Banner of Souls

by Liz Williams

  “Do you believe that they could have saved Lunae?”

  “The kappa are easily underestimated,” Sek said. “They are a strange, secret people. It’s said that they have access to ruined palaces beneath the waves, tall columns of buildings many storys high, that are home to shark-monkeys and porpoise; long-drowned temples to lost gods. The kappa have been persecuted relentlessly throughout their history. They have ways of keeping safe.”

  Seething with anticipatory frustration, Dreams-of-War went back down to the deck and stood in the prow. The port was clearly visible: a muddle of tumbled houses heading up the hill, lit erratically by lamps. Along the shore, several lights were flickering, as if about to go out. A smell of mingled soap and fat drifted out across the water.

  A poor place, thought Dreams-of-War, but this came as little surprise. Most of Earth was in a similar condition. She was sure that they preferred it that way. The Memnos Matriarch’s words echoed from some half-forgotten conversation: “The people of Earth are lazy, slack-willed. They do not understand discipline.”

  Dreams-of-War longed suddenly for Mars: for stone and metal, for sleek hard lines against sand. She began to doubt that the kappa would be able to proffer anything resembling aid. An image came to her, of Lunae tossing within the embrace of the waves, eyes open and hair streaming through the water like bloodstained weed. She gripped the rail more tightly and willed the junk into port.

  CHAPTER 6

  Elsewhere

  Essa took the wet-ship low over the red range, skimming between serrated peaks and through bands of light and shadow. Yet there was no sign of a sun in the pallid sky, only the vast, shattered construct of what remained of the Chain’s maw.

  “Where is the sun?” Lunae asked. “And where are we going?”

  “The Illuminant gives this world its light now. All the land worlds of the solar system have undergone such—re-modeling, transformation, shattering. As for your destination, we are going to visit someone.”

  The ram-horned woman stroked the wall into a shower of droplets that sailed through the air and fell against Lunae’s face. “The crevasse is beneath us now. That’s where we are headed.”

  Lunae looked down and saw a rent in the red land.

  “I can’t see the bottom,” she said. “How deep is it?”

  “No one knows. No one has ever measured it.”

  “Have they not tried to fly to the bottom?”

  “This is the only craft we have. I do not want to risk it.”

  Lunae pictured the vehicle disintegrating into gentle rain, and shivered. Essa once more stroked the wall. The craft swerved and dived, heading for the chasm.

  “Let us not test it, in that case!” the kappa said in alarm. Essa smiled.

  “We are not about to do so. The person we are going to see lives in the chasm, not far from the lip.”

  The craft took them down, gliding over spongy rock. But as it drew closer to the ground, Lunae could see that it was not stone at all, but banks of lichen and fungus, shading into bloodier colors in the shadows of the crevasse. The walls looked as rich and soft as velvet.

  “This is what gives the red range its name,” Essa said. “Mars has become covered with lichen like this. There are entire forests of huge fungi ...”

  Lunae thought of Dreams-of-War with a twinge of anguish. Her guardian would never, she felt, take her to see the plains and forests of their own day, now.

  The kappa frowned. “This was not the case in my time.”

  “Perhaps it seeded when Mars underwent the Blight.”

  “The Blight?” Lunae could cope with the height, the ravine, the racing craft, but the distances of history left her feeling fragile and dizzied.

  “The splintering of the Chain,” Essa replied. “See where the temple lies?”

  Lunae peered through the shimmering wall of the craft to see a narrow ledge jutting out from the side of the ravine. They were descending swiftly now, the shadows of the surrounding peaks casting darkness over the land.

  “Who is the temple dedicated to?” the kappa asked, leaning forward.

  “It is no longer known. Perhaps the one who lives there may know, but if so, she has not told me.” Essa touched the wall of the craft, sending it gliding toward the platform. As they drew near, Lunae could see that the platform was carved out of the fungus: a great jutting ridge of it, the underside of the bracket grooved with runnels, through which the little craft could easily have slipped.

  The kappa said, surprising Lunae, “Does it ever spore?”

