Lightmaker

by Kevin Elliott

  These elders were desperate to unlock the city gates, and Caliper’s words yesterday had done little beyond wrap a frayed cord around the doors. One man stepped towards her and opened his mouth, and a hand gripped her shoulder from behind.

  Phos turned at the touch, but the hand was Frinelia’s. The elders still glared.

  ‘They’re not happy,’ whispered Phos.

  ‘Church and city live together here, Phos; some retired priests can’t forget their past. There was tension, but until your arrival they worked together. Many see you as a flaming torch inside a dry barn and call for your expulsion. Rastersen and his thugs bustle outside and demand entrance, and his threats paint a vivid picture. If he enters….’

  The sentence swayed in the air as a new stench ferreted inside her nostrils, like rotten cheese stacked in an outhouse.

  Phos glanced at the elders still milling by the stairs. ‘Can we reach the carousel? It’s dangerous, but Rastersen has a coward’s blood.’

  Frinelia nodded. ‘We’ll find Caliper; he may be at breakfast. His strength hides from him, but the carousel artefacts might respond to his talent.’

  The smell worsened as Frinelia led Phos on, and the bile flavours left her retching. ‘Are we visiting the latrines?’

  ‘No. The kitchen.’

  Phos halted, and her hand rose to cover her face.

  ‘Did you want breakfast?’

  Phos’s stomach squirmed as if trying to escape. ‘Is that last year’s breakfast? Is your nose decoration?’

  ‘I think they’re cooking sausages.’

  Phos jerked forward and vomited, but Frinelia’s hand stoked her shoulder before rubbing her neck. The priestess’s whisper drifted into her ear.

  ‘The same happened on my first visit. You won’t believe me, but this food is edible.’

  A final judder shook Phos’s body, and she forced her eyes open to stare at the cloth Frinelia had waiting.

  ‘The food helps you stay thin, and it tastes better than it smells.’

  ‘I’ve heard better promises. How’s it made?’

  ‘There’s no farm nearby, so everything’s recycled, which means….’ Frinelia waited.

  Phos winced. ‘Is there any food instead?’

  ‘Try waiting until you’re dreadfully famished. We could tour the food factory. They’ve a particular style of cooking: all bendy glass and coloured flames to summon food. Incomprehensible but impressive.’

  ‘Who invented this, and why isn’t it illegal?’

  ‘The church believes it owns Morzenthal, and its activities are always legal, though it makes sure commoners never learn of our food factory.’

  ‘It’s worried people will copy this?’

  Frinelia smiled. ‘If you only eat when priests allow….’

  ‘They gain control.’

  ‘Any indoor farms would soften their grip, and hunger makes everything edible. If you’re desperate, I’ll persuade the cooks to demonstrate their factory.’

  ‘There’s Caliper’s ghost, the eidolon; she might suggest a way forward.’

  ‘Which means finding Caliper, which means entering the breakfast room.’

  ‘There’s danger everywhere,’ Phos said.

  ***

  Caliper drew in dust with each breath, and the musty decades coated his lips, but he kept ambling with Mitch down the echoing hallway, and after twenty paces, a fresh breeze brought hints of musk. He stopped, and his fingers ran over an oak wardrobe, one of five pushed against the wall. The wood had darkened with age, and each wardrobe had an identical crack scoring its left-hand door. Battered dressers sat beside a scratched piano, and his fingers coaxed out a few dull thuds from the keys.

  A table on the giant hallway’s other side held a jumble of children’s toys, a box kite, a spinning top, and a cardboard windmill, and Mitch flicked the sails to set them spinning. He’d not seen any children, so who had lugged these trinkets up the hill, and why were the wardrobes identical? Caliper stared down the dusty hallway; the right size for Christina, and the subtle curve would suit her.

  Mitch turned to him. ‘Still hunting your ghost?’

  ‘I’ll never stop.’ He’d risen before dawn to prowl the city and flash his torch into darkened rooms and Morzenthal’s curved halls, each large enough to house hordes of giants. By mistake he’d woken a half-deaf elder sleeping alone. Caliper had apologised, but the elder had gleefully retold his own sighting and described Christina’s hair, her dress, her face and eyes. The man hadn’t shared words with Christina, and she hadn’t looked at him. There’d been no whispered names, but the elder believed himself blessed. He’d described her rising through the floor before drifting back, and Caliper found himself glancing downward while ignoring the sleep pawing at his eyes.

