Lightmaker

by Kevin Elliott

  ‘You did everything possible, Frinelia: none of us could fight, and your net was almost enough.’

  ‘He deserved more.’

  Caliper had told her to hide, and she had, but he’d also told her to close the door, and she’d answer his last wish even with her numbed legs. She stood and walked past Mitch on her way to the platform’s remains, but stopped as her name flickered across the boy’s helmet.

  ‘What are those words, Mitch?’

  No answer. The boy shied away.

  ‘Mitch, who are you talking…?’

  The question carried its own answer: Rastersen had watched over her shoulder as she’d studied the First. Phos seized Mitch’s arm. ‘Where is he? What did he promise?’

  The boy turned towards the black patch and shrugged her arm away.

  ‘Don’t turn away. What’s been said?’

  Mitch wheeled back, his face beaded with sweat. ‘I didn’t expect the birds would…. I mean, Caliper was….’

  ‘Is Rastersen following us here?’

  Mitch stared at her. ‘You have the talent, but you miss the big picture: your skills might let more people survive the hard landing. Wouldn’t your skills help your mum?’

  Phos stayed silent.

  ‘You wouldn’t listen; you wouldn’t stop your rush into this unknown, and others need you. Rastersen thought your suit might touch the nanotech in the Second.’

  ‘If there was an ounce of truth in that Christina would have said. Rastersen just wants a stage to stand on, an apprentice.’

  ‘You must believe, Phos: I didn’t expect Caliper’s death.’

  Phos glared. ‘When’s he coming?’

  The patch flickered, and a nightmare pushed inside their cavern, a metallic red human shaped shell bristling with ridges and fins, a savage corruption of theirs – a war suit. Rastersen floated through air and landed on his feet on the other side of the map bowl. Again she remembered their horse ride and those thighs surrounding hers. Her muscles locked.

  The priest stood, hands on hips, his helmet a metal globe with a reluctant glass window to frame his face. His eyes drank in the scene. Five heartbeats passed before his boots began to clank against the metal walkway, and he picked out a route towards Caliper’s shattered box wall.

  ‘A pleasant surprise, Phos. One might think nature insists on our meeting.’

  ‘Where are your friends?’

  ‘Why describe them as friends?’ Rastersen paused. ‘They’ll arrive soon.’

  Frinelia stood beside Phos as Mitch tottered towards Rastersen. ‘How did they die?’

  ‘Didn’t you own a cloak, Frinelia? Maybe I shouldn’t fret over badges of rank: our world’s changes make symbols meaningless, and Phos has learnt that only strength matters.’

  Rastersen’s feet made a slow drum beat as he approached. Frinelia raised her knife as he shouldered past Caliper’s stacked boxes, but his arm flicked out, and she collapsed backwards as if punched in the stomach. Rastersen strolled forward and stamped his foot onto her chest. The priestess’s suit froze, though her head still twitched.

  ‘Strength comes from giving orders when orders aren’t needed, frightening people into serving, forging weapons from whatever you touch.’ He turned to Phos. ‘And that requires learning, and that’s why you must follow me. Think of knowledge, Phos, the power to learn and follow your desires.’ Rastersen pressed his foot down, and Frinelia’s suit quivered.

  Phos stayed silent.

  ‘You’re without options. I’m reluctant to carry you under my arm, but we will return to Morzenthal, and work together to control our new world.’

  ‘Remove your foot, Rastersen,’ Frinelia said.

  He pressed down again, and Frinelia groaned. Phos glanced behind; he’d bowl her over before she reached the dark corridor, and the black patch led to a leg-breaking fall.

  ‘Your suit dances at my command, Phos.’ Sweat dripped over his face, but his arms rose, and her suit lurched to the right. She staggered sideways before stumbling and crashing onto the metal floor. Pulses wriggled over her limbs – had he fastened hooks into her suit to make her a puppet?

  The clanking floor chilled Phos’s body, but thoughts flashed across her mind. She’d linked with Caliper’s suit and seen the mechanism carrying his voice – a pair of cloudy jewels covered in facets. Rastersen’s meddling had appeared as a tangled web of green cords, and the same web now throttled her entire suit to make it shudder with fever, but she stared back.

