Unwrapped Sky

by Rjurik Davidson

“It’s all right, Giselle,” said the young man with curly hair. “You know that if Ejan tests you, then you are truly tested. We’ll keep them here for a while. There’s plenty of work for them, just like the others.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes. But in the meantime, look at how we’re growing! I’ll talk to them now.”

  Kata slipped the book back in the shelf and sat back in the chair. The curly-haired man, who must be Maximilian, came into the room and sat on the bed pushed up against the wall. The twine on one of his boots was unravelling, a thick wire springing clear of the leather. He examined them, his head cocked sideways with curiosity, as if they were specimens in a laboratory. The lights increased their diameter and glowed a soft red.

  “I’m Maximilian.” His brown eyes glittered with interest as they introduced themselves. “So, your broadsheets, The New Tomorrow, you wrote them yourselves?”

  “Yes, the two of us,” said Kata.

  “You’re lucky the Houses haven’t taken you away. Their dungeons are filled with the likes of you.”

  With his shifty eyes Louis looked at Kata and then back at Maximilian, “Dungeons don’t frighten us.”

  “They should,” said Maximilian. “They have all kinds of ways of breaking someone there. They have machines designed to inflict the most horrendous injuries. They have potions to induce fear. They have molds and fungus that grow upon you. You should be afraid.” The man looked at Kata. “You’re apocalyptics.”

  “The world is coming apart,” said Kata. “The Houses have kept the knowledge for themselves. It is hidden up there in the House Complexes, ready to be used. While all the time the great wastes, where Aya and Alerion battled, encroach more and more. All those chemical streams issuing forth like white poisonous mucus. All that red dust that blows like an assassin’s powder, burning whatever it touches. We are at the end of an age. Only the knowledge kept in the Houses’ libraries will save us. Or else we shall descend into a new dark age when people will eat their young, when nothing will hold together, when the buildings will be razed and the ties between people will dissolve, leaving us nothing but lone atoms in a sea of flux.”

  The man stared at her. She kicked herself. She had rehearsed the speech, and it had come out as rehearsed.

  Maximilian kicked at the unraveling twine of his boot, pressing it close to the leather. “But that is very much modern thinking. The trend of day is to see things as falling apart, to think that we still live in a world of cataclysm. Yet in the long view of history, have things not been rediscovered? Surely we are on the path of development back toward the time of the ancients. Are not our populations growing? Aren’t we emerging from that dark age of which you speak? Isn’t this the very basis for the growth of seditionism itself? With each step in our knowledge and our production, are we not better placed to build a better world?”

  The philosopher in Kata was now alive. “You are relying on the illusions of the ancients before the cataclysm. They were wrong. There is no inexorable progress. Nor are the laws of history on our side. There is no line of improvement between the knife and the bolt-thrower, the sword and the incendiary device,” she said. “The Houses control everything. They ruin everything. They kill—” She stopped and thought of Aemilius, of his long lashes, of his black eyes. “They—”

  “They must be destroyed,” said Louis.

  “Destruction?” said Maximilian. “We must be purer. We must be the new people we hope a better world will create. We must avoid revenge.”

  “Revenge is for those who have lost their way.” Again Kata thought of Aemilius. She would do the House’s bidding. She would survive. She always had.

  Kata and Louis were given the task of researching the Sunken City. They spent their time in the next week in Kamron’s old room, which had now been converted into a small library.

  Ukka’s Before the Cataclysm, considered by many to be one of most accurate histories, explained that the Library of Caeli-Enas, as the storage point of all the knowledge of the ancients, was protected by powerful thaumaturgy. It could resist fire, earthquake and flood, physical assault and internal decay. Not only was it capable of complex methods of self-regeneration, but could develop its own innovations in self-preservation. When Kata showed these passages to Maximilian, he had smiled. “The entire thing is intact,” he excitedly said. “Protected by thaumaturgy. Protected.”

  Still, mostly the Histories of the Sunken City were fragmentary. Kata wished she could have asked Aemilius; he would have known much. It was four hundred years since it had sunk, a final, delayed, consequence of the cataclysm four hundred years before that. Each History told a different story, and debates were wide-ranging. How was it that so much knowledge had been lost over the centuries?