  Caliper tapped the hard marble floor before sliding his foot over a join between two polished stones. The slabs fitted perfectly, and the bricks in the walls were fresh. Did Morzenthal hoard squads of eager masons?

  Mitch dashed through a doorway on his left, and Caliper followed into a cramped room where shelves crammed with musty books huddled inside a cage of thick wires. Mitch gripped the mesh and stared as the metal creaked: priests had locked readers in with their words, and these books had escaped the church’s fires.

  Priests, no escaping the priests; their scratchy letters capered over each doorway. Right now they’d swarm outside and probe for entrances, and Phos needed his muscle. Daylight streamed through the ceiling windows. He beckoned Mitch, and the pair turned back to retrace the footprints they’d planted in the thin floor dust.

  ‘There’s a massive hill under Morzenthal, so there must be hiding space below,’ Mitch said. ‘We’re nearer the vault here, and those ruins we saw might float again, so we should explore.’

  ‘I’ve no ideas, Mitch. Phos has the mind, and we’ll talk with her. She’s most likely scoffing breakfast.’

  They walked without words past a set of empty rooms, and a gaggle of elders eyed them as they floundered down a gigantic staircase and into a low-ceilinged corridor with stained walls, where papers and shards of broken pot ran along one side. The kitchen slung out its own brackish stench, a festering worm grubbing at Caliper’s nose and mouth.

  The kitchen’s tiled hall echoed with chatter; thirty heads’ worth of grey hair sat at low tables, and fingers dabbled at plates of steaming brown gunk. Caliper’s eyes stung, and he dodged as an elder hefted a tureen of bubbling slop past his face.

  Phos and Frinelia sat alone at the hall’s far end. Frinelia nibbled a biscuit while Phos stared at her in horror.

  Frinelia swallowed, held her breath and smiled. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Watching you eat is a nightmare.’ Caliper breathed through his mouth before sitting.

  Mitch coughed. ‘Shouldn’t this stuff smell of food?’

  ‘It’s never seen soil.’ Frinelia held her biscuit up towards one of the ceiling’s glowing patches. ‘It’s brewed, after a fashion, but barley isn’t involved.’

  Caliper faced the four Morzenthal elders and grinned, but they never blinked.

  ‘They’re brewing now.’ Frinelia sipped syrup from a jar and tugged a saucer holding a dollop of maroon sauce towards her. ‘The food factory needs two masters, but the senior brewer disappeared while searching for herbs a week ago. They’re training a new assistant, but it takes time.’

  ‘Everyone’s staring,’ Phos said.

  ‘Fear makes everyone look like an enemy, and Morzenthal’s council meet soon to decide how to handle the priests gathering outside. A friend of mine will argue my way, but others are desperate to please the church, and Rastersen knows how to threaten.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s Rastersen?’

  Frinelia nodded.

  ‘Will the council hear us?’

  Frinelia lowered her voice. ‘It’s uncertain. They’ll make no decision until noon, but stay ready, and learn the city’s layout.’ Her finger dabbed the maroon sauce, and she drew on her plate. ‘Morzenthal’s co
rridors form rings around the central arena – that’s one level below us – and the carousel circles the arena. It’s lived in, but not by humans.’ Frinelia gazed at Caliper. ‘If Rastersen breaches the walls, the carousel may become our best chance.’

  Caliper glanced at Phos and Mitch. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It was my idea,’ Phos said. ‘Danger for us means danger for him.’

  Frinelia scrubbed her fingers through her drawing. ‘Here’s Minasteryde, the senior brewer, and should things settle, we’ll ask about the food factory.’

  An elder squeezed through a pair of swinging green doors, a smile etched on a plump face under a crescent of silver hair. Frinelia waved but Caliper felt a push. Another shove tipped him back before pitching him against the table. Chunks of plaster crashed around him, and plates smashed. The room jolted, and Caliper swayed as screams pierced the air. Phos yelled at Mitch to climb under their table. A metallic juddering hammered through his body, and screams became howls as the shaking stopped.

