Fall; or, Dodge in Hell

by Neal Stephenson

  So this was the first time Prim had seen the Pinnacle and the Palace with her own eyes. It took several moments for her to register them against the many depictions she had seen and descriptions she had read during her education, all of which approximated, but none of which quite approached, the real thing. Few details could be made out at this distance, but that only made the thing seem more enormous. Its upper half was sheer and narrow, but below that it broadened rapidly to a wide base that Prim knew consisted almost entirely of Hive. Prim had eyes mostly for what was on its very top. Gazing at it long and hard, she fancied she could resolve tiny features such as towers and outbuildings. Haze and distance made those evanescent.

  Something strange was undoubtedly going on in Prim’s mind. For in all honesty there was nothing she could possibly see atop that Pinnacle at such a distance. Yet pictures of it were coming into her head. Since they could not have been coming in through her eyes, they might have been figments of her imagination, seeded from storybooks and brought to life by the strange vibrant air of this Temple. Or they might have been memories. They seemed very much like things she had once seen, perhaps in dreams, and forgotten for a long time. If so, those were not altogether happy memories.

  “Two visitors. Alike welcome. One familiar, one new to me,” said a male voice behind them. “How different their reactions to the sight of El’s Palace! One so joyous, the other somehow sad.”

  Prim had whirled around upon hearing the voice. Sooth was a step behind her, and a little off to one side, still facing the window, and indeed there was no question that her face was alight with happiness.

  The voice was emanating from the top of the stepped platform. This was circular, shaped like a stack of coins that got smaller as they went up. The top was a few paces in diameter. Its back portion was rimmed by a low parapet that appeared to be made out of embroidered cushions. Its front was open toward the window wall. Seated atop it, right in the middle, leaning back comfortably, was an Autochthon. He looked as if he would be magnificent were he to stand to his full height. But they had come upon him lounging in a long robe made of some shimmering material. Or perhaps that was just his aura. He actually had one. It was big. To judge from old books, auras had once been common, but Prim had only seen a few in her whole life, and those had been barely discernible layers of shimmer painted over people’s heads. This Autochthon’s aura occupied most of the platform.

  Sooth’s smile broadened, and altered in a way that struck Prim as false. She pirouetted to face the platform. “Delegate Elshield,” she said, “may we approach the Divan? I would introduce you to my guest.”

  “You may not only approach but join me up here if you would care to,” said Elshield. In his tone was a kind of suggestive familiarity hinting that he and Sooth spent rather a lot of time in each other’s company. Sooth cast a glance back at Prim and then began to approach. Following in her wake, Prim was conscious of a rise in the Hive-hum that only grew more intense with each step. Looking up she saw a peculiarity she had missed before: a broad inverted pillar, like a fat stalactite descending from the ceiling, centered directly above the platform. It was made entirely of Hive-stuff, though here it was in a more orderly geometric shape than Hive that grew in the wild. It descended close enough to the top of the Divan that Elshield, if he could have been bothered to stand up, might almost have touched it with an upraised hand. Its under-surface was concave. In the cells exposed on its underside, souls squirmed and glowed to illuminate Elshield in flat, fluctuating light. It must have been they who were the source of the hum, for with each step Prim took toward the lowest tier of the Divan, the sound grew more intense, coming in through not just her ears but her skull, and addling her wits. The sorts of stray dreamlike memories she’d experienced while staring at the Pinnacle were now breaking loose all over and making it impossible for her to see or think clearly. She stopped and backed away to a more comfortable distance. Sooth, untroubled, quickened her pace and ascended the platform steps, all bouncing locks and flouncing skirts, pleasing enough to Prim’s eye and more so to Elshield’s. He lazily raised a hand. She reached out to grasp it, then spun round and dropped to sit next to him. Both leaned back comfortably against the cushions and seemed to take in the emanations of the Hive for a minute.

  “Our young visitor is fascinating. Mysterious,” said Elshield, and Prim felt he was not stating his own opinion but that of the Hive. “Will you not step closer, young lady?”