  Phos’s vision split into two views: the left side showed Rastersen’s crimson suit striding closer, but the right revealed two pulsing beams of emerald light, glistening spirals pouring into her suit, an infection gnawing her fabric and coming from coils in his wrists. A week ago seeing two sights at once would have left her vomiting, but now the spirals made a path for her vision. She imagined salmon leaping through surging water, and her suit gnawing his wrists.

  Rastersen jerked back as her suit softened, and her vision snapped into a single image. Agony screwed through her spine. Again her helmet showed emerald light lancing towards her, but she snuffed the priest’s rays out. She thrust out her arm to flick out her own beams, but his suit swallowed the splashing light. Phos scrambled upright to face Rastersen.

  ‘Stay as you are, Phos – no more exploits.’ He plucked a loop of rope from his waist. Frinelia’s knife had vanished; Caliper’s net had turned to ash; and Mitch slunk towards her.

  Phos held her breath, but her eyes never left Rastersen. The map bowl shared the First Enclave’s shape, and if it echoed the First’s landscape, it had to hold nanotech. She darted towards the bowl. Rastersen lurched at her, but his suit twitched and he stumbled. His metal glove scraped her shoulder, and she shimmied clear.

  Mitch’s arms snapped out to block her path. He only had to delay her for an instant, but she pointed at his legs to web his thighs with emerald beams, and he teetered before crashing to the floor. Phos ran towards the walkway’s inner railings and leaped. Her left hand gripped the topmost bar, and she swung up, and her feet cleared the metalwork by three inches. For one instant, she hovered over the bowl before falling. Beige smears raced past, and the ground scraped her body as her helmet ground against the model world. Phos’s suit stiffened, and by accident she tumbled onto her back and slid to the centre before juddering to a stop halfway down the bowl.

  Nausea rolled through her body, but she pushed herself upright. Rastersen gripped the guard rail and leaned forward. The reflections washing his helmet buried any emotion, but a smile lurked in his voice.

  ‘No escape, Phos. We’ve much to learn.’

  She’d ploughed a furrow through the hedges and fields covering the model landscape, but tiny fireflies swarmed over the damage to knit fresh model grass over her gutter.

  Rastersen dangled his rope over the rail. She might crawl up the bowl behind, but his swollen hands would grab her the instant she climbed the walkway’s inner railing. How had the builders rescued fallers? Had the nanotech dissolved trespassers, or had builder children dared each other to jump?

  The priest’s red suit whined, and he rose into the air. His body slid forward before descending into the bowl – too graceful for comfort. Rastersen’s feet touched the bowl’s landscape five yards away, and his suit rippled like water before smoothing itself.

  ‘We’ll work together on leaving the map, but your spirit needs governing.’ His right hand held the rope towards her. This invite would become a flurry of limbs before he’d pin her elbows behind her back. Mitch stared from above, and she stepped back.

  ‘You sense what links us, and part of you resists, but our wishes must be tempered by understanding what is possible. We’re joined; we both seek to learn; we’ve both carved our own path. Imagine us working together.’

  ‘I’m imagining you lying to me. I’m not your staircase.’

  ‘You still need persuasion, Phos, I understand. Watch.’ He flicked his rope, and the loose end whipped through air to coil around her right
wrist like a demented snake. Phos’s free hand snatched at the rope, and she tried stepping back, but Rastersen hauled her forward as her feet stumbled.

  How had Caliper burned his vine? Her suit only showed a lifeless cord stretched taut between them, and the model plants below couldn’t speak. She needed metal or rock, and no matter how deep she probed she felt nothing. The priest tugged his rope, and she reeled forward another step.

  ‘I’ve learned more than you, Phos, and I can ease your path. Tread in my footsteps, and you’ll run where I’ve walked.’

  The line clawed into her wrist as Rastersen jerked her forward. She almost fell, but he skipped forward to snatch her waist, and his hands raced up her sides.

  ‘Are we running out of escape routes?’

  Phos’s eyes closed themselves, and images skidded through her mind: Caliper weaving branches into a horse and braiding ribbons of light into Morzenthal’s hills. He’d have exploited this priest by charming grass and trees, but she needed metal. Memories faded, and Dad’s gentle smile drifted into night as Rastersen’s smirking jowls loomed before her. A contrast: Dad had nurtured her, while Rastersen sought to force her into a pot of his own design, marriage by another name; she’d become his servant and his puppet.

