‘We’re almost outside,’ Phos whispered.
Green light flooded the walkway, and creepers dangled from the ceiling and chimed as Phos brushed against them. Tiny boxes clung to the vine, two-inch replicas of those left on the shelves, and Phos wanted to check inside but pulled her hand back. Trees had ripped through the floor to turn their corridor into a fighting mass of trunks – a nightmare indoor forest.
She prodded a tree trunk. Nothing happened, and she let her palm slide over the bark, unlike anything she’d climbed, smooth metal mixed with wood’s heartiness. No space for the cart, but Caliper lugged the crates to the moss-littered floor and plucked the wheels off their axles: he’d shoulder through this thicket and rebuild on the other side.
Alien trees with branches like cones festered on each side, and the roof opened into swirling fog as grey light seeped onto powdery soil. End of the warehouse, but a welter of skewed trunks and gnarled branches stretched ahead as if three forests fought over the same space. Every trunk was doused in green moss.
Mist stopped Phos seeing far, but the trees dipped ahead, so did she stand on a hill? Sharp chirps and twitters ripped through her helmet and built into an angry climax before fading and restarting. To her left a green swathe of grass ran to her right and dodged past trees to slither into the fog.
‘First Enclave,’ Frinelia said. ‘Caliper’s bringing the cart through one piece at a time. Stay close.’
Mitch trundled down the grassy path and let his hand slide through the stalks.
‘Not too far, Mitch. We’ve no idea what’s outside, and if that grass copies the ivy….’
The boy stopped, and his whisper drifted into Phos’s ears. ‘Look here.’
She followed, half expecting her suit to burn as grass whipped her thighs, but Mitch knelt to scrabble at a patch of bare earth and pointed at two gnarled brown sticks rising from the soil. ‘These were legs.’
‘Legs for what?’
‘Legs for builders, bones, the things inside people’s legs.’
‘Oh, yuck.’
‘People died here – maybe several.’
Frinelia appeared behind, wielding her stick. ‘Can you work out how many?’
‘I’d need to dig, but there’s at least two buried here. Their bones broke before burial.’
Mitch stood and soil spilled from his gloves. The forest was thinner here and the mist faded. Ahead lurked distant treetops and a grid of hedges surrounding olive-coloured fields. This world’s slope was obvious: they stood at the bottom of a vast bowl, and fog churned above to form a lid they’d need to pierce.
Tiny coloured squares slid from left to right across her helmet. Had the ivy poisoned the glass? She needed to investigate, but Rastersen’s arrival left her lacking time, and he’d chase her to the rim of this deadly classroom.
***
Caliper’s stomach lurched as the fog melted: he wasn’t staring at a hill but a basin’s inside, a vast crock lined with forests and fields and snaking hedges forming an impossible green wave poised to crash over his body. Three mist-wreathed columns showed ahead like vast skewers piercing a bowl. Dense forest bracketed him, but a swathe of grass stretched forward.
Caliper lowered his head as grass curled around his legs. Screeches rattled through his helmet, shrieks of confusion and sickness, as if someone was torturing birds, and Christina’s words still scythed through his thoughts.
‘Stay close, Phos,’ he said.
He looked up; the girl’s legs twitched as if she was trying to run in every direction at once, and she tossed her head back with laughter as Mitch impersonated one of their teachers. There’d been a fiery courage in the threads she’d braided into his thoughts, but danger too: those exploits had hissed like snakes fighting for release. He staggered against the cart.
This world was Phos’s playground, and she’d started to dish out orders; she needed protection, and he had to argue back more. The girl snapped off a thorn sticking out from a shrub.
‘No exploits for now, Phos – we need speed.’ He leaned forward to goad the cart, but the grass snatched at his wheels. ‘Try planning our route.’
Phos pointed up and ahead. ‘Those were roads. If we follow one we’ll approach the rim.’ She glanced at his cart. ‘Can we avoid leaving tracks?’
Caliper shook his head. ‘I’ve known trackers to learn from single footprints, and Fat Boy won’t come alone.’
‘We can’t outrun him, can we? Found much, Mitch?’
