‘Tell couples to have fewer children,’ Caliper said.
Frinelia bowed her head. ‘We changed those sermons in my youth, but words and unenforceable laws weren’t enough; we required new directions.’
‘You tried controlling food.’
‘Hard times breed hard choices. We tried cooking moss and bark, but nothing worked, and failure led to desperation, and desperation spawned puppeteers.’
‘You mentioned them. Who are they?’
‘I’ll need tea before describing them, but let Mitch pour.’
Caliper cradled his tiny cup and sipped, the tea too delicate to wake his tongue.
Frinelia stared upward. ‘Some are content to let others live as they please. Surround them with people dancing in different ways or eating peculiar foods or wearing strange clothes, and they’ll smile or ask polite questions. But others fret at differences; they’ll say there’s one correct way to carry out each action, one correct way to dress or behave or talk. They’ll force people into uniforms or demand everyone eats at the same time or prays in the same position. They’re easy to disgust; they’re always scrubbing. I often wonder why. Perhaps, at the core, there’s a desire to control and manipulate; some find joy in seeing others dance to their tune. Maybe they sense an emptiness inside themselves, and controlling the world is how they know they exist.’
‘Puppeteers,’ Caliper said.
‘My friends wanted a gentle decline where fresh laws made births rare. Our population would dwindle until it matched the food supply. Only a scattering of villages in fertile areas would remain, and the pain of seeing empty cradles might be tempered by hope for nature’s recovery.’
Frinelia drained her tea. Her neck glistened under firelight as she refilled her tiny cup, and Caliper waited as moths jittered against the doorway’s sheet.
‘The puppeteers accused us of weakness and sloth. They sneered and called us soft landers.’
‘They wanted the hard landing,’ Phos said.
‘Who have you talked to?’
‘Many people.’
‘You learn well.’ Frinelia cradled her cup in her palm. ‘Puppeteers preferred to invite death. At first our urge to stay human made us reject their ideas, but our first plans failed, and panic spread. The puppeteers learned how to scare people and threatened disaster if people didn’t obey their commands. People obeyed.’
Caliper scratched his ear. Had Christina seen a thousand murders while staying silent?
Frinelia stood and stretched. Her hands sought the base of her spine. ‘The bad areas saw controls and rationing and harsh laws, and spies sprouted like toadstools. No one disputed the need for new laws, but the puppeteers saw those laws as roads.’
‘Flies to horse shit,’ Mitch said.
‘What a lovely boy. The puppeteers forced more limits onto families, not to help the world but to control it.’
‘Did yous keep shifting my tools?’
Frinelia nodded. ‘Puppeteers use fear – use it so well I suspect they terrify themselves. One morning I stood before a map that charted a swathe of our ring. The puppeteer leader swept his hands over drawings of villages and towns, and uttered two words: “Remove them.” Even the other puppeteers shuddered, but orders stink of strength, and chaos makes toughness erotic. I suggested testing our policies on a small village, but action carries its own romance, and action made the church regard its own people as burdens.’
‘Can’t be,’ Mitch said. ‘People would have complained.’
‘They did complain, right until they were silenced.’
Phos rocked back. ‘Where did everyone go?’
‘Camps like Torzene. Rooms at the top where the mighty watched their property, and one vast eating area to confine the families we used to help. Set mealtimes, with thinner soup each day, and spies listening everywhere.’ The fire popped, and Frinelia flexed her neck as the figures on her tapestries seemed to shimmer.
‘But people still needed feeding.’
‘Puppeteers waited until the new routines became habit and people became weak. The fences closed. People stayed inside but no food entered. Illness became disease, and the church waited until the crying stopped, waited for the hard landing. Puppeteers saw soft landers as a threat, and they spewed fear through our ranks and terrorised my people into silence. The plans rolled forward like an immense cartwheel, and the villages around Torzene would have emptied, but our miller came. Caliper, your destruction makes my learning look like a child’s burbling – I should applaud.’
‘Why d’you think I’m to blame?’