  Scattered through the books there were fragments about the Great Library of Caeli-Enas. At one point Kata came across a particularly perplexing passage. She stopped and said to Louis. “What do you make of this?”

  “If you keep interrupting me, I’ll never make it through these books.”

  Ignoring him, she read the passage. “‘The Library at this point felt that it was not in its interests to allow the Gods to deposit their memories in its storage, for it felt that given the war that was occurring, no new knowledge was safe. The Gods claimed that the Library was paranoid, but the Library held firm.’” Kata turned to Louis. “The Library held firm?”

  Louis shrugged. “Let’s just do what we’re told.”

  “And what are we told?”

  “To research the Sunken City!” Louis hissed.

  “Oh, I thought we were researching this rebel group.”

  Louis looked at her alarmed, “Keep quiet! Who knows if they’re listening to us? They’ll kill us, you know.”

  Kata laughed at him.

  “You’re mad,” Louis said. “I’m not going to have you risk my life.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s hope they haven’t heard. Let’s hope there won’t be any more deaths.”

  Louis looked at her.

  “Fine,” she said, “Let’s hope that we’re not the ones to die.

  Kata had slowly come to understand that though there was no formal structure to the group, there were a series of unspoken and interlocking power structures. Maximilian sat near the top of a complex set of interrelationships that crisscrossed the group. Josiane, the middle-aged philosopher-assassin who had accompanied Ejan during the interrogation, was Maximilian’s constant companion, who always had a chain with a metal weight hanging ominously at her side. Kata wondered with what style Josiane fought. The chain suggested one native to Caeli-Amur, whose philosopher-assassins had developed combat with unusual weaponry: not just chains, but throwing-stars, rope-darts, fighting fans, and others, many that had been imported and modified. In any case, Josiane was like an attack dog circling around him, on the lookout for threats, or else scurrying off on one errand or another. Maximilian also had a little coterie to whom he taught thaumaturgical knowledge and he spent much of his time with them, or pursuing his own thaumaturgical research. He seemed obsessed with various forms of water magic and transmutation. He studied the biological differences between water-breathng and air-breathing creatures. Fish, he explained to her, his eyes alight with wonder, absorbed oxygen from the water, but Xsanthians were amphibious, able to breathe both water and air.

  Meanwhile, the blond-haired man of the North, Ejan, had a group around him, which included the redheaded woman, Giselle. They seemed interested in all kinds of military and logistical research. At the markets, they sold the goods created by the group. A number of newfound seditionists had been given various jobs, including the forging of various weapons in a makeshift smithy. A young man—dark, brooding, surely only in his teens—looked after the terribly burned Omar. Only Kamron Andrenikis wandered around listlessly.

  At night the groups mingled and talked, and these occasions sometimes became open discussions about the direction of the group, the number of newcomers they should accept, t
he strategies and tactics for fighting the Houses.

  Sometimes Omar’s groans permeated Kata’s dreams, which were filled with frothing mouths and bulging eyes. One night she stepped lightly across to Omar. Feverishly, he turned his head from side to side. The skin on the side of his face had been blistered and now was hardened and dead, ready to flake off. What had happened to this man?

  He opened his eyes. “Don’t let Ejan take control. He’s a killer. He’s mad.”

  “What?”

  “Panadus! By Panadus! Don’t let him take control. Promise me, Max. Promise me. He’ll destroy everything. He’s cold.”

  “Hush.” Kata placed her hand on his shoulder. “Sleep. Regain your strength.”

  Kata felt someone squatting next to her. She turned to see Maximilian looking down.

  “It makes no sense, the things he says,” said Max. “He speaks in riddles and fevered dreams.”

  “It is a sign of the times,” said Kata. “Riddles and fevered dreams for an enigmatic world dreaming of its own future.”

