the Tattooed Men thinking in much the same way about her own leadership. Now there was a cheery thought.
Tylus left the Tattooed Men's makeshift headquarters cursing himself for an idiot. Why in Thaiss's name had he gone over there? Just because he had some spare time on his hands didn't mean that Kat would. Of course she'd be busy. All he'd achieved was to irritate her.
How was he going to look her in the eye tomorrow? Only one way to deal with this: ignore the whole embarrassing incident and pretend it never happened. He'd be formal and polite, making it clear that his interest in her was purely professional, and the fact that she was the most intriguing package of a bewitchingly pretty, slender, feisty, agile, dangerous and extremely capable young woman he'd ever come across meant nothing to him whatsoever.
Maybe he could even convince himself of that while he was at it.
He'd been intrigued by Kat from the
first moment he encountered her – when they'd both been scouring the streets independently searching for the same killer – and his fascination with her had only grown since he'd plucked her from the air by the grand conveyor. He saved her life that night, at no small risk to himself, and it seemed to him that she wasn't always as grateful for that as she might have been. He stopped himself, a little dismayed at the proprietorial nature of his own thoughts. He didn't own the girl for Thaiss's sake.
Not being in the mood for petty distractions, he flew high to avoid any stones which a strong arm or a catapult had been known on occasion to launch his way when he strayed too close to the under-City's rooftops. Chasing down and scaring the living daylights out of the nick responsible could be fun when he was in the right frame of mind, but not today.
In brief moments he was dropping towards his destination, cape extended between his torso and outstretched arms, shedding momentum as he adjusted his shape, swinging his body from the horizontal until it hung beneath, ready for landing. His feet touched the ground, knees bending to absorb the last dregs of momentum.