Edeard gave Macsen a puzzled look. ‘Why?’
‘Because we’ve used our militia against their citizens. They’re claiming the right of protection.’
‘Oh Great Lady!’
‘It’s the distance,’ Dinlay said. ‘That’s our trouble. Rumour grows with each mile. A report of what was a grazed arm and a bloody nose in Makkathran has become some kind of mass murder of innocents by the time it reaches Fandine.’
‘So is it true about the Fandine militia then?’
‘General Larose sent fast scouts out last week. We’ll know soon enough.’
‘Militias fighting on the Iguru,’ Edeard muttered in disbelief. The loss of life during the last campaign against the bandits had appalled him. He thought such horror had ended then. It certainly couldn’t be allowed to happen again. He had never forgotten the carnage Owain had unleashed. ‘I must speak with Doblek.’
‘To what end?’ Macsen asked. ‘You think he’ll back down and order the militia back inside the gate?’
‘He was elected courtesy of Our City,’ Dinlay said. ‘He’ll never go against the cause that put him in the Orchard Palace.’
Edeard briefly thought about using domination. He’d learned enough of that technique from Tathal and the nest in those last few seconds to change anyone’s mind for them. But the Mayor was only one man. It would solve the immediate problem – that’s if there even was a Fandine militia marching on the city with revenge in mind. It was the whole situation which had to be calmed. A situation which the Skylords had created. And how’s that for irony?
He recalled that meeting he’d had with Macsen and Kanseen just after Dinlay had returned from his honeymoon with Gealee. The time when dear Burlal existed. Then, Mayor Trahaval had come nowhere close to finding a solution to the massive influx of people awaiting guidance. Edeard had told the others he’d try to find out why the Skylords would only accept people from Eyrie’s towers. But there’d never been time to ask them before his final confrontation with the nest; and this time around he’d never bothered. Such things had been abandoned in favour of the voyage.
If I can get the Skylords to visit other towns on Querencia then this will all just go away. In the meantime he had to do something about the stopover refugees outside North Gate. All that animosity on both sides is going to corrode the fulfilment which the Skylords judge us by.
‘All right,’ Edeard said. ‘Just how intractable is Our City?’
‘It’s a one-cause movement, which means they simply can’t be moderate,’ Dinlay said. ‘There will never be any kind of compromise with them, so if you’re going to take them on it will have to be a direct election and you change the law after you’re Mayor.’
‘Sounds drastic.’ Edeard sucked in his cheeks. ‘I’d better go take a look for myself, then.’
Our City had appropriately enough set up their headquarters in Ilongo. Dinlay had told Edeard with grudging admiration how their political ability had grown since their hurried formation. Eight of the current district Representatives had stood on the Our City ticket, forming a powerful bloc in Council. But their greatest influence over the lives of citizens came directly from the residency issue. Today if you were a Makkathran native searching for somewhere new to live, you had to ask Our City for their cooperation. Now their members had legal occupancy of every previously-vacant room and dwelling they were the ones who had to relinquish their claim before someone else could move in. So only when they’d confirmed you were a genuine born-in-the-city applicant would one of their members vacate the place you wanted. In effect, Our City now controlled who lived where. Another reason for ordinary people not to antagonize them. And as with all political parties, they traded advantage and made deals with rivals and other groups in Council and down on the streets and canals, insinuating themselves deeper and deeper into the city’s political structure.
Edeard walked into the Ilongo district from a gondola platform on North Curve Canal. The narrow streets in the centre were a notorious maze. Most of the district was comprised of boxy buildings with walls at quite sharp angles, creating alleys of narrow tunnels with only a slim line of sky visible along the apex. Slim streets opened into unexpected squares which were like wells of light amid the overhanging walls; fountains bubbled away cheerfully as if to celebrate the sudden glare of the sun.
It was the first Makkathran district he’d ever walked through, he remembered, he and Salrana gazing in delight at the weird buildings and more than a little nervous at the sheer number of people walking through the narrow streets and passageways. They’d pressed together for comfort and maybe just enjoying each other, believing hard in the future they would share.