  “You truly are an apocalyptic,” said Maximilian, still looking at the man below. There was tenderness in his eyes that Kata had not seen before. So, thought Kata, this seditionist has a heart, after all. In that moment, she sensed Max’s generosity, hidden so often by his dedication. He cared about others, the weak and the damaged. He was motivated by feelings, not just ideas. Feelings were a weakness in this world, but something about that look moved her. She felt the stirring of feelings of her own.

  Kata planned to escape at the end of her second week and report to Officiate Autec. Each night, as the others slept, she sneaked along the passageways around the hideout, taking light steps in the darkness. She found her way, her eyes trying desperately to make out the shadows in the dark. Once she was beyond the sight of the central cavern, she lit a lamp. During these expeditions, she felt like a little bubble of light, moving through a vast sea of darkness, occasionally illuminating shadowy forms—angled tables with flat glass squares, chairlike objects that were too heavy to shift—before leaving them behind in the dark.

  She passed through the vast room filled with terrifying-looking machines the size of elephants. On the far side stood great black metal doors; she could find no way to open them. She returned to the central cavern and ventured to another passageway. Halfway along a man-sized hole in the wall opened out to a tunnel that looked as if it had been dug by hand. Her body tensed when she came to this, for surely it was the way she had entered. Through there—somewhere—was the way out to the city, to the light. She waited for a long time at the opening to that tunnel, tempted now that she knew the way out. Eventually, she turned back and reentered the central cavern. The following night, she decided, she would explore farther in that direction. She lay down then on her mat and tried to sleep a dreamless sleep. She woke a few hours later, exhausted, with the feeling that something was in her eyes. She rubbed them to try to clear them and looked up to see Josiane watching her like an owl in the night. But Josiane only stood up, looked away, and went about her business.

  In the reading room, Kata said to Louis, “I’ve found the way out.”

  He looked at her with wild eyes. “If you are caught, we’ll both be killed. It’s better to wait until we gain their trust.”

  “And how are we to do that, sitting in here with nothing but books?”

  “We do a good job. We wait.” Louis nodded to himself, as if the force of his own argument impressed him.

  “No. We act. We inform Officiate Autec of the whereabouts. They come in and arrest everyone. We are rewarded. It’s simple.” Kata pictured the villa in the hills, a vineyard she would tend during the day, or perhaps a place where she might train horses. To be left alone in such a place: that was all she wanted.

  “You’ve seen these people. They’re killers: Josiane; that blond-haired man—Ejan. There’s something calculating about them.”

  “There’s something calculating about you,” said Kata.

  “That’s why I know.”

  The door opened and Maximilian entered. Kata tensed. How long had he been at the door? Had he heard them speaking? He stepped in, his eyes watchful and intelligent as ever.

  “I’ve found the best map yet of the Sunken City,” said Louis, “Look at this!”

  Maximilian’s eyes lit up, and he and Kata perused the ancient parchment that Louis held on the table in front of him. Inscribed on the cracked and yellowing paper was a detailed map, showing great boulevards radiating out from a central plaza. Around the area were the great buildings of the city: the Library among them.

  “It’s a reproduction of an earlier map,” said Louis. “But the plan is fairly clear.”

  “Caeli-Enas,” said Maximilian softly. “Caeli-Enas.”

  That night Kata lay awake in her bed, her little collection of personal items beside her: clothes, bottles of medicine that would last for another month, the small bag she carried with her. All she could hear was the soft breathing of the sleepers. She unwrapped the lantern from her bundle of possessions, slipped from her bed, and silently glided across the floor. She stepped lightly out of the central cavern in the darkness, lit her lamp, and quietly walked along to the tunnel opening. The walls here were carved from the rock. It could have been a mine, or the construction of some digging machine. She moved along the tunnels, counting her steps as she went. Eventually she came to a T-intersection and by instinct turned right. Along the tunnel she passed, counting each pace. Step by step, number by number. She came to another intersection, this one broader, and sloping downward in one direction. Some five hundred paces farther it became a long circular tunnel with smooth sides. A gust of wind touched her face. She walked along the tunnel and stepped out into the warm night where the stars shone white and brilliant. Beneath her the golden lights of the city were spread down to the water, like fires scattered by some god onto the ground. She smelled the sea and the soot from the factory district.