  “Every so often. We have to keep inside, then. The chasm is filled with the dust when the brackets emit their charge of spores, and it saturates the lungs beneath even the finest masking.”

  The craft swooped toward the platform, landing in a puff of dust. Lunae and the kappa climbed forth, to stand on the spongy surface. The columns of the temple rose up before them: worn, weathered stone stained by ancient rain, mottled as if spattered with acid. The stone was the color of roses, of the dust of other worlds. The air smelled like the inside of a cupboard: hot and dry, with a mushroom mustiness. There was no wind.

  Lunae watched as Essa placed both hands on the side of the craft. It melted down into a smooth lake, shining in the last of the light and creating an oily film over the velvet of the fungus.

  “Won’t it dry up?” the kappa asked nervously.

  Essa smiled, made a gesture of negation. “It is not quite like water. You have no need to worry. Now, let us go within.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Earth

  The kappa of Toke’ui crowded around the dock, securing the junk with ropes. Sek stood with both hands on the prow, eyes closed.

  “What is she doing?” Dreams-of-War said to Yskatarina.

  “She listens to the ship,” Yskatarina replied.

  “It speaks to her?” She remembered Lunae’s talk of voices when they had first arrived.

  “So she says.”

  “But this is surely a filament vessel, not haunt-tech. How can it possess sentience?”

  “I don’t know,” Yskatarina murmured. “Perhaps when she told me of it, she spoke in metaphor.”

  But Lunae had meant it literally, Dreams-of-War was certain. What would be comprised of haunt-tech, in a vessel such as this? The most likely possibility was the navigation system. But what if Sek had some other agenda that she was pursuing? Did that connect with the goals of Yskatarina, or not? If Yskatarina had summoned the swarm-assassin... And she also wondered whether this was the original destination, as ordered by the Grandmothers, or somewhere else. And if somewhere else, then why? Dreams-of-War was sure that they had started to change course before Lunae had gone missing. The situation was as murky as the waters of the harbor below.

  “By the way, I meant to ask if you have traveled much in space?” Dreams-of-War said, as casually as she could manage. “You said that you have visited Mars.”

  “I have been off-world once or twice. I have visited some of the worlds; I have been to the Crater Plain, where I believe you yourself come from.” Yskatarina spoke smoothly, and did not look at the Martian.

  “How do you know that?”

  “The Martian clans are not so extensive or so great in their complexity that I cannot recognize an accent,” Yskatarina said. “I know a little of the origins of the Warrior Clans of Memnos.”

  “I thought perhaps a woman of your means might have traveled farther,” Dreams-of-War remarked.

  “To Io-Beneath, perhaps, or Europa? Or do you just mean farther up the Chain?”

  “It costs money to make such voyages,” Dreams-of-War said, “but you have riches, clearly. If I had that kind of wealth, I would wish to journey as far as I could, to the very ends of the Chain, perhaps even as far as Nightshade.”

  Yskatarina laughed. “You would not be permitted to visit Nightshade. The lab clans do not admit outsiders; you must know that.”

  Dreams-of-War shrugged. “I was not sure if they made exceptions.”

&
nbsp; “They make no exceptions. Believe me.”

  Yskatarina’s voice was light, dancing like the reflection of the lamps on the water, but Dreams-of-War wondered once more about the currents that ran below.

  “I know little of Nightshade,” she said, probing.

  “No one does,” Yskatarina replied, still lightly. “It is a dark, closed world.”

  “I’ve heard rumors that they run programs, to crossbreed, to mix human genes with those of ancient animals, to produce a perfect being. Do you think they have had any success?” Dreams-of-War said, carefully casual.

  “I have no idea. It’s out-world rumor, probably nothing more. Interesting, though.” Yskatarina sounded sincere, but Dreams-of-War was not deceived. “Look, they have secured the junk.”

  “I need to go ashore,” Dreams-of-War said. “I have questions that must be answered.”

  Yskatarina nodded. “Very well. I will see you later. Good luck with your questions.”

