Lightmaker

by Kevin Elliott

  Christina turned, and the elders scuttled from her path as she marched into the exhibit stacks. She squeezed between two bronze statues her size, and her arm knocked over a frame strung with beads to scatter the balls over the floor. Caliper glanced back; Phos stood beside a gaggle of elders and stared, but worry stained her face.

  Christina strode into a shadowy stretch of the carousel, and a stack of painted masks chirruped as she passed before damping themselves into a hushed murmur. She paused beside a small plinth holding a small statue, six inches of bleached porcelain with arms stretching upward, and Christina’s fingers caressed the tiny hands. Mist still tainted his vision, and he remembered a day decades ago, returning from school to his mother’s lifeless body, and having tears turn his world into running streams of light. Christina had stroked the statue in the same way he’d reached for his mother’s hands.

  Caliper blinked and followed. How often had friends grumbled about him being single and churned out stories of couples fated to meet? Had his earlier rejections cleared his path to Morzenthal? He stared at the back of Christina’s head and the folds of crimson rolling over her shoulders, and memories of her face let him ignore her height. This sleeping museum doled out privacy in its darkness, but her dress ladled out enough light for him to follow.

  ‘Does your arm hurt?’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Christina drifted into a clearing and gazed at a carved stone pillar before swinging around and dropping to one knee to hold her stump towards him. ‘I sacrificed my hand to reach you, but now we’re together, I’ll reset.’

  Mist swirled around the stump to breathe a fleshy hue into the soot, and the stub flowed into a new shape as a flicker of pain shivered across her face. Her hand grew back to share her face’s colour, and Christina’s fingers made a fist before relaxing. A gouge now ran across the stone pillar. Was reset another word for ‘healing’?

  She stretched out and draped her hand over his shoulder. He flinched but stayed standing. He might drown himself in the patterns etched into her eyes, crinkled bands of pale blue circling her pupils. Her full lips parted as she drew in a deep breath.

  ‘We’ve talked and grown closer than I thought possible. I’ve worked with thousands of men, but you’ve occupied my thoughts like no other. You’ve sacrificed your home and faced danger to reach me. You deserve honesty, and I should be honest with myself.’ Christina swallowed and he held his breath. ‘We’re different forms of life, which makes us different people. Your freedom of thought gives you the strength to pick this world apart and even reshape it. You’re seven thousand years younger than me, and you have skills I can’t imagine, ways of thinking I can’t comprehend, and I have a few talents you don’t.’

  She released his shoulder and her features blurred: her skin dulled as her nose and mouth broadened. Christina’s fine brown hair shaded to black and shortened, and for three heartbeats, a young boy with a cheeky grin knelt in her place before the features swirled back into Christina’s face.

  ‘I’m not my appearance; none of us are. My vision changes when we’re together, so a cord links us, but I am nothing like the human women you’ve met. Everything adds up to one thought, Caliper, one conclusion we can’t escape: we can’t be together.’

  Christina clasped his shoulders. ‘I’d explain further, but we lack time. I’ve given Phos a task that will tax her beyond imagination. She is clever and brave, but her recklessness scares me. Passion carried you here, and passion is precious, but can you change its nature? Can your passion protect Phos?’

  The carousel’s artefacts spun around him, and words clotted in his throat.

  Christina’s grip tightened a fraction. ‘The exploits bend to your desires, and you’ve faced danger without flinching. Now everyone, including me, needs you to become a travelling guardian and a hand gripping the reins. I regret the deceit, and I’ll never wipe the bitterness from my mouth, but I cannot be what you seek.’

  Was he swaying and plunging into a lonely future of silent days? Sweat prickled Caliper’s forehead, but he’d damp down the anger and show strength while gazing into Christina’s eyes.

  Christina pursed her lips. ‘Can I explain another way?’

  ‘No. It’s fine.’ Christina’s words still scraped his mind. Would future days see him slapping his own face in fury at the way he’d fooled himself? No need to burden Christina with guilt, and even now she showed none of the twitching impatience that had needled other women.

  Those slender fingers slid over his overalls’ sleeves and onto the sides of his chest – a gentle hug in the darkness.