He jammed his teeth together, hating the memory, hating that, despite everything he could do, so much had gone wrong. That young happy Salrana was lost now, gone beyond his ability to recover. As was dear little Burlal. Unless of course I go back far enough, and repeat the atrocity deep below Spiral Tower of the Weapons Guild. Even then, it would only save Salrana. Burlal would never be born into the world which would emerge from that.
It’s no good, I can only ever save one even if I could bring myself to confront a living Owain again. I can only ever go forwards.
Unless, he acknowledged darkly, he lived both lives. Went back and saved Salrana from Ranalee and herself, and lived that life until it was time for Salrana to be guided to Odin’s Sea. Then at the very last moment, instead of accepting guidance for himself, dive back to the time when Burlal was alive and somehow defeat Tathal another way.
Useless, he acknowledged in anguish. There is no way to defeat Tathal other than the way it’s already been done – I spent years trying. Burlal is truly beyond my reach now. My poor gorgeous grandchild. And worse, attempting such a rescue would banish Kiranan into nothingness along with the twins’ new babes. Unless I live this life first, then . . . Oh sweet Lady, why did you ever curse me with this gift!
He came out into Rainbow Square, named after the seven walls each with its fur-like growth of moss. The actual surface was porous, weeping a steady trickle of moisture, like a sponge being squeezed. Vivid emerald moss thrived in such an ambience, its perpetually damp fronds tipped by tiny droplets which glistened brightly under the sunlight boring down the centre of the square, creating a prismatic haze.
Unlike the rest of Ilongo’s crowded streets, this one was empty. The Waterwalker’s black cloak stirred in agitation as he waited in front of the tallest building whose wall leaned back away from him. In the middle was an arching double door of some ancient black wood. A smaller inset door opened.
The leadership of Our City emerged slowly. Nervous of the Waterwalker, some of them old enough to remember the city’s power he wielded on the great day of Banishment. One of them no doubt full of poison about the Waterwalker’s malice and iniquity.
‘Oh Ladycrapit,’ Edeard groaned softly at the sight of the man who was first out of the door. Dinlay had never warned him.
Vintico gave the Waterwalker a defiant stare; a lanky man with his mother’s eyes and his father’s pettiness and greed. Edeard might have guessed that Salrana would somehow get herself ensnared in this debacle.
There were about twenty people crowding into Rainbow Square behind Vintico, all of them staring directly at him, curious and nervous, but determined, too; resolute that their advantage and position would not be taken from them by the Waterwalker, the epitome of ‘old’ Makkathran.
Edeard addressed them all, remaining calm and quiet, demonstrating how reasonable he was. ‘This has to stop,’ he said. ‘People are suffering outside the city wall. That cannot be right.’
‘No indeed, it isn’t right,’ Vintico said to the murmurs of approval goading him on. ‘Why should good Makkathran families who followed Rah himself here out of the chaos be denied a place to live? We have rights too. When do we ever hear of those spoken by you and your cronies on the Council, hey?’
‘The Lady herself has brought us to this time when the citizens of thi
s world are fulfilled. They must be guided to the Heart by the Skylords. This is not in dispute.’
‘We don’t dispute it,’ Vintico said. ‘We simply ask to be allowed to reach our fulfilment. How can that happen when our families are wandering the cold streets without a roof over their heads. Do you think that enriches them, eh Waterwalker? Does that make them fulfilled?’
Edeard nodded in understanding even as he was reminded of something Finitan had said to him once in an unguarded moment: ‘Most people who have failed miserably in life itself have one last resort left available to them, they become a politician.’ Now Edeard began to appreciate what he’d meant. ‘I understand your frustration,’ he said. ‘But resolving such a massive problem to everyone’s satisfaction will take time. Something like communal waystations have to be built.’
‘Then build them,’ Vintico said. ‘Leave us to get on with our lives.’