  Impatiently, Dreams-of-War left the ship and brushed past the throng of kappa that congregated along the dock, which was no more than a mass of roughly cut blocks of stone, slippery with seaweed and water. She felt the treads of the armor alter against the soles of her feet, to provide her with a better grip, but even so, she nearly fell. Humiliated, Dreams-of-War glanced around to see who might be watching. The kappa were all gazing at her, gleaming eyes betraying nothing. Dreams-of-War strode angrily on. At the end of the dock she was forced to press through a knot of the creatures that huddled, murmuring in low liquid voices, before a small metal gate.

  “Let me through!” Dreams-of-War said, and her voice sounded harsher and more panicky than she would have liked. Half a dozen mild eyes stared at her incuriously, but the kappa did not move. “Out of my way!” She was grateful for the armor, which kept out the touch of their thick clammy bodies, but she was still forced to make contact. Repelled, she stumbled out of the gate into the street.

  Here it was silent, and there was no one in sight. Dreams-of-War stalked through soft darkness, illuminated periodically by glowing lamps. She recalled the dry burn of the moss-lamps of the clan house with a distant, half-realized nostalgia.

  A tumble of tenements rose above her, climbing upward from the street, ascending in layers. Small windows curved out at the level of Dreams-of-War’s feet; she reached down and touched them with brief curiosity. They were smooth and warm to the touch. She recognized some kind of plastic; they must be very old. Certain of the windows were partially buried in the packed earth, as though the buildings had sunk beneath their own weight. Dreams-of-War looked up. The upper reaches of the tenements were equally unusual: wood and thick laminated paper. So many of the trees of Earth were under the floodwaters, sad rotting stumps. Had they imported the wood from some lunar forest? She thought of Tsukiyomi on Luna, last remaining outpost after the stone-plague: the acres of fir beneath sparkling domes, the air electric with resin and quietness, studded with entrances to the underground labyrinth of the laboratories. But imported wood was surely a province of the very wealthy. Perhaps the kappa had taken over the mansions of the rich and the dead ...

  Along the upper storys, faux metal gleamed in the lights from the bay. Dreams-of-War reached the end of the street and looked around her. No sign of the harbor office and no one to ask... Dreams-of-War quietly seethed. Then she spotted a narrow alley, leading between two of the tall houses. A light shone at its end.

  Dreams-of-War stepped into the alley. It smelled pungent, of rotting fish and something else, something spicier that she was unable to identify. There was nothing to remind her of the air of Mars, odor constantly betraying the absence of home. Dreams-of-War found the source of the light and halted. A low building, made of driftwood, the cracks crammed with dried weed, was stuffed in between the neighboring buildings. Not promising. Dreams-of-War banged imperiously upon the door.

  After a moment, it opened. An anxious, moonlike face peered forth.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “I’m looking for the harbormistress.”

  “Come in.”

  Dreams-of-War followed the shuffling figure into a room so low that she could not stand upright.

  “Sit, sit.” It was a kappa, indistinguishable from all others. Perhaps the armor might be able to tell them apart. She did not like the idea of being surrounded by a horde of identical creatures: too much room for ambivalence, error, deceit. Could Lunae’s nurse be trusted? Dreams-of-War was no longer certain and, now that she considered the issue, she was not sure that she had ever been.

  “You are not from Earth,” the kappa said.

  “Obviously not. I am a Martian warrior.”

  “Indeed, you have an Arian air,” the kappa remarked whimsically. It seemed to be clad in sackcloth; it had a strong, shellfish smell. Dreams-of-War decided to breathe through her mouth.

  “Doubtless so. I have come because of a difficulty. My ship was attacked, and—”

  “You have come in on the junk belonging to Ayadatarahime Sek? Yes, we heard about it.”

  “Do you know what attacked us?”

  The kappa shrugged. Folds of flesh slid up its bared arms, formed tight rolls of fat, slid away once more. “A being riding a swarm-host.”

  “A swarm-host?” Dreams-of-War frowned. “What’s that?”