‘Who else, Caliper? Your work carries its own signature. Four hours ago I imagined our fight lost, but in a single heartbeat you transformed my world. Mortar rained from my ceiling; you destroyed my chairs and broke cherished crockery, threw me against the ground and bruised me where I cannot reach, but you kindled hope. Don’t let us hope without reason; say how you destroyed Torzene.’
‘You can’t stay silent,’ Phos said.
Could he explain without mentioning Christina? He stared at the floor. Frinelia brought light to his confusion, and Phos’s passion would help him punch through obstacles, but one whiff of madness and they’d abandon him.
‘You’ll not believe me.’
‘I never believed Torzene would fall, so don’t fret; the unbelievable keeps happening.’ Frinelia gestured for his words.
Caliper leaned back, and the cot creaked as he braced himself for jeers.
‘I heard stories at school, and I’m sure you did too: your ghost, the tall woman who comes at night and tries to speak. The world shows through her.’
Frinelia’s mouth hung open. ‘The eidolon – you witnessed the eidolon?’
‘We spoke; it was ages before we understood each other.’
Frinelia’s mouth stayed open. She had good teeth.
Caliper grinned. ‘You said a name there.’
‘The eidolon. We’ve records of sightings, but you’ve spoken? Scholars spend half their lives picking over tiny details of her appearances, but I’ve never….’ Her voice faded.
Mitch stared at Frinelia. ‘What’s an eidolon?’
‘Older than our learning and beyond any book; people map sightings and try predicting her next appearance, but in truth we understand nothing.’
‘So there’s only one? Am I special?’
Frinelia coughed. ‘We only see one at a time, but if she’s alone, she moves like lightning, and many believe she ignores distance. You’ve talked with the eidolon?’
‘We’ve chatted.’
‘Chatted? Our best minds can’t communicate, but you’ve chatted?’ Frinelia rocked on the trunk. ‘People said you’d stolen books; we knew you’d learned exploits, and one member of my team thought you talked into air. I should sift through wreckage for your file. You’d enjoy the read. Can you two speak now?’
‘She comes when she pleases, but being near the henges works best.’
‘Many scholars thought the henges attracted her.’
Phos stood. ‘Why destroy Torzene if you didn’t know about this hard landing?’
‘The choice was mine, but Christina handed me the tools,’ Caliper said.
‘Chris…Christina?’ Frinelia struggled with the sounds. ‘You know her name?’
‘We shared names.’ No need to wait for Frinelia’s recovery. ‘She wanted a signal, so she showed me the making of light. Fresh sails and new teeth for the gear wheels, with lanterns nicked from churches, and it all made a grand show, since her eyes pick up the special light your lanterns splash out. Christina made the candles I used at Ferstus.’
‘You sparked that riot?’
‘We’re a pair, but I only ever see her image, and she wants to meet me for real, though her sight’s strange, which makes the finding hard. I stumbled across Torzene, and those swarming guards meant danger, so she suggested a diversion, and that’s this wreckage. Christina wanted to steal metal, the nails and screws and such, and she needed my permission to go
about the stealing.’ Caliper gazed at the fire and chewed his lip. ‘Never thought I’d see the end of the breaking and crumpling; if I saved anyone it was an accident.’
‘I won’t forget you saving Mum,’ Phos said.
Mitch stared. ‘So is Christina human or ghost?’
‘No one ever told me what they mean by ghost, but there’s thinking each time we meet, and it’s not all mine, so she’s human enough.’
No laughing or sneering, not yet; perhaps they’d make a group. He’d keep talking.
‘You’re best saying she’s human but different: her name doesn’t get longer with age, and she’ll use words I’ve never known, while she can’t follow my simplest sayings. The tricks…. What was your word, Frinelia? She taught me plenty, but I imagine she holds the best back.’
Frinelia glided to the doorway and peered past the sheet. ‘Exploits. Learning them is supremely expensive, but I paid in ways most churchmen couldn’t, and I gathered many. I kept moving to leave my past behind, and at each new abode, my talent, my armoury of exploits, brought me a decent status.’