‘I’m sitting on a graveyard, but there’s not much to learn: the skeletons are jumbled, and soil’s seeped into the bones.’ Mitch held up a warped iron blade, a crude scimitar that looked like a blacksmith’s hangover. ‘They made flying discs and bowl-shaped worlds, so why use swords?’
‘Couldn’t trust their nanotech.’ Phos glanced upward. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t trust nanotech either, but we’ve no choice.’
Their path sliced through a dense patch of gorse crusted with golden flowers, and into a square field lined by tangled banks of trees and shrubs. Wind rumpled the dry grass stalks, and a gap in the square’s far side held a faint trail that curved upward into a distant grid of hedges.
‘Someone planted these trees centuries ago,’ Mitch said.
If he studied this greenery long enough he’d imagine plants locked in a slow battle for water; brown ferns punctured olive-coloured banks of moss, and stunted elms erupted from straggling bushes of unpruned purple flowers. Work for a thousand gardeners.
She pointed up and to their left. ‘There’s a ruin ahead with walls inside a circle. Our route runs nearby.’
Caliper glanced upward at a church-sized scar of white stone resting on parched grass.
‘Rastersen will follow,’ Caliper said as he shut his eyes.
‘He’ll track us wherever we go, but the ruin might hold builder nanotech,’ Phos said.
‘Terrifying.’
‘It looks like it’s nailed to a cliff now, but when we reach the ruin, you’ll think this place is vertical.’
If he kept his eyes lowered he could imagine himself trundling over a flat plain even if the cart struggled. Phos watched with pursed lips, but at least having her stare at his wheels meant she wasn’t running off. Another heave, and he tore the grass strands locking the wheels.
‘Need help, Caliper? Those wheels are ornamental.’
‘You can try clearing the grass, but that’s an ongoing job. We need every box on the cart, so I’ll manage.’ Caliper sneezed. He’d never clean his helmet’s insides, but the droplets vanished.
Their path squeezed between two wizened hedges, but a bundle of livid green vines laced between the two thickets to block their way. Thorns bristled over the creepers, and in the hedges, a squad of pallid flowers swivelled towards him.
‘Still got that knife, Phos?’
‘Don’t you have an exploit for clearing weeds?’
‘The one I tried earlier nearly ripped my head off, so we’ll stick to the knife.’
‘It’s blunt and we’ve twenty vines here. Try an exploit; start easy and build up.’
The creeper was the thickness of his thumb and ringed with thorns, but his hand darted towards the vine. Caliper paused: again her orders had seized his hands. Shouldn’t he deny Phos for her own safety?
Phos’s hand clasped his elbow. ‘We’ll be half an hour cutting these, which is time we can’t waste, and I’ve seen your talent.’
A four-inch stretch of vine lacked barbs, and his fingers wrapped the creeper. Caliper closed his eyes and remembered the dry brittleness of autumn leaves.
His hand spasmed and clamped the vine. Caliper’s eyes opened, and he stepped back. The vine followed for a pace before crumbling. Fiery glints cascaded along the creepers as they burned from inside. The burning raced into both hedges to guzzle branches and flowers, and ash spilled from his glove.
Smoke coiled upward, and the hedge on his left slumped as glowing flakes climbed into the air. A sigh lisped from the charring twigs an
d leaves as smog billowed on both sides. Heat seeped through his suit, but after several heartbeats, the fire sputtered into a hollow silence. Flames had charred a tree trunk on their left, though its leaves now shone a slick green as if drenched by rain, and mounds of smoking ash lined their track. One curled vine still poked above the cinders, but he’d demolished huge chunks of greenery.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ Phos said.
Again her words had made a glass for him to crawl inside, and he’d brewed a headache worse than anything earned in a tavern brawl. Smoke still climbed, and tiny dark blue dots glided around the grey plumes. Caliper’s backbone growled and his head lolled forward. He sagged onto the cart as Phos stared at a stretch of unburnt hedge ahead.
Plants twitched there. Fronds grew longer and thinned, and leaves became barbs – could a hedge brandish its fists?
‘The hedge is changing. Let’s move closer,’ Phos said.