  Phos stared at his shining red helmet and the sweated face crammed in its cage, and a fresh thought burst through her like a shock of freezing water. Caliper had said how thinking made dreams real, and her body relaxed as a smile crept onto her face.

  ‘You always ask the wrong question,’ Phos said. ‘Try asking why I’m not scared.’

  ‘Humour me – why aren’t you scared?’

  ‘Courage comes from what’s in my hand.’ Phos snaked her left palm up and let it hover before Rastersen’s helmet.

  ‘You’re brave because your hand’s empty?’

  ‘An empty hand is a question, and questions create knowledge, and knowledge means freedom. Not your freedom – mine. And I’m brave because you brought me metal.’

  Rastersen’s visor fogged and shattered as his helmet and chest piece crumbled into flying shards. Phos’s fingers bent around a dagger formed from red metal and glass – a child of the priest’s suit.

  Rastersen’s face flushed, and his mouth gaped as air howled out. His hands snapped over her neck and squeezed. Her suit collar scrunched around her neck, but Phos thrust her dagger forward to pierce his throat. A hissed scream burst out, and blood sprayed over her helmet. Rastersen’s arms flailed back, and his body twisted before slumping to the ground. She waited for his body to stop twitching, waited until she was certain she’d sliced this puppeteer’s strings.

  ‘No one stops me learning.’

  Her fingers ached, but she still clutched the dagger, and blood dripped onto the world.

  Frinelia’s voice wheezed through her helmet. ‘My suit freed itself – what happened?’

  Should she announce her second syllable now? Frinelia might play the priest again, and Rastersen’s blood could serve as ointment. Wasn’t killing meant to change you? Weren’t you meant to wither with guilt? Perhaps it didn’t count when the prey killed the hunter.

  ‘What’s happened to Mitch? He’s not moving. Can you climb to us?’

  ‘One moment.’ Phos crouched, and Rastersen’s suit twitched and settled into the bowl as the map digested his remains. She glanced at her feet, but her boots were untouched: the map knew the difference between living and dead.

  Frinelia appeared at the railings, and Phos stepped forward. Now she wasn’t falling, the model First’s own gravity held her to the ground, even as she shuffled forward. She was almost horizontal when she stepped across the model belt ocean. The dizziness left her gasping, but she sank to her knees and edged forward until she could grip the railing’s base and slide her hands upward. The topmost bar felt cool and secure, and she heaved herself up and over until her boots clanged against the metal floor.

  Frinelia stayed mute. Mitch still struggled against his suit, but her webbing held fast. The glowing waterfalls on her stage reappeared as symbols flowed over her helmet. Caliper had wanted the black patch closed. Phos stepped onto a shred of platform the birds had left and studied the lights. No need to rush now: like a tossed coin, the patch would either be closed or open, and switching symbols changed its nature. She glanced up and the patch vanished.

  Frinelia sat on one of Caliper’s crates. A watery smile trickled over her face, but her shoulders stooped and her eyes closed. Mitch’s head still twitched, and his mouth moved without sound.

  Five steps let her perch her backside on the boy’s chest and gaze at the domed ceiling as she prodded his helmet.

  ‘I’ll let you speak, Mitch, but I can leave you here, so choose the right words.’

  His gasping splutter filled her ears.

  ‘I never lied, Phos.’

  ‘You showed Rastersen our position. You led his birds to us, and Caliper died. Your work and your fault.’

  ‘I didn’t see you winning. You kept scuttling into the unknown, and you shared nothing. Rastersen had details, and he promised me—’

  ‘Promises, Mitch, that’s all he was, and I know what drove him.’

  ‘You dangled these exploits and never explained. Shouldn’t learning mean sharing?’ Mitch squirmed against his suit, but it stayed rigid. ‘Rastersen was right when he said we can’t live here.’

  ‘Remember the air we made; remember the windows and tools, and let me show you my new dagger. This place is a blank sheet of paper, and we should start writing. Or I should – not sure you have a place.’