  Could he change the colour of his passion? Keep the fire, but make it serve as a guardian? Might Christina change her mind? Change was hard; brew cider, and you’d turn an apple’s crunching freshness into a silky froth, but a single slip would rot whole barrels into a sour mass of stench, and people were harder work than cider.

  ‘Have faith in yourself, Caliper. Give children paint and paper and ideas, and they’ll surround you with fabulous artwork. Teach Phos your exploits, and help her paint this new world. I’ll send you suits; they’re tough but not unbreakable, and you’ll attract attention, so take care.’

  ‘Can’t you come?’

  Christina shook her head. ‘We may learn new ways of talking. Your mind is a beacon, and I see you even when miles of rock stand between us. No one can replace Phos’s father, but you’ll make a strong guardian. You must.’

  ‘Did you watch her father die?’

  ‘Outside Morzenthal I’m only an image and a voice, or I’d have stopped the madness. We must hurry: your friend Rastersen goads priests and guards into breaking Morzenthal’s gates. He hopes to kill you, and he’ll tear Morzenthal apart to find Phos. He’s convinced he can mould her into a young version of himself.’

  Caliper frowned. ‘How do we travel?’

  ‘A carrier field, a travelling disc, will cover Morzenthal’s arena and rise at dawn. It will pass through the vault before sinking back at dusk. You must ride it this morning, but the priest’s men will follow at dawn tomorrow, so you have one day to put distance between you.’

  Christina’s steady breathing had to be a trick to bring comfort, but she drew a deep breath as she grasped his hands. A squeeze, a careful smile, and a papery warmth stroked his hands.

  ‘Phos will wait for you, but I must delay Rastersen and let you board this morning’s disc. I may need to change my form again, so expect the unusual.’

  ‘Let me find Phos,’ Caliper said as a coarse grinding rumbled through the carousel’s hallway to force a shiver through his body.

  ***

  Phos faced the elders swarming before her. Their shadows leaped across the carousel walls, and she squinted into the dark maze where Christina had led Caliper. The ceiling lights had faded, and the mumbled drizzle of elders’ questions stopped her thinking. Hammering still rang around the hallway.

  The elders’ questions were toothless, and she doled out answers. Christina’s origins, her history and what she knew of the elders, and one toothless man asked how her robe changed colour.

  Terelian whispered in her ear. ‘They’ll keep this up for hours, so say if you want rest.’

  Phos’s suit crinkled as she raised her hand. ‘I’ll answer later, but now there’s preparation.’ She expected protest, but the elders hushed themselves; having adults follow her orders left her dizzy. No time to sleep, even when fatigue clawed at her, and she borrowed a lantern to traipse through the carousel.

  Movement flickered ahead as Caliper squashed his body between a glass case and a huge drum, and his shoulders slumped as he saw her.

  ‘She told you,’ he said.

  A quiet nod, and Phos pointed at a low bench swaddled in thick canvas. They sat side by side, and Phos raised her leg onto the bench to face Caliper. Her lantern dished out a puddle of golden light among the teetering stacks of debris.

  ‘We’re always searching,’ Phos said. ‘I keep thinking our world came from a single seed.’
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  ‘Mitch told me.’

  ‘Might be a stupid idea, but the idea keeps pestering me, since our world has to start somewhere. Maybe it’s the searching that’s important.’

  ‘You fail at one task, but another slaps itself on your plate. Christina said she’d given you a job and you’d need protection, though I’ve nothing of the details.’ Caliper glanced at her leg. ‘You’ve fierce new clothes.’

  ‘We need these suits and helmets for air. We’ll need Frinelia for knowledge and Mitch for scampering skills, and Christina said she’d send equipment. And most importantly, we need you.’ Rastersen’s hammering paused – had Christina silenced him, or was he shifting his men?

  They shared stories of the carrier disc and the world above, and Caliper settled back on the bench to rub a finger over Phos’s sleeve. ‘What would your dad say about you leaving behind your tunic?’

  Phos studied his face, the matted hair and rebel eyebrows on a face calmer than she’d expected. She touched Caliper’s sleeve. ‘What would you say?’ Hugging always felt alien, but her hands found his waist and shoulder, and after a few moments, his arms enveloped her. No wallowing, only eyes showing the vivid blue of cornflowers, holding a deep peace she’d never copy.

  ‘Your disc is our best hope for escape, but if Rastersen breaks in, I’ll do my best to shove him outside.’

