The Dreaming Void v-1

by Peter Hamilton

  'You're going to be my husband. I'm entitled to know all about your old lovers.

  'I'm not your husband.

  'Not yet, she taunted. 'My timesense says you will be.

  He threw up his hands in defeat.

  'How long are we going to stay in here? she asked.

  'I'm not sure. Even if there's nothing left to scare them off, they won't want to stay too long. The other villages will know what's happened by now. The smoke must have reached halfway to Odin's Sea, and the farms would have fled, longshouting all the way. I expect the province will raise the militia and give chase.

  'A militia? Can they do that?

  'Each province has the right to form a militia in times of crisis, he said, trying to remember the details Akeem had imparted about Querencia's constitutional law. 'And this definitely qualifies. As to the practical details, I expect the bandits will be long gone before any decent force can get here, never mind chase them into the wilderness. And those guns they had. He held up his trophy, frowning at the outlandish design. No doubting its power, though. 'I've never heard of anything like these before. It's like something humans owned from before the flight into the Void.

  'So that's it? There's no justice.

  'There will be, as long as I remain alive they will curse their boldness of this day. It is their own death they have brought to our village.

  She clutched at him. 'Don't go after them. Please, Edeard. They live out there, it's their wilderness, they know this kind of life, the killing and brutality, they know nothing else. I couldn't stand it if they caught you.

  'I had no notion to do it right away.

  'Thank you.

  'Okay, I think it's the afternoon now. Let's take a look.

  'All right. But if they're still there and they see us… I can't be his whore, Edeard.

  'Neither of us will be caught, he promised, and meant it. For emphasis he patted his gun. 'Now let's see what's out there. He started to apply his third hand to the cool stone. Lips touched his. His mouth opened in response and the kiss went on for a long time.

  'Just in case, Salrana murmured, pressed up against him. 'I wanted us both to know what it was like.

  'I… I'm glad, he said sheepishly.

  This time it was a lot harder to move the huge stone slab. It was only after he started he realized how exhausted he was, and hungry, and scared. But he shifted the stone a couple of inches until a slim crescent of mundane grey sky was visible. There were no excited shouts or farsight probes down into the pit. He couldn't send his own farsight across much distance given the tiny gap and the fact he was still below ground. Instead, his mind called out to the Guild's sole ge-eagle. His relief when the majestic bird replied was profound. It was perched up on the cliffs, distressed and bewildered. What it showed him when it took flight swiftly brought his mood back down again.

  There was nothing left. Nothing. Every cottage was a pile of smouldering rubble; the Guild compounds with their sturdy stone walls had collapsed. He could barely make out the street pattern. A thin layer of grubby smog drifted slowly over the ruins.

  When the eagle swooped in lower, he could see the bodies. Charred clothes flapped limply on blackened flesh. Worse still were the parts that stuck out of the debris. Motion caught the eagle's attention, and it pivoted neatly on a wingtip.

  Old Fromal was sitting beside the ruins of his house, head in his hands, rocking back and forth, his filthy old face streaked by tears. There was a small boy, naked, running round and round the wrecked market stalls. He was bruised and bleeding, his face drawn into a fierce rictus of determination, not looking at anything in the physical world.

  'They're gone, Edeard said. 'Let's go out. He dropped the bated gun and shoved the slab aside.

  The stench was the worst of it; cloying smell of the smoking wood remnants saturated with burnt meat. Edeard almost vomited at the impact. It wasn't all genistars and domestic animals that were roasting. He tore a strip of cloth from his ragged trousers, damped it in a puddle, and tied it over his face.

  They halted the running boy, who was in a shock too deep for reason to reach. Led old man Fromal away from the hot coals that had been his home for a hundred and twenty-two years. Found little Sagat cowering in the upturned barrels beside the working well.

  Seven. That was how many they and the eagle found. Seven survivors out of a village numbering over four hundred souls.

  They gathered together just outside the broken gates, in the shadow of the useless rampart walls, where the reek of the corpses wasn't so bad. Edeard went back in a couple of times, trying to find some clothes and food, though his heart was never in the search.