  “Some form of nanotech. I don’t know how they make it behave as it does.” The kappa gave an indifferent shrug.

  “Do you know where they come from?”

  “Death-dealers are commonly owned by the war-madams, of whom there are many, but only one person commands swarm-technology in these waters, and that is Prince Cataract.”

  “Who is she? He,” Dreams-of-War corrected.

  “He is a warlord. No one knows where his base is to be found, but he has a private army of snake-kin and other made-beings.”

  “Do they often prey upon shipping?”

  “No. He is not a bandit. It is unusual.”

  “Do you have any idea why this thing attacked us?”

  “I do not know. What became of this thing?”

  “I killed it. It was not human. I pulled its face away. There was some kind of rudimentary brain inside the skull.”

  “And what was the ship carrying?”

  “I was in charge of my ward. She is just a young girl, nothing more. She went overboard with the kappa who is her nurse. Someone spoke of sea palaces. If there is any hope that the kappa took her to a place of safety, I must know.”

  “This kappa. What was her name?”

  Dreams-of-War bridled. “I have no idea. Do you have names?”

  She thought that the kappa smiled, but it was hard to tell from the broad, lipless mouth. Perhaps the kappa snarled.

  “Of course, just as you do. It would be helpful if we knew which clan she comes from. Everyone has their secret harbors, their holds and sanctuaries. I could not tell you where they all lie. We have our tribes and factions. Just as you do.”

  “This particular kappa was employed by folk in Fragrant Harbor. Everyone calls them the Grandmothers; they lived in a mansion called Cloud Terrace, at the summit of the Peak, which has since been destroyed.”

  “I know of them. I will make inquiries. I think I may know already whom you mean. In which case—well. We shall see. Return to your ship; do not linger. There are those here who have no love for the people of Mars. I will send word to the ship when I have it. It is unlikely to be before morning.”

  “Very well,” Dreams-of-War said, though she did not like it. “I will do as you suggest.”

  She left the dank room with relief, feeling cramped and tainted.

  There are those here who have no love for the people of Mars. What was that supposed to mean? The ingratitude of the people of Earth was a continual irritant to Dreams-of-War, like a grain of sand between the armor’s heel and her skin. There was no reason for such hatred. No doubt it was attributable solely to resentment of those who were congenitally superior, Dreams-of-War reminded herself, and ins
tantly felt better.

  She returned to the junk without incident. The decks were empty. She passed Yskatarina’s cabin, but the door was firmly shut and there was no sound from within.

  Much later, Dreams-of-War snapped from sleep. She did not know what had awoken her, but the armor was bristling and prickling like a wild creature. It would, she thought, make a mess of the mattress. There was a sound coming from outside the ship, in the direction of the dock: a thin, high keening. It did not sound like either kappa or human. There was a hiss from the armor: a single word.

  “Excissieres.”

  Dreams-of-War was up off the bed and onto her feet before the sibilance had faded.

  “Memnos’s executioners? Here? Why have they come? Can you hear them? Are they broadcasting?”

  “They’ve come to take you in,” Yskatarina’s voice said from the shadows. Dreams-of-War turned.

  “You!”

  “My companion picked up their frequency just now. They arrived by drop-boat a short time ago. Memnos has sent them.”

  “And you came to tell me this because—?”

  “I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

  “Always so helpful. Why?”

  “I don’t have any love for Memnos. It would take too long to explain why.” The creature crackled in the corner of the room, sinking down into a bony knot of limbs. “That makes us allies, of a kind. You’ve failed, have you not? You’ve lost the girl, and they’re going to bring you back.” Without the customary lenses, Yskatarina’s eyes were huge in the darkness, bearing a faint luminescence.

  “You’re from Nightshade, aren’t you? I thought they did good business with Memnos. I’m wearing part of it.”

  Yskatarina betrayed no surprise, did not ask her how she knew. “I suggest we make a move,” she said.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Yskatarina was surely not Kami, for she did not shift and blur, but she was of Nightshade, and that was bad enough. Yet Dreams-of-War was unwilling to face a squadron of excissieres.