  She closed her eyes and tried imagining Christina’s map room, but the rim might stretch for miles, so what should she hunt for? She had no choice: if she missed the disc, Rastersen’s hands would seize her and shape her into a servant.

  Footsteps. Enough warning to unwrap her arms. Mitch crept into their space, holding a glass tube, and a whiff of Morzenthal’s food followed.

  ‘They said you’d returned, Phos, and we’ve pipes and flasks and crates sitting on the arena now. Touch the pipes, and they’re like metal, but you can see through them. I’ll remake their food factory. I’ve samples to work with here.’ Mitch held out a sooty-green slab. ‘I’m sure I can brew more, but you’ll never believe the ingredients.’

  ‘Don’t want to know,’ Phos said.

  ‘It’s brewing, except they use—’

  ‘Don’t tell me. I need sleep, not purging. Have you tried this stuff?’

  ‘It’s weird, but you’ll survive. Hold your nose and don’t chew.’

  Phos snapped off a corner and closed her eyes before opening her mouth, and the slab vaporised into a bitter mist of rotten yeast. Mitch chuckled as Phos swallowed and shuddered.

  ‘Now she needs water,’ Caliper said.

  ‘Try more food; it’s amazing how your mouth adapts.’

  ‘We’ve work, Mitch – important work,’ Phos said.

  ‘Isn’t food important?’

  ‘We’ll only need a few days of food, so focus on our needs. And after eating your food, I’m not hungry.’

  Mitch grinned. ‘Should I bow or polish your boots?’

  ‘You’re needed, Mitch. You can fix stuff before anyone knows it’s broken, but we need to prepare. Make a list of what Christina’s stowed on the arena’s disc.’

  ‘We need food, water and shelter,’ Mitch said.

  ‘And air.’

  Mitch tilted his head. ‘Where are we heading?’

  ‘We’re delivering a message to an older world. It might heal our land, and it’s our only way to avoid Rastersen.’

  ‘Elders visited the roof. They’re saying it’s worse outside. There’s smoke and shaking, and the landscape’s tearing itself apart.’ Mitch nibbled his khaki slab.

  The lantern faded, and the stacks of boxes behind began clicking as the air grew damp. Two columns sat ahead; carved leaves wrapped the wood, but in the half-light it looked like vines had sprouted from a pillar. Caliper stared ahead with his hands in his lap.

  Darkness had always been a time for questions. She’d lain in her hammock and asked herself why sycamore seeds flew and why trees offered berries to birds. Each question spawned a thousand answers, but would testing let her sift through the chaff and find a single right answer? Could she test a thousand ideas?

  ‘Why do people expect me to handle this?’

  Caliper turned to her with a watery smile and stretched. ‘You’re best placed to take this challenge. Where’s Frinelia?’

  ‘She’s sorting through your arena boxes,’ Mitch said. ‘I’ve peeked, and we’ve suits like the one you’re wearing. Tools, rope, knives, stuff to build a cart, and weird cloth; it’s stiff at first, but imagine a different shape, and it changes. Mitch nibbled a corner of his slab. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Frinelia for now.’ The three ambled past Caliper’s shattered alcove and hauled themselves up the steps. Out on the arena, the elders had unearthed lanterns that lobbed violet-tinged beams from the balconies and onto Christina’s creamy disc – scattered now with crates. Phos shivered as her shadow danced ahead in the undiluted night air.

  Frinelia hunched over a brown box, and she peeled the top away before glancing up. ‘They said you were safe; I was asleep when you arrived.’ A hug and eye contact. ‘And you met the eidolon.’

  ‘We’ve loads to cover, but Christina said I should ask about the Heresies.’

  Frinelia gulped. ‘She’s listened to us?’

  ‘You’ve heard of the world above – the First Enclave?’

  ‘I’ve never heard that name, but….’

  Phos stared. ‘You knew about it?’

  Frinelia rested her hands on the crate’s edges. ‘There were a hundred stories saying different things. Mist can make a barn look like a church, and these tales made a thick fog.’

  ‘But you know these stories.’ Caliper leaned against a crate. ‘Journey with us; come and freshen our air.’

  ‘We still face peril from our anarchic miller who dangles small girls into the unknown, but I’ll come, though check with me before touching any ropes. I seem fated to miss the eidolon – where is she now?’