  “I prefer not to,” said Prim. “I prefer to use plain ordinary words, when sharing my thoughts with strangers.”

  Sooth smiled. “And when you use words, do you prefer the accent of Shatterberg, or of Calla? It seems you are capable of both.”

  Prim was ashamed but not surprised that the Autochthon had seen through her. The hints had been many. Her disguise had never been meant to fool anyone save a lowly gatekeeper.

  “We shall have ample time to plumb her depths in the months and years to come,” said Sooth. “I believe she understands today the nature of the Land in a manner that was hid from her, quite deliberately, by those who sheltered her until now.”

  Prim’s alarm about months and years to come had scarcely begun when it was shoved out of the way by that very odd and wrong statement about her having been somehow misled by her own kinfolk.

  “Very well,” said Elshield, “We may begin immediately, on the ride down to Secondel.”

  “You are going down to the city now,” said Sooth, half statement and half question.

  “I have an important meeting—with a barbarian king!” said Delegate Elshield. “One of my more exotic duties.”

  “Splendid,” said Sooth, “let us ride then.”

  Elshield rose to his full height, which was impressive, as if he had been made to be a lord. Which, come to think of it, he probably had. He descended, arm in arm with Sooth, and made a gesture toward Prim that said, After you, my dear. But soon enough the two Autochthons had overtaken her with long sure strides and got her between them. They went out by a different way, passing through a sort of foyer where a Beedle helped Elshield out of his robe and into a long riding cloak made of heavier stuff, all black. First though he slung a wide swath of leather over one of Elshield’s shoulders. It fell diagonally across his body to his left hip, where a scabbard hung from it, and into the scabbard went a sword of burnished steel that Elshield took down from a rack.

  From there they went out of doors and directly made their way back to the place near the gate where Prim and Sooth had left their mounts. Sooth got up into the saddle and Prim did likewise, leaving Elshield afoot. Given the style in which Elshield lived generally, she assumed that a Beedle would come scurrying up at any moment holding the reins of a mount even larger and more magnificent than the one that she was borrowing. But no such thing happened. The two Autochthons exchanged a look and Prim assumed that private thoughts were passing between them. Then Elshield stepped over to the flank of Prim’s mount and in one smooth graceful movement vaulted up onto its back right behind her. The contours of the saddle were such as to press them together quite firmly. She recoiled from the unwanted closeness but he had already reached his arms around her. His right hand closed over hers, which was holding the reins. “There will be no need of those,” he said, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath. “Only Beedles use them. We have more refined ways of controlling the animal.”

  Right on cue, the mount bolted across the grass. Elshield snaked his left arm around Prim’s waist and drew her back against him. “The ride will be faster than you are accustomed to, but I shall see to it you do not fall,” he explained.

  Hearing hoofbeats to the right, Prim turned her head to see Sooth galloping past them. Within moments they had crossed the belt of grass and plunged into the forest that cloaked the mountainside. The pace felt wild to Prim, but the mount and the Autochthon both knew the way and never put a hoof wrong. Prim’s fear lessened over the course of the first couple of switchbacks, to the point where she could
tear her gaze away from the road ahead and hazard a look down over the First Shiver and the waterfront of Secondel far below.

  Two of the Autochthons’ military ships—galleys with many oars—were venturing out across the channel, going perpendicular to the general flow of shipping. It looked as though they might be planning a mid-Shiver rendezvous with a vessel that was approaching from the coast of Thunkmarch. Perhaps that one was carrying the barbarian king that Elshield was going down to meet? It was not a particularly kingly looking vessel; but terms like “king” were rarely used out among the Bits.