‘It would all go a lot easier if you could help overcome the short-term problems. Come, we know this is going to be a difficult time. I will speak with the next Skylord who comes to Querencia and ask if they can guide souls from other places, not just the towers of Eyrie. I will also lobby the Mayor for a large building enterprise outside the city. Together we can overcome this.’
‘Then join us,’ Vintico said. ‘We would be happy to accept you. And you would be showing your approval of us.’
‘You’re too insular,’ Edeard told him. ‘I can see that. Everything Our City embraces is a rejection of others. You must look outward, be welcoming. Closing yourself off like this, pushing the problem on to others, achieves nothing but antagonism and conflict. What kind of world will that build?’
Vintico grinned maliciously, a bad humour which rippled through the clique in the square. ‘You mean, we must become like you? Join you? Acknowledge your way as the right way?’
‘It’s not like that, not about “ways”. True life is the understanding and support of other people, of selflessness, of charity, of kindness.’
‘Of being abused and exploited, you mean,’ Vintico replied. ‘That’s what’s happened to Makkathran. We were being overrun by these parasites. They threw our hospitality and welcome back in our faces. Well no more! We will not give up our claim on our city, our birthright is absolute. And soon everyone will join us in our goal.’ His voice and longtalk rose, summoning up support from his audience, who shouted agreement.
Edeard stared into the man’s stubborn expression, examining the minds glimmering angrily across the square around him; discovering the strength of resolution behind the words. Vintico meant everything he said. There would be no persuading them, no deal to broker, no halfway accommodation. Which even for a novice politician was odd. He gave Vintico a shrewd examination, wondering just how he’d come by so much confidence. ‘Why would everyone join Our City?’
There was the smallest flash of triumphalism shimmering through Vintico’s mental shield. ‘You’ll see. Even you will have to help defend our rights.’
‘Oh Lady,’ Edeard murmured barely audibly as he realized what Vintico had to mean. ‘The Fandine militia is coming, isn’t it?’
Vintico sneered. ‘Not just them. The Colshire regiment is marching against us, as is the Bural. Three provinces seek to attack Makkathran. You will have to decide which side you’re on Waterwalker. Ours or theirs, which is it to be?’
A grimace of pain crossed Edeard’s face. Those closest to him took a nervous half-step backwards as a terrible anger rose through his mind, spitting out flares of misery and depression that made flesh judder and tenacity waver amid even the most stalwart in the square.
‘In the Lady’s name, what do you want from me?’ Edeard yelled furiously. They were backing off fast now. ‘Every time, every Honious-fucking time I do whatever I can to make things right, and this is what happens. Every time, something or someone comes out of the darkness to screw things up.’
Vintico’s mouth twitched uncertainly. ‘Waterwalker, we simply wish that our own children have the chance to—’
‘Shut! UP!’ Edeard bellowed. ‘I have lost my grandchild to bring you this world today. My beautiful lovely little boy who brought no misery and suffering. Unlike you and your wretched kind who generate nothing else. I unmade him to give you a chance. And now I must do it again, because clearly I’m not allowed to go off voyaging around the world. Because when I do, you appear and ruin what peace and hope there is. The militias can’t be stopped now they are on the march just as you oh so cleverly intended. They have to be stopped before they leave, they have to be stopped from leaving. In fact they must never have a reason for leaving. And the only way to do that is prevent your Lady-damned Our City from being formed. Do you understand what that means, you piece of shit? They have been born but two days! Why should I unmake them for you? Eh? Answer me that? Why should I not just exterminate every one of you here and now? That would have the same result. They’ll never be born again, for sure as a genistar shits in the forest that voyage won’t happen next time around because I can’t leave Makkathran before the stopover problem is solved; so they’ll never meet Marvane, and he’ll never be crowned Luckiest Man. Will he?’
Vintico took a defiant step forward, even though he didn’t understand what was being said to him. ‘You can never exterminate all of us. Together we are strong.’ To prove it, the minds of those in the square began to combine their telekinesis, strengthening a broad shield to ward off whatever terror the Waterwalker would unleash.