  Phos ran her hand over a crate, smoother than any wood, and she smelt apples even though the box stayed sealed. ‘She’s fending off Rastersen and writing instructions for our journey. How’s the food factory, Mitch?’

  ‘They have enough spares to rebuild now, and if they can’t slot the new pipes together, I’ll return in…well…. How long’s our journey?’

  ‘A few days.’ Phos kept her voice level.

  ‘We’ll return before their stocks run out.’

  A rumble echoed around the arena’s walls as metal clashed with stone, and Caliper pointed at the crates. ‘I’ll shift these so nothing’s near the disc edge, but you mentioned suits?’

  ‘In these boxes – they grow to fit.’

  ‘I never found clothes that fitted, and making my own led to disaster.’

  The four peeled open the cases. A copper cable sat coiled around a fist-sized drum. Gleaming pliers and hammers and coiled springs snuggled inside a foam-filled case. Light seeped over the grey vault, and Phos’s eyes smarted.

  She dug out a jacket for Caliper. The shining fabric writhed in her hands but stretched once his outsize hands gripped the collar. He sniffed the material and winced, but undid his overalls. She wrapped the jacket around his chest, and the fabric sealed itself around his body. Mitch held up a set of boxy backpacks, and again the material grew to fit them.

  Frinelia gasped. ‘Your chest, Phos – are you bleeding?’

  Red marks welled over her suit, and Phos slapped her hand over the fabric, but this wasn’t blood; unreadable letters surfaced across her jacket. Stripes circled her sleeves and legs, and Caliper stared at his arms as deep-blue squiggles appeared.

  ‘Someone wants to identify us.’

  Phos lifted her left arm and stared. ‘Who’s watching?’

  ‘No idea, but Christina’s eyes are strange, and perhaps she wants to tell us apart.’

  ‘Who would mix us up?’

  ‘You don’t know Christina,’ Caliper said. ‘Or perhaps you do.’

  Phos and Caliper sat on separate c
rates and gazed at each other.

  ‘It’s fine, Phos – I don’t think you’re crazy.’

  ‘Christina promised me a package.’

  ‘She’s keeping Rastersen out until the disc rises, and she won’t fail.’

  ‘Can she write this package if she’s fighting him? Dawn’s coming.’

  Tearing sounds ripped through the air, and stone barked against stone as rumbling shook the floor.

  ‘The front gates,’ Frinelia said.

  ‘Have they broken through?’

  ‘Can’t tell. I’d suggest reconnaissance, but if our priest has breached the walls….’

  Caliper picked up a rake as Terelian clambered up the curving stairs, and other elders drifted from the balcony. Light cascaded from the vault and cast shadows as Phos helped Frinelia dress herself. Turquoise blocks swooped over the priestess’s front. Mitch’s suit mixed red and yellow, and he scratched at the letters, but they dodged his fingertips.

  Screams bowled across the arena’s walls, and Phos snatched up a knife. ‘There’re vicious tools in the box beside you, Caliper.’

  ‘Nothing for fighting, though I saw one item….’ He darted to a crate.

  Daylight pounced through the open ceiling, and Phos stared at the balcony. Vibration lapped her feet, and silver streaks swept across the disc. She fell a quarter inch as fog squirmed over her boots, and Caliper and Mitch glanced downward as the crates juddered. The disc crawled upward, but it would speed up, and how could Christina reach them?

  The remaining ceiling crept closer as pink fingers of daylight trickled across the vault, and Phos shuddered. Fine scarlet filaments burst from the disc’s edge to climb through the ceiling’s ring and form a gossamer tube weaving upward. Mitch reached for a strand, but the thread danced away before snapping back.

  Movement came below as a scatter of red raced onto the balcony, and Christina stormed towards a stairway and stopped at the topmost stair to peer at their rising disc. Phos stepped forward – should she meet her halfway? No. She’d never scramble back onto their platform. Three priests in black capes burst from a doorway ahead of Christina but stopped dead as she raised her arm. Christina’s hand pulsed for a moment before bursting into a cloud of fog, and a silver hoop scythed through the air to hum towards Phos. A hundred yards away, but Christina’s aim was near perfect. One step left, and Phos scooped the ring from its path.