  Tell me more, Elshield wanted. He had not uttered a word. But she knew it was what he desired. She had not said a word either; so if she had “told” him anything, he had somehow worried it out of her mind without her willing it. Disgust followed by panic overwhelmed her good sense and she tried to wriggle away. But Elshield’s arm was like a band of wrought iron bent round her body, the saddle itself was an inescapable trap, and even if she had wriggled free it would have been the death of her, as she’d have been dashed against the hurtling road. I will know what you are, Primula, Elshield let her know, not what you claim to be.

  And when she knew that he knew her true name, it broke her, and she fell into a reverie, remembering various things from her life in no clear order, and she knew that it was Elshield, inside of her, ransacking her mind in a way she was helpless to prevent. Which ought to have satisfied him as much as it disgusted her. But after it had gone on for a while she sensed that he was only becoming more frustrated the more he saw. He was rooting deep, trying to draw up her earliest memories. But he looked on those as false—as lies planted there by someone who had gone to great lengths to deceive her as to her true nature.

  By Brindle.

  A darkness like sleep had come over her so that she did not know where she was. Impressions seeped into her mind of a gate, city streets, docks, and boats. Memories being looted by Elshield? No, for she had not seen these places before. These were no memories. She was coming back to the here and now, for Elshield had turned his attention away from her and was issuing commands to Beedles. She was conscious of being draped over him like a damp rag. She sat forward, bracing herself on the rim of the saddle. Elshield, knowing that he had her, made no further effort to hold her close.

  They rode out onto the top of the wall above the stone quay. By now the two military ships Prim had noticed earlier had completed their rendezvous and returned to within a bow-shot of Secondel’s waterfront. Beedles in uniforms were deploying along the rim of the quay, some carrying boathooks or coiling lines, but others armed with lances. The top of the wall was picketed with archers.

  Elshield diverted the mount down a ramp that took them to the level of the quay; Sooth elected to look down upon the scene from atop the wall. Still dazed from what had happened during the ride, Prim was only vaguely conscious of many orders being given and a lot of boat-related activity as the vessel carrying the barbarian king drew near and swung about sideways and was coaxed toward the moorage.

  She had never seen a king—barbarian or otherwise—before. Curiosity lifted her out of her stupor. Her gaze traveled up and down the length of the boat’s deck looking for a royal entourage in all its finery. But all she saw was a solitary man in scruffy traveling clothes, wrists and ankles hobbled with shackles. His hair and beard were matted, and his face masked, with dried blood. A noose had been thrown around his neck like a leash, and the end of the rope was held by the largest and grimmest Beedle she had yet seen.

  Elshield swung down out of the saddle and saw to it that the mount’s reins were entrusted to a Beedle. He grunted out a command in the Beedle’s crude language, throwing a look up at Prim. Clearly the mount was going nowhere. Prim too dismounted.

  A wooden gangplank had been dropped into place between the ship and the quay. The big Beedle crossed over it, the shackled man helplessly stumbling along in his wake.

  Elshield took the end of the rope and looked at the prisoner. “Welcome, Your Royal Highness,” he said to the barbarian king.

  The king said nothing, for he had recognized Prim. And she had recognized him.

  It was Brindle.

  She was a princess, apparently.

  “You lied to me,” Prim said. “My whole life . . .”

  “You must fight your way out now,” Brindle said.

  “How are we to do any such thing? Look about you!”

  “You must do it alone,” Brindle corrected her, raising his hands to show the chains. “You will find it within yourself,” he insisted. “Better sooner than later.”

  “What is that supposed to mean!?”

  “I lied to you because I love you,” Brindle said. And then, taking advantage of some slack in the rope, he stepped into the gap between the quay and the boat and plunged straight down into the First Shiver.

  Elshield’s mind-reading ability let him down in this case, for he was holding the end of the rope only loosely, more as a ceremonial gesture than anything else, and it popped loose from his hand. The entire length of it buzzed over the edge of the quay and disappeared into the water in a manner suggesting that the king on the other end of it had been pulled straight to the bottom by the weight of his chains.

  In the astonished silence that followed, Prim lunged forward, headed for the point where the rope had last been seen. “Brindle!” she called.