‘Yeah,’ Edeard barked. ‘Don’t I fucking know it.’ With a final snarl of anguish he reached back for a memory—
—to land on the ground at the foot of the Eyrie tower. The crowd exclaimed in admiration, several people applauded. More cheered at the resurgence of the Waterwalker.
He started round in a daze. It was as if the sights and sensations of the city were muted somehow, as if this time lacked the solidity of true life. I don’t take part in life any more, I just respond to the old events as I believe I ought. What kind of existence is this?
Kristabel scowled at the flamboyant display of his ability.
‘Daddy,’ Marilee scolded.
‘That was so bad.’
‘Teach us how to do that.’
He gave the twins a weary look. They had never looked happier than holding their babes barely a day ago in his own personal time. Now that is never to happen, not even if I engineer a meeting with Marvane for them. ‘The Skylord comes,’ he told them dully, hoping that would be enough to silence them for a while. It always had before.
Out across the Lyot Sea the massive shimmering bulk of the Skylord had risen above the horizon. Far above, on the tower platform, Finitan’s astonishment at the arrival was echoed by the whole city. Awe turned to trepidation as the size of the Skylord became apparent to everyone.
So no voyage, he mused as the great creature flew effortlessly above the choppy sea. And Kristabel said I had become almost intolerable at this point. So now instead of alleviating that with the voyage I must do something about the mass of stopover visitors. Lady, please understand, I cannot take much more sacrifice in my life. Truly, I cannot.
6
The Delivery Man spent the flight accessing what information the smartcore had on the Anomine. There wasn’t much. They were an advanced race who had travelled along the standard evolutionary development route for biological species, zipping from agricultural age to industrial age right up to a benign civilization with ftl starflight and a kind of cellular-based replicator technology that meshed with their own forms. That development had allowed for a lot of diversification before their various blocs and genealogies eventually reunited and elevated themselves to post-physical status. From the small snippets of true history which Navy expeditions had uncovered it seemed like the trigger factor for reunification was the threat posed by the Prime.
Sitting in the antique styling of the Last Throw’s cabin with an uncommunicative Gore, the Delivery Man couldn’t help but wonder if the Anomine had found the
Prime a little too much like looking into a mirror for comfort. Bodies which had merged into machinery? Albeit the Prime capability was set at a more primitive level. There but for the grace of God go I. Grace in this case being the Prime’s biogenetically embedded xenophobia. The Anomine were only too well aware of what would happen if the paranoid, aggressive, and heavily armed Prime ever escaped their home star system, as they were already attempting in slower-than-light starships. Concerns vindicated by their observation of the first Prime ships to reach the closest star system, Dyson Beta, with its existing civilization. The peaceful aliens of that world never stood a chance.
Within ten years of the genocidal invasion, the Anomine had thrown up force-field barriers around the stars which humans came to know as the Dyson Pair. Where the Dark Fortress generators had come from, indigenous construction or borrowed from the Raiel, was still a point much argued over by a small specialist section of human academia. But it was that effort which had brought the diverse Anomine back together; barely a hundred and fifty years after the barriers went up, the majority of the Anomine went post-physical.
‘There’s nothing about the elevation mechanism,’ the Delivery Man said as the Last Throw streaked towards the Anomine star at fifty-five lightyears an hour. They were fifteen minutes out, and the starship’s sensors were starting to obtain high-resolution scans of the system with all its planets.
‘Classified,’ Gore replied smartly. ‘Some aspects of government never change no matter how benevolent and transparent they strive to be. Secrecy is like oxygen to politicians and defence forces, there’s always got to be some of it to keep them going.’
‘But you’ve got the files, right?’
‘I’ve accessed the summaries.’
The Delivery Man gave Gore a suspicious look. ‘I thought you had this all planned out?’
‘I do, sonny, so stop with the panicking.’
‘Have you got those summaries?’