‘Stay away and listen for once. If we study everything, we’ll get nowhere.’
‘Just look, Caliper.’
‘I am – it’s a hedge.’
‘What’s your helmet doing?’
‘Helping me breathe?’
‘Watch the hedge.’
Swear words usually bought him silence, but Phos wouldn’t know half his curses. ‘Remind me never to travel with you again. What are you gawping at?’
Phos’s voice became shrill, and she stepped forward. ‘Are any symbols showing on your helmet?’
Caliper grunted and hobbled towards her. ‘My head’s been shat through a rat’s arse, so don’t think I’ll save you with another exploit. Stay away….’
He stopped. Glowing lines and squares roamed over Phos’s helmet to pick out targets on the hedge. A warning for most but an invite for this girl, and Caliper swore inside. Protecting her had become harder, and his promise to Christina had withered into empty words.
Chapter 21: weight from the past
A clump of ferns twitched before Phos, and a red triangle flared over her helmet glass to veil their sprouting leaves. She tilted her head, but the triangle anchored itself to the thicket’s image, and alien writing scrolled underneath. Caliper’s yelled complaints stopped.
Phos stared ahead. ‘What’s showing on your helmets?’
‘I’m only seeing you and the vegetables, but your helmet’s colouring itself.’
She spun around and her helmet cleared. ‘Frinelia, what are these suits? Why were they built?’
‘I know one story. Parents pleaded to meet their children as their old world crumbled, and these suits helped the farewells linger even as their air turned sour. There were—’
‘Everyone behind me,’ Caliper shouted. He dashed to their cart and slotted a curved blade onto a pole to make a scythe before rushing past her to face the hedge. Phos turned back to the hedge, and the red triangle reappeared, but now the symbol scurried towards her across the rippling grass, and a thin tentacle reared up from the ground. An angry red maw hurtled towards her face.
Caliper swung his arms, and his blade snicked through the tentacle, and the corpse shot past her shoulder to crash behind her. Blood dripped from the scythe’s wound, and her red triangle faded as Caliper kicked the limb.
‘That red on your helmet, Phos, makes a warning. Learn the signs and shift yourself next time; you’ll only learn if you stay alive.’
‘I didn’t know red triangles meant danger.’
‘You do now.’
Her cheeks flushed. How long would this school day last?
Mitch pulled a pole from the cart. ‘Why did only Phos see the warning?’
‘I focused on the hedge and the triangle came,’ she said.
Frinelia coughed. ‘You didn’t use a special hand movement or turn your head a funny way?’
‘She’s always twitching,’ Mitch said. ‘We called her Phos the fidget.’
‘Try concentrating, Mitch.’
‘Let’s line up behind Phos and copy her walk.’
Frinelia cleared her throat. ‘We will proceed towards the ruined building; we can rest there and prepare for tomorrow.’
Caliper struggled into his harness and strained at the straps. His breathing grew a ragged edge as he faced Phos. ‘Stay close and watch for red triangles.’
They stepped into a wide expanse of grassland where gentle hillocks swelled under the rippling plain and patches of dusty red soil breached the wiry grass. An hour of silent hiking passed, but the ruin only inched towards them as brick-coloured dust smeared their legs. A lane of sickly grass wound towards the ruined house, where two walls trapped a bare patch of earth, and Caliper nudged the cart to keep it on the path.
Phos glanced upward. The flying dots had vanished, and the bowl’s cloud cap had risen to show strings of silent hamlets dotted around the curving world; hushed and barren clumps of stone houses sat beside derelict barns. Spiderwebs of paths linked the villages, and ahead three immense spires thrust upward from the rolling landscape like canes stabbed into the earth.
Caliper’s breathing rasped through her helmet, and his straps slackened. He bent over and gripped his knees.
Phos paused. ‘Need a breather?’
He wordlessly gathered the straps in his hands and squatted on the cart as his breathing became a harsh rattle. The words Loosen your collar bubbled up in Phos’s mind, but she sat beside him.
‘Has this happened before?’ Frinelia’s voice kept calm as Caliper shook his head. Phos curled her fingers around the miller’s glove, but his wheezing sped up, and she squeezed.