  Frinelia’s eyes opened.

  ‘Phos, let me—’

  ‘Shut up, Mitch. Caliper stood in my way lots of times; I got angry, but his interfering kept me alive and let me learn. Rastersen wanted to stand in my way, wanted me as a puppet, something to control and make him look strong. He’d have stopped me learning, but learning let me win.’

  ‘You kept your learning secret, Phos. Rastersen said he’d show me the underground stations. He sent pictures, and helped me wake my suit. If there was a chance to help the Second and soften the hard landing, shouldn’t you have taken the chance? I would: people should share knowledge.’ Mitch paused and chewed his lip. ‘Even my dad might have listened to me.’

  ‘Rastersen rots in the bowl now. Remember him saying his friends were coming? Let’s see where they are.’

  Her hands parted to create a slab, a glance back at the First, free from yellow dots.

  ‘He either killed the others or let them die, and it’s us three now. Do I make it two?’

  Frinelia stood but left one hand on the crate. ‘Enough, Phos.’

  ‘Mitch killed Caliper.’

  Frinelia stepped forward. ‘Rastersen had a genius for learning triggers: you hushed your voice while speaking with him, but I saw your face. Didn’t he tempt you with promises, and weren’t those promises almost strong enough to snare you? Don’t condemn Mitch because he wasn’t born with your strength.’

  Phos’s eyes flicked to the far wall, and breath rattled through her throat. Beyond sat the First, and far below, their home and her father’s body, and Caliper’s shattered windmill.

  Frinelia touched Phos’s shoulder. ‘Ever wonder how they make puppeteers? There’re a thousand recipes, but most start with fear. Scare people; make them believe they’re in peril, that strangers have caused the crisis, that they’ll only find safety if they treat others like animals. Hate greases that path. Rastersen’s death was just, but master your anger, and do not become what you fight. At least wait until you can think again.’

  Mitch stopped flailing, and Phos stood to turn her back on him. She could copy Frinelia’s elegant slashing and settle her mind for a day, but what if she enjoyed Rastersen’s game of threats? Drink turned good men into shambling wrecks where cravings blotted out memories of families; feed her anger now, and she’d spend her days fighting to control others instead of seeking this world’s secrets.

  ‘No more worries about
saving these birds,’ Mitch said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They attacked Caliper.’

  ‘It’s not so simple,’ Phos said. ‘The birds knew Caliper couldn’t stop two attacks, so they divided, and if birds think like us….’

  ‘Your windows held back the air, and we can build shelters.’

  ‘You hated that plan.’

  ‘Can you let me move? The plan might work – the birds acted like Rastersen’s henchmen.’

  ‘Henchbirds.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Mitch said. ‘If we’d learned more, the birds might have fought for us. Use Christina’s argument, and build your windows, Phos; they’ll give the birds time.’

  ‘What can you bring, Mitch, and can I release you?’

  Crackles flew around Phos’s helmet – had Rastersen’s guards arrived?

  ‘Can you hear me, Phos?’ Distance mangled Christina’s voice. ‘…aliper? We’ve lost our connection, and his suit is silent.’

  ‘He fought. He protected us. He….’

  ‘You’re safe now? You’re safe but Caliper fell?’

  ‘Yes.’ Phos swallowed.

  Silence, time enough for a machine to grieve. Christina’s voice returned – clearer but drenched in sadness. ‘Press my argument against a screen. It’ll ask the First to rebuild the Second’s nanotech, but I need your permission.’

  ‘Will this affect the First?’

  ‘Yes, but I wrote my argument to consider the First’s desires. I hope it agrees with me, but it may see the birds as more important.’

  ‘We made plans.’ Phos outlined her ideas to Christina.

  ‘The First senses your thoughts, and I believe it understands. We can hope it listens, but these changes will take several days.’

  Phos picked Christina’s hoop from the platform and held it against the centre screen. ‘Let’s start, Christina. You have permission.’

  Words to change two worlds, words to free people – should she demand a fanfare? The hoop quivered before dissolving into a cloud that streamed out and downward into the bowl. Was the nanotech already burrowing into the First and working out ways to freshen the Second’s air, and would the trees near Leester grow straight and stop stinking?