Phos fidgeted. Was she blushing? ‘We can learn from… What did you call her?’
‘Christina.’
‘Such a funny name. How did you learn these exploits?’
Caliper shrugged. ‘I grew up with some, and a handful slid into my dreams, but Christina taught me more. How to make trees glow or grub up weeds or tell vines to clamber over a trellis overnight.’
‘How do you use them?’
‘Empty your mind, and picture your wants before rolling words through your mind, and you’ll feel threads spool from your fingers to do your work. Here’s one.’ Caliper grabbed a blanket from the cot and closed his eyes. It snapped into a rigid square, and he let it clatter to the floor.
‘Not seen that one before, Caliper – we must compare. Mine are mere tricks. You saw me burn cloth, and I can break pots and cups; fine for impressing newcomers, but Caliper’s talent leaves me shaking. It’s late; sleep will let us ponder, and I have blankets untouched by any miller. Tomorrow Torzene will crawl with priests, but for now I’ll mention a place dawnward of us, a museum city where half the scholars scrabble for clues concerning the eidolon. A handful claim they’ve seen her drift through walls.’
Phos choked on her tea. She stared at Caliper but stayed silent.
Caliper’s mouth felt dry, his tongue papery. ‘Is it above a hill?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ Frinelia said. ‘How did you know?’
‘I’ll explain later.’
Phos and Mitch shared the cot, while Frinelia laid a pillow on the floor. Caliper snuffed out the lantern to let the night drift inside, and he lay by their curtain to block the entrance. He’d relax with the breeze: for the first time he’d mentioned Christina to others, and no one would call him mad for saying those words. He’d learned an extra scatter of details about his ghost, and he might even dream of his path to her home. There’d be nightmares too, priests and their guards rising from the wreckage, sharp knives in the darkness to stop him reaching Christina. He stared into the darkness as he remembered Christina asking him to bring friends – another nightmare to handle.
Chapter 11: towards your second syllable
Phos awoke into the bitter dark of Frinelia’s cell. Dad had smiled in her dreams, but now she remembered the savage gash torn through his throat. She drew Frinelia’s musty blankets around her face and screwed up her eyes: the next bout of sleep might show his face again. But the minutes passed, and Caliper’s rasping snores echoed over the stone walls. She blinked and sat upright.
She’d seen Caliper work the lantern, and she set it glowing over Frinelia’s books to form a puddle of yellow light while Mitch brought her a blanket. The tapestry figures loomed above, creamy-white characters with bulbous heads and enormous backpacks roaming a grey desert, and her fingers flicked over the stained and patched spines of Frinelia’s books. Even under lantern light, the pages were amber with age. One volume held etchings of birds frozen in mid-air with writing flowing around their wings, and others showed plants with sliced-open stems and petals.
Phos ran her palm over a stack of books; stories of her world’s origins might crouch inside, or even an image of her world seed. She tiled the stone floor with open volumes, but each picture spawned questions. Why were wrens so small? Why did owls have eyes on the front of their heads? Why did birds come from eggs? One page showed acorns looking like a ball in a cup, fatter than those she’d played with – were these older versions?
Frinelia’s breathing stayed slow, and maybe secrets lurked underneath her silvery hair. The lantern faded, and a delicate radiance rose from Frinelia’s ancient tunic, like a memory of Phos’s cloak, a faded whisper of liramic’s blue-and-green dance.
Sleep nagged her after hours of squinting, and she returned to her cot. At first her dreams stayed gentle; dolls capered around her hands, but Dad’s spindly figure reappeared with a face stiffened by sadness, and her dolls crumbled as he shuffled backwards into fog. Again her eyes opened.
She’d find Mum and slip away to rebuild a family with her new friends; Mitch had mentioned people surviving in forests, and Frinelia’s books described food. Everyone left home once their second syllable had rooted, boys after learning their trade, and girls once they’d dredged up a husband, and the hymnals held words of stepping to colour in the boundary – she’d secretly learned them when her school had become a cage.
Her idea withered in her mind. Guards would prowl through the forests, and the trees were already dying, so living without a family at thirteen was a cruel fantasy.