  That was how the posse from Thorpe-By-Water village found them just before dusk. Over a hundred men riding horses and ge-horses, well armed, with ge-wolves loping along beside them. They could barely believe the sight which awaited them, nor did they want to accept it was organized bandits who were responsible. Instead of giving chase and delivering justice, they turned and rode back to Thorpe-By-Water in case their own loved ones were threatened. The survivors were taken with them. None of them ever returned.

  * * * * *

  Edeard used his longtalk to tell Salrana: 'The caravan is here.

  'Where? she answered back. 'I can't sense them.

  'They've just reached Molby's farm, they should be at the village bridge in another hour or so.

  'That's a long way to farsee, even for you.

  'The ge-eagle helps, he admitted.

  'Cheat!

  Edeard laughed. 'I'll meet you in the square in half an hour.

  'All right.

  He finished instructing the flock of ge-chimps clearing out the stables and excused himself with Tonri, the senior apprentice. All he got for his courtesy was an indifferent grunt. Thorpe-By-Water's Eggshaper Guild hadn't exactly welcomed him with open arms. There was a huge question about his actual status. The Master hadn't yet confirmed him as a journeyman. Edeard's request that he should be recognized as such had generated a lot of resentment among the other apprentices, who believed he should be the junior. That his talent was so obviously greater than any of them, even the Master, didn't help the situation.

  Salrana had been accepted a lot more readily into the Lady's Church by Thorpe-By-Water's Mother. But she wasn't happy, either. 'This will never be our home, she told Edeard sadly after their first week. Thorpe-By-Water's residents didn't exactly shun the refugees from Ashwell, but they weren't made welcome. Rulan province now lived in fear of the bandits. If they could strike Ashwell, which was three days' ride from the edge of the wilderness, they could strike anywhere in the province. Life had changed irrevocably. There were patrols out in the farmlands and forests constantly now; and craftsmen were having to leave aside all nonurgent tasks to strengthen village walls. Everyone in the Rulan province was going to be poorer this winter.

  Edeard walked into the market square to the same averted glances he'd been getting every day for the last three weeks. With its stalls and cobbled floor it was remarkably similar to the one in Ashwell. Larger, of course, Thorpe-By-Water was a bigger village, built in a fork of the River Gwash, providing it with natural protection along two sides. A canal moat had been dug between the two fast flowing water courses, with a sturdy drawbridge in the middle, completing the defences. Edeard thought that might make them safer than Ashwell. There really was only one real point of entry. Unless the bandits used boats. Where would bandits get enough boats from…

  His farsight was casually aware of Salrana hurrying towards him. They greeted each other in front of one of the many fish stalls. She was dressed in the blue and white novice robe of the lady, one which was slightly baggy this time.

  'Almost like before, Edeard said, looking her up and down. He was quietly aware of the glances she was drawing from the other young men in the market.

  She wriggled inside it, pulling at the long flared sleeves. 'I'd forgotten how prickly this fabric is when it's new, she said. 'I only ever had one new
one before at Ashwell, for my initiation ceremony; the rest were all second-hand. But the Mother here has had five made for me. She gave his clothes an assessment. 'Still not found a weaver?

  Edeard rubbed at his ancient shirt with its strange mis-coloured patches. His trousers were too short as well, and the boots were so old the leather was cracked along the top. 'You need money for a weaver to make a shirt. Apprentices are clothed by their Guild. And apprentices without status get the pick of everything the others don't want.

  'He still hasn't confirmed your journeyman status?

  'No. It's all politics. His own journeymen are totally inept, and that's mostly thanks to his poor training. They lose at least six out of every ten eggs. That's just pitiful. Even Akeem's apprentices didn't lose that many. They're also five years older than me, so putting me on their level would be an admission of how rubbish he actually is. I didn't appreciate what I'd got with Akeem. He fell silent at the painful memory. They should have made time to recover the bodies, to give their village a proper funeral blessed by the Lady.

  'You knew, she said supportively.