  Shock could block pain, and he slid his hands over his chest, but he was untouched. A heap of bodies twitched to his right, and angry shouts rang out. Were these toga men blaming him? A short-haired elder woman crouched over the brewer and called his name while shaking his shoulder.

  Caliper squatted beside Minasteryde and listened. No movement or breath; blood trickled from his mouth, though his peaceful smile lingered, and Caliper touched the woman’s shoulder.

  ‘I’ll check the kitchen.’ Caliper stood as Phos tore strips from a bundle of reeper cloth and threw them to Mitch. The door stuck fast until he shouldered it open, and he burst into a room of upturned chairs and tables. The floor was a sea of shattered glass glistening in twilight – dirty rags stopped daylight leaking through skylights – and a dull green smear had grown over the walls. Caliper’s eyes streamed as he walked inside, and glass crunched underfoot.

  Windmills shared a single design, so any miller could rebuild any other windmill, but this fatal shaking had destroyed something unique, and knowledge had died. Frinelia entered and gasped.

  ‘No, not here. This is….’

  ‘Any stored food?’

  ‘What was that shaking?’

  ‘I heard telling of a small Outland town wrecked by shaking, but your church killed the tale,’ Caliper said.

  ‘I know nothing.’ Frinelia clutched the door, and Caliper’s foot nudged a broken flask. This glass factory had sat unchanged for decades: grime still glued three flasks to an upturned table, but grey dust circles showed where others had fallen.

  ‘Food reserves?’

  ‘Only a few weeks,’ Frinelia said. ‘How’s Minasteryde?’

  ‘Dead. Did anyone else know the brewing?’

  Frinelia fell silent. ‘People help, but we’ve few records.’

  ‘At least your stink is clearing, but keep those elders out.’

  ‘Stop the panic?’

  ‘No. Well, yes, but we’ve clues here. There’s a line of shards on that floor, so a tube’s fallen from the desk. You’ve a round flask beside the round table, and its underside is sooty, so we search for the burner that sat beneath. Understand?’

  Frinelia’s shoulders sagged.

  ‘These elders need you, so go find notes or pictures, and ask if people kept diaries. Check bedrooms, and talk with anyone who worked here, like cleaners or caretakers. Get their words and fit them together. You’ll manage, and I’m sure Mitch’ll show his skill here.’

  Frinelia paused before turning and leaving, and Caliper studied the glinting wreckage. Back in his windmill he’d learned the best place to store each of his tools, the right weight for a sack of flour, and which changes in the windmill’s heartbeat meant trouble. All remembering. Now he stared at the broken glass and wrote his own memories of the rubble, clues to let him wind back time.

  He might scrape the scowls off those toga-wrapped elders and get them working his way and keep those fleshy priest fingers away from Phos.

  Caliper jerked as the door twitched. ‘Stay out.’

  ‘It’s Phos. We need to go…. What the…?’

  ‘Grab the door and keep the others out. Where’s Mitch?’

  ‘He’s outside. He’s fine, but we must see the arena.’

  ‘We need food, even this crud, and this factory needs a rebuild.’

  ‘I’ve done jigsaws, but….’

  ‘You’ll stay by the door, Phos, and stop anyone entering.’

  The girl’s fingers trembled as she studied the ground. ‘Will this floor give way?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Three elders came up from the arena; the floor there cracked open, and there’s light streaming from below. We need to explore.’

  Caliper rocked back against a chair. Had this shaking exposed Christina’s home? ‘Yes, maybe your hole in the ground needs a good watch.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Phos said. ‘If you’re planning to rebuild, try sniffing the glass; anything smelling of food comes from the end of the line.’

  ‘Aren’t you the useful girl? Now go see what’s hiding underneath.’

  She turned and slid through the green doors. Had the shaking cracked Morzenthal’s walls? Would Rastersen’s puffy face come searching? His candles wouldn’t surprise again, and there’d be tens of guards with blades. Caliper’s fingers itched for a weapon, but these elders were strangers to the fighting, and he sat alone with the shattered glass.