How had Caliper described those threads? Could she reach inside his suit? She closed her eyes, and her memory fed her a dim profile of his stooping body and brawny arms, but her mind’s fingers slipped over his image as if she chased snowflakes. Spiky letters and dashes flashed over her helmet as she glanced at the ruined house, but Caliper’s eyes closed, and he clenched his hands as his body shook.
Nothing but the slow waving of the grass before them; centuries of silence ignored their trespass.
Caliper spluttered and his breathing stopped. He lurched forward and gripped his helmet as his face turned sallow. Two blue symbols winked into place at the top left of Phos’s helmet, blocky human figures linked by curving lines, and tiny green letters like numbers slid over Caliper’s helmet in reply. One moment his sweating face rocked beside her, and the next fog filled his helmet. He still panted, but a quiet calm slid into his breathing, and his fingers sprang away from his helmet.
‘Phos? Frinelia – are you there?’
‘You’re snogging a cloud.’
‘Tastes mushroomy,’ Caliper said.
‘But you’re better?’
‘I’m enjoying these suits.’ His nose and beard reappeared as his helmet’s green symbols folded into nothing.
‘Little worlds,’ Frinelia whispered.
Phos slid her hand over Caliper’s sleeve. ‘You’re wearing a Caliper-shaped enclave. We still need this map room, so can we help push the cart?’
Caliper grinned while strapping his harness back on and hauling the cart forward. The wheels squeaked, and Phos nudged a box to stop it falling. The plain rolled ahead as the cart trundled over cracked soil and threw up red dust. Grass stalks curled around a wheel, and she snatched a single stalk. It looked like wheat, but symbols appeared on her helmet: two garishly painted and twisted ladders tangled around each other to form a story she’d untangle later.
Movement flashed as a bird hovered thirty feet above. Its feathers shone like a rainbow dipped in liquid metal. Deep-blue wings shaded into emerald at the tips, and a turquoise shimmer flowed across its body as Phos’s hand rose in welcome – the bird was almost Caliper’s size.
Mitch stared. ‘Are we dinner?’
‘It’s curious; it’s not seen humans.’
Caliper tugged the cart leftward, and their bird followed. Its underside turned pale, and those metallic wings flapped at the same rate as her heartbeat.
The ruin drew near, and Ca
liper sped up as the grass thinned. The surrounding wall showed now as a circle of twenty fluted pillars twice her height, and a ramshackle drystone wall reared up just outside the pillars. Had someone scrambled for protection with rocks?
Inside, two rough plaster walls linked to make an L-shape while a third smaller wall stood apart. Dark green moss stained the sides, and gravel filled the ground inside. Lines of flat stones linked the corners, but replace those pebbles with proper walls and you’d outline a house. A rickety shelter clung against the short wall, a scramble of mismatched plasterboards and nailed-on planks. Phos picked at the lichen scabs slathering its front.
The cloudy day faded into blue twilight, and Phos closed her eyes for a few heartbeats. Her suit had stretched out her waking hours, but fatigue fermented inside her body. The bird veered towards a spire and climbed into the sky.
Mitch stood astride the flat line of stones. ‘Used to be a wall here till someone nicked it.’
‘The walls left don’t have windows,’ Phos said.
‘Perhaps those stolen walls were all window, you think?’
Mitch had stolen her thought, but she stared at the shelter. If tiny machines granted your wishes no one would teach stonework or bricklaying, but what happened when the nanotech stopped listening? Had the survivors bashed together this hovel while brawling for bread? The remaining walls could hold two builder-sized stories, so had thieves ripped out the floor and stairs?
‘Notice anything about the shelter, Phos?’
‘It’s all rush and spit?’
Mitch chuckled. ‘You’re not paying attention. People our size built that door.’
Phos grimaced as Mitch peered inside.
‘Let me go first – we might find relatives,’ Caliper said. He squared up to the door, and light blue letters flickered over Phos’s helmet as his feet crunched over sand. His breathing tickled her ears, and after a few heartbeats his voice buzzed. ‘Come inside but take care.’
Lightmaker Page 24