  'Yes. Thanks. They wandered through the market, Edeard looking enviously at the various clothes on display. As an apprentice he wasn't allowed to trade any eggs he sculpted, they all belonged to the Guild. Akeem had been decently flexible about it, believing in a quiet rewards system. But now Edeard found himself with no money, no friends, and no respect. It was like being ten years old again.

  'One of the patrols came in last night, Salrana said as they walked. 'The Mother was at the meeting of village elders this morning; the patrol leader told them they'd found no sign of bandits, let alone a large group of them. Apparently there's talk about cutting down the patrols.

  'Idiots, Edeard grunted. 'What were they expecting to find? We told them the bandits can conceal themselves.

  'I know. Her expression turned awkward. 'Our word doesn't count for much.

  'What do they think destroyed Ashwell?

  'Give them some grace, Edeard; their whole world is being turned upside down right now. That's never easy.

  'Whereas we've had a cosy ride.

  'That's not nice.

  'Sorry. He took a long breath. 'I just hate this: after all we went through, and we get treated as if we're the problem. I really should have kept that gun. He'd left it at the bottom of the well shaft, not wanting any part of a bandit legacy. The gun was pure evil. Ever since, he'd been trying to draw the fidgety little components he'd sensed inside. Thorpe-By-Water's blacksmith had laughed when he'd taken the sketches to him, telling him no such thing could be made. Now people were becoming sceptical about the whole repeat-shooting-gun story.

  'You did the right thing, she said. 'How awful would life be if everyone had a weapon like that.

  'It's pretty awful that the bandits have it and we don't, he snapped at her. 'What's to stop them sweeping through the whole province? Then further? How about the entire region?

  'That won't happen.

  'No, it won't, because the governor will raise an army. Thankfully, there are more of us than them, so we can win no matter how terrible their weapons are. But that will mean bloodshed on a scale we've never known. He wanted to beat his fists against the nearest stall. 'How did they get that gun? Do you think they found one of the ships we came in?

  'Maybe they never left the ship they came in, she said in a small voice.

  'Perhaps. I don't know. Why will no one listen to us?

  'Because we're children.

  He turned to snarl at her, then saw the deep worry in her thoughts, her tired face dabbed with greenish ointment. She was so lovely. Somehow he knew Akeem would approve him risking everything to save her. 'I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm taking it out on you.

  'Because I'm the only one who listens, she told him.

  'Lady, it's worse here than Ashwell in some ways. The elders are so… backward. They must inbreed like dogs.

  Salrana grinned. 'Keep your voice down, she scolded.

  'Okay, he grinned back. 'Not much longer now, I hope.

  People were gathering along the side of the market square to watch the caravan arrive. Edeard counted thirty-two wagons rolling along the road and over the drawbridge. Most had terrestrial beasts tethered to them; horses, donkeys, oxen, cows; some had pens carrying huge pigs. Ge-wolves padded alongside. There were more outriders with pistols than Edeard remembered from before. The wagons were as large and impressive as he recalled, with their metal-rimmed wheels as tall as him. Most of them were covered by curving canopies of dark oiled cloth, though several were clad in tarred wood almost like tiny mobile cottages. Entire families sat on the driver's bench, waving and smiling as they wound their way into the market. Every summer the caravans would tour the district, trading animals, seeds, eggs, tools, food, drink, and fancy cloth from Makkathran itself. They didn't always visit Ashwell, but Edeard could remember the excitement when they did.

  Even before the wagons had stopped, villagers were shouting up at the travelling families, asking what they'd brought. It was a good-natured crowd who had little time for the Mayor's welcoming speech to the caravan leader. Trading was already underway before the formalities were over. Samples of wine and beer were handed down, mostly to apprentices. Edeard chewed on some dried beef that had been flavoured with a spice he'd never tasted before. Salrana picked daintily at trays of fruit and pickled vegetables though she was less restrained when it came to exotic chocolates.

  As the evening sky began to darken, Edeard was in considerably better spirits. A lot of the villagers were making for home and supper before returning for the night's traditional festivities. He and Salrana made their way to the lead caravan. The last remaining villagers were leaving, studiously ignoring the Ashwell pair as they did so.