Phos stayed awake as daylight trickled through the doorway. Mitch curled beside her with his hand draped over her shoulder, and Frinelia lay face up with closed eyes as Caliper snored. Her stomach rumbled as chill air numbed her fingers.
Enough dawn to return to Frinelia’s books. One volume held a long paper strip folded over and glued into the front. Phos prised the yellowing leaves apart and held her breath as she pulled. Fold after fold unpicked itself as she paced backwards, and a faint mustiness breathed out from the creases.
A long picture, a faded drawing of her world, with the world walls inked along the edges, and the artist had etched in five yards of careful detail.
Frinelia’s voice drifted out. ‘That’s a small section, Phos, but it shows our location and destination. A friend wanted to map the entire ring with a thousand volumes, but the church stopped him.’
‘I must find Mum, but let’s take it.’
Frinelia sat up. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ll cut those pages out. Be quick: the priests will return today.’
Phos stared at the faint ink. People had walked the ring and returned with stories of eveward grasslands petering into deserts. Struggle past, and rich jungle waited, which led into ice-scraped mountains and a vast sea stretching wall to wall. Beyond sat the Outland: glass mountains criss-crossed with ravines. Keep going, and the pattern repeated in reverse, and you’d finish where you started, with a thousand bruises.
She wanted to watch daylight trickle through the Outland’s rocks, but her friends had laughed. Her story had made Dad smile, and he’d drawn a circle on a precious scrap of paper. He’d marked their home before curving his pencil to the far side, at least a year’s journey. She had a reply: quarries grubbed stone from earth; she’d shape a huge pit and scramble down her tunnel to the Outland, though she couldn’t work out what happened halfway. Again he’d grinned: digging one mile would take her whole life. He’d recited the story her teachers had fed her – like a ring, their world had no beginning. Phos had argued change happened when plants grew, but Dad’s patience had worn her down.
She’d taken the drawing to bed, a circle for her world, and sketched sea and mountains alongside desert and forests before scratching in her version of the Outland’s glass. Sleep had taken her, and her dream had seen her tunnel struggle through air and towards the world’s vault before burrowing into the
outside world.
Teachers claimed those rocks went on forever, but she’d not believe them; she’d keep her dream of rising and running her hands over the vault’s unknown surface.
Now she trembled beside those silent books as her breath fogged the air and cold leached through her boots. Caliper snorted himself awake and jerked upright as daylight touched him, and Frinelia rose to pour water into a basin.
‘Your tunic, Frinelia, is it liramic?’
The priestess ran her hand over her chest. ‘My daughter harvested and wove the cloth.’
‘You’ve a daughter?’
‘Had. She was your age when the fever came.’
‘I’m sorry… I….’
‘Don’t apologise. I should remember her more. Can I tell you the story?’
Phos nodded.
‘I remember cradling her as the fever burned, and I’ll never forget her last breath fading on my cheek. Afterwards I sat as priests mumbled about harmony and nature’s plans, and anger burned through me like molten iron, but I kept my face calm and my hands steady, even when I heard stories of healing machines reserved for high priests.’
‘You’re a high priest.’
‘I am now, or maybe I should say I’m good at acting. My daughter’s last breath set me climbing the stair, and each step became a monument to my daughter.’ Frinelia clasped her hands together. ‘Revenge makes a strange fuel; I’ve never felt tired, but I never enjoyed success. I kept wanting more – another promotion to hit the church harder, another exploit – but I’d have waited forever if Caliper hadn’t arrived with his strange learning.’ She faced the miller and smiled. ‘I gained strength to burn my cloth, and if he shares his knowledge our fight may continue.’
Caliper looked at his hands. Timbers crashed and tumbled outside – was there running?
‘We must leave,’ Frinelia said. ‘The horsemen will have reached their local keep, and they’ll return with others.’
Pain gripped Phos’s chest. ‘We can’t leave until I’ve found Mum; we’ll hide if we need.’
‘Be quick. Once she’s found, we should aim for the museum city to dawnward.’
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