  She quickly passed through the city and up to the Technis Complex, where she sat in a room waiting for Officiate Autec to be called. An intendant—one of the petty House officials responsible for handling affairs with the populace—sent a child-messenger scurrying off to fetch the officiate. An hour later, looking at once drawn and possessed with an unnatural and jittery energy, Autec entered the room and led her through the still busy corridors to his room where he collapsed, rather than sat into his chair.

  “Seditionists are surprising people,” she said.

  “So are you philosopher-assassins,” said the officiate, leaning forward, his eyes squinting. “What are they like, these rebels?”

  “They’re idealists. I thought they might be self-centered zealots, but no, they really believe in their causes. They’re talented, and some of them are hardened, no doubt.” Kata explained all that she had learned about the group and its personalities to Autec, who nodded, grim-faced, as she conveyed each piece of information.

  When she was done, Autec opened a draw in his desk and pulled out a glass ball about the size of a small melon. He examined it in wonder. “Ancient technology. Incredible really. Press the top of its surface here and it records everything around it. How does it work?” He examined the intricate mechanism visible within the glass, a tiny machine of cogs and wheels. “You won’t need to return here for a while, just hide this in a prominent position. I have a second scrying ball of my own, and the two will speak to each other. I will be able to observe the rebels myself.”

  Kata took the ball in her hands, examining the complex clockwork mechanism inside, as impressive as its complexity was its intricacy: its delicate workmanship, like lacework, marked it immediately as the work of ancients.

  “Be discreet with it.” Autec took a swig from a flask and grimaced. “Idealists are the most dangerous of people.”

  Kata returned to the circular entranceway, so much cooler than the air outside, still warmed by the bricks and rocks of the city. Counting her steps she came to the place where the T
-intersection should have been. But it wasn’t there. She’d counted her steps. She’d made the right turns. But had she made some kind of error? She retraced her steps, right back to the opening, which led out to Caeli-Amur. But she must have forgotten her memorized path, for again the T-intersection was not where it should have been. She started to panic. The light would soon be coming up, the insurgents would be rising, and her identity would be uncovered.

  As Kata despairingly placed her head in her hands, she heard the sound of footsteps and listened hard. They seemed to be coming from the rock wall itself. She pressed her head up against the wall, and staggered forward. What had happened? She stepped back and tried again. Losing her balance, she fell through the wall, her lamp making a clattering sound.

  From the floor of the tunnel, filled with shame, she stared up at a figure, which stared back at her.

  “Giselle,” said Kata involuntarily.

  “Kata.” Giselle stared at her wide-eyed.

  “Where are you going? It’s still dark.”

  “Where have you been?” asked Giselle.

  There was silence then, but Giselle’s eyes accused Kata.

  Finally Kata said, “What House do you work for?”

  Giselle looked at her in horror. “Marin. You?”

  “Technis.”

  “Then we’re enemies.”

  “We don’t have to be. We’re both doing the same task. We could be of assistance to each other.”

  Giselle examined Kata, a roguish smile on her face. “Well, there’s no point on carrying the House Wars around all the time, is there? I have only half an hour. But my contact meets me nearby.”

  Kata nodded, watched Giselle scurry off, and sneaked back into the Central Cavern and tried to sleep. But her body resisted and her mind raced. Beneath her ratty blankets, in her hands she held the ball that Autec had given her. Exhausted but awake, her eyes roved around the cavern until they fixed on the six black pillars that stood to one side. Horizontal fissures ran across them; perhaps they were vents of some sort. She covered the ground almost silently, and scaled one of the pillars like a cat, ascending to the top in a split second. She pressed the smooth, cold surface of the ball. She dropped to the floor, squatted down and looked around at the sleeping seditionists, lost in their dreams of the future. She slipped across the floor and back to her bed, aware of the scrying ball hidden in the darkness, watching from above. She wondered even now if Autec was looking down upon the group of seditionists, dreaming his own dreams of violence and desolation.