  Barkus, the caravan Master, was also as Edeard remembered. A man several decades into his second century, but still hale. He had the largest sideburns Edeard had ever seen, white whiskers bristling round the curve of his jawbone, framing ruddy cheeks. His barrel torso was clad in a red silk shirt and an extravagant blue and gold waistcoat. 'And what can I do for you two? he chortled as Edeard and Salrana edged in close to his wagon; his large family glanced at them and kept about their work, extending the awning on a frame of martoz wood to form an extensive tent. 'I think we've run out of beer samples. He winked at Edeard.

  'I want to come with you to Makkathran, we both do.

  Barkus let out a booming laugh. Two of his sons sniggered as they pushed the awning pegs into the hard ground. 'Very romantic, I'm sure. I admire your pluck young sir, and you my Lady's lady. But sadly we have no room for passengers. Now I'm sure that if the two of you are to be ah… how shall we say, blessed by an addition, your parents won't be as fearsome as you expect. Trust me. Go home and tell them what's happened.

  Salrana drew her shoulders back. 'I am not pregnant. I take my vows of devotion very seriously.

  Which blatant lie almost deflated Edeard's indignation. 'I am Edeard and this is Salrana; we're the survivors from Ashwell. He was very aware of the silence his statement caused. Barkus's family were all looking at them. Several strands of farsight emanating from the other side of the wagon swept across them. 'I believe you knew my Master, Akeem.

  Barkus nodded sagely. 'You'd best come inside. And the rest of you, get back to work.

  The wagon was one of those boasting a wooden cabin. The inside was fitted with beautiful ancient golden wood, intricately carved with a quality which would have eluded Geepalt and his apprentices. Every section of the walls and ceiling were made of doors which came in sizes from some no bigger than Edeard's fist to those taller than he. Barkus opened a pair of horizontal ones, and they folded down into long cushioned benches. Two of the small doors along the apex slid aside to expose misty glass panels. Barkus struck a match and pushed it through a small hole at the end of the glass, lighting a wick. The familiar cosy glow of a jamolar oil flame filled the cabin.

  Edeard smiled round, very impress
ed.

  'I remember your Master with great fondness, Barkus said, waving them on to the bench opposite himself. 'He travelled out here with us a long time ago. I was barely your age at the time. Your Mother, too, novice Salrana, always showed us kindness. Both will be missed and mourned. It was a terrible thing.

  'Thank you, Edeard said. 'I don't wish to impose, but neither of us can stay in Thorpe-By-Water. We're not very welcome, and in any case it's too close to Ashwell.

  'I understand. The whole province is shaken by what happened, though I've heard a great many different versions already. Including, I have to say, a couple which cast you in a less than favourable light, young man. I held my tongue at the telling of such tales because I remember you from our last visit, four summers ago. I also remember what Akeem said about you. He was impressed with your talent, and old Akeem was not easily swayed especially by one so young.

  'Edeard risked his life to save me, Salrana said.

  'That also I have heard.

  'Before that night, Akeem said he wanted me to go to Makkathran to study at the Blue Tower of my Guild. I would — no, I will, see his wish come true.

  Barkus smiled softly. 'A worthy goal, young man.

  'We will work our passage, Edeard said forcefully. 'I will not freeload.

  'Nor I, said Salrana.

  'I would expect nothing less, Barkus said. He seemed troubled. 'However, it is a long way, we will not reach Makkathran until next spring, and that is if all goes well. Many caravans have already cut short their regular journey to leave this province. The stories of Ashwell's fate are many, but they have unnerved all of us. As I remember, Akeem said you have a strong third hand?

  'That's true. But my talent is in sculpting. There are many wild defaults in the woods and hills of this province. By the time winter falls I can sculpt you a pack of ge-wolves that no bandit gang will ever get past no matter how strong their concealment. I can sculpt them with a stronger sense of smell than any you've used hitherto. I can also sculpt eagles which will circle for miles on every side of the convoy searching out the slightest hint of treachery or ambush.