  “No!” Elshield commanded.

  A moment later, when Prim had shown no sign of heeding him, he called, “Her we need! Stop her!”

  Prim had dropped to her knees at the edge of the quay, hoping to see the floating end of the rope. But it was entirely submerged. Hearing a heavy footfall nearby, she looked up to see the great grim Beedle coming for her, reaching out with his right hand.

  She dove in headfirst. The hem of her long skirt, trailing in her wake, caught on something—or was grabbed by the Beedle’s claw. She tried to kick and wriggle free, and felt the garment tearing at her waist. In a moment it came away and she plunged deeper into the water, both arms flailing in a blind search for the rope. Something gripped one of her ankles, and in the same instant she felt, as much as heard, another body plunging into the water. It was the big Beedle, gripping her by the leg, piling in on top of her.

  Something grazed the back of her right hand. The water here was too murky to see much but she thought she glimpsed the free rope end undulating just out of her reach. She tried to kick back against the Beedle but his grip was strong. And his arms and armor were heavy, so he was sinking where Prim, left to her own devices, would have floated. The world pivoted around her as her buoyancy raised her head and body while the weight of the Beedle dragged her leg down. Again she tried to kick loose but his grip only tightened, and now his free arm snaked around her other leg and gripped it as if Prim’s body were a ladder he could ascend into the air. He was now in a panic as he understood he was going to drown.

  Absolute was her certainty that she had been in a situation like this before, though she could not remember it. In her childhood she had never been near a body of water as cold and as deep as this. Like the rope end she had felt but been unable to grasp, the memory eluded her the more she reached for it. It was one of those memories Elshield had tried and failed to extract from her mind during the ride down the mountain.

  Still pointlessly trying to climb her body, the Beedle wrapped an arm around her waist. She reached down to push him away and found his face with the palm of her hand, but had nothing like the strength needed. Rough stone skidded along her shoulder: the wall of the quay, along which they were slowly descending. She groped at that with her free hand but could not find purchase.

  She knew that the Beedle would not release her until death took him. Would she still be alive? Which of them would drown soonest? She desperately wished that he would. That now, while she still had the strength to swim to the surface, he would just die.

  Her hand—which had been shoving at his face—felt nothing but water now. The arm was no longer
around her waist. She was free, and beginning to float upward. She kicked her legs in case the Beedle had any thoughts of making another grab for her, and felt nothing. Looking down she saw nothing where the Beedle had been save an amorphous bubble of faint light—like the gleaming of a formless soul newly spawned.

  A crevice between stones gave her a handhold she used in a panicky ascent. That and a few kicks and arm strokes took her to the surface. She erupted from it head and shoulders, and threw one arm up over the edge of the quay—where it was immediately pinned down by Elshield’s knee. It felt like he was putting his full weight on her wrist. She’d have cried out in pain were she not simultaneously coughing up water and whooping in air. She got her other hand out of the water; he caught it in his, then stood up and hauled her full-length into the air and flopped her down on the pavement like a landed fish. “Got her!” he called. “Call off the search!”

  “No!” she gurgled. “Brindle! The rope!”

  “You weren’t listening to what Sooth had to say!” said Elshield, sounding like a disappointed uncle. “We maintain the balance of the Land by seeing to it that the Sprung never get too organized, too powerful, out there on those Bits. Brindle was the best king among them. Having him free was unacceptable. Holding him prisoner would have been better—though not without risk. Having him dead—by his own hand, no less—now, that is the best outcome I could imagine. I think we’ll leave him just where he put himself.”

  Hearing this, Prim became so wrathful that she rolled to her stomach, got up on hands and knees, and staggered up to her feet. She turned to face Elshield and took a step toward him, wishing she could get her hands around his throat. But then his mind was inside hers again, and he forced her to stand where she was. Controlling her like one of his mounts.

  “You,” Elshield said, “we’ll keep around. You’ll make a lovely little tame princess to reign over Calla from a high tower.”