  Chapter 16: it’s uphill all the way down

  Phos’s boots slapped against stairs as she raced upward. An elder’s hands snapped at her sleeve, but she swerved away. She hurtled along the curving inner side of Morzenthal’s main hallway and hunted for a passageway while gasping for breath. A long corridor opened on her right, and Phos surged down the empty passage as her stamping feet echoed across the walls.

  Daylight beckoned, and she burst from the corridor onto a ten-yard-wide curved balcony circling the walls of a vast drum-shaped chamber. Above, a domed ceiling stretched over the arena, and a ring of windows pierced the creamy stone to flood the space with amber light. A metal band circled the dome where it met the walls. Eight sets of stairs curved into the arena like notches evenly spaced around a plate, and Morzenthal’s elders had planted wooden slabs into the stair corners to make them human-sized. The arena’s floor sat twenty feet below, an immense disc carved from Morzenthal’s buttery stone, but a black scar gouged the centre where several slabs had fallen. Ten elders lingered nearby and watched wordlessly as flecks of light erupted from the gap.

  The floor was a cork for an immense bottle, and she scrambled down. One wooden block wobbled, but she slapped her hand against the curved wall. Her body jarred as she missed the final step, but pain would wait. She strode forward and into the huddle of elders.

  Light poured from the breach. Coloured streaks quivered upward like darting fish and streamed towards the dome; normal light only showed when it struck solid material, but these beams tinted the air. Six steps brought her to the gap’s edge.

  These remaining stones stayed in place by gripping each other, so a single step might send her plummeting, but she had to see below, and she tapped her left foot on the floor to edge forward.

  ‘Miss, you can’t approach – we don’t know it’s safe.’

  ‘Not knowing isn’t safe.’

  ‘You can’t stay there.’

  Phos inhaled before glancing down into a confused riot of colour, and her body recoiled. No meaning in the chaos below. She closed her eyes. Did the mind need digesting time?

  There’d been an abyss, a swollen maw of darkness surrounding distant towers and streets. Glistening beams had smeared colour across her face: violet one instant before shifting into a rich blue and through to turquoise before sliding back to violet. Immense stone slabs had drifted in the air below to bathe in the soft light.

  She’d watched toy blocks roll in soapy water, and the motion below looked similar. The rolling blocks shared the floor’s buttery sheen. Those stones had fallen
, and the rays had snared them, so would the light hold her if she jumped? Part of her demanded she leap forward, but questions froze her body: this light might not treat teenage girls like stone blocks.

  Phos faced an elder. ‘Do you have anything to throw?’

  The elders looked blank, and their mouths stayed half-open.

  ‘Never mind.’ Phos slipped off a belt and squared her boots against the hole’s rim. She’d not been dreaming; those stones twisted through the air, and Phos held her coiled belt above the gap and opened her hand.

  For a heartbeat, the belt fell, but it slowed as if sliding through treacle before stopping beside a slab, and the leather strap uncoiled. Phos breathed out and let the rays caress her hand. Did her fingers weigh less? The need to hide still made her tremble, but she couldn’t trust the light yet.

  She folded her arms. ‘Do you people know a way down?’

  ‘There’s no space below.’

  ‘There’s space now.’

  No reply. The elders might waddle closer if she kept goading, but even seeing the void might not convince them. Again she squinted past the tumbling stones; far below, a dazzling ring of violet lanterns ringed a square set of black pillars.

  A shrill yelp echoed around the arena’s walls, followed by a soft thud. Frinelia had misjudged the stairway, but the priestess hauled herself up and bustled closer.

  ‘Step back, Phos: the shaking might return.’

  ‘There’s more Morzenthal – come and see.’

  ‘Will you ever listen?’

  ‘I bend rules, but it’s not me holding the stones up – this light’s doing that.’

  Frinelia eased behind Phos and glanced over her shoulder. ‘How’s this happening?’

  ‘Caliper turned wind into light – maybe he knows. Or Christina…. Whatever…. We must explore.’

  Frinelia clasped her shoulders and tugged Phos back. ‘Let’s keep you secure.’

  Phos blushed, and her heart raced as her mind filled with ideas. Ribbons of light danced upward and frolicked with daylight, and were these blue rays designed to reach the vault and its dark patch? ‘We move lanterns to shine light where we want – they’re a tool – so can this light let us fall like feathers?’