New Enemies

  Chapter 11

  Grain's behaviour, and the constant, pressing feeling that Heresy was occurring in her town, ruined her day. A grey filter had been put before Sol. In such a mood, the last thing she wanted was Attend Grandmother Grass, but she had given her word. To avoid taking her fears out on the woman, she thought of Carmen as she climbed into Grass' room: imagined her daughter's smile, her laugh, her questions. It was, as usual, enough to bring a smile to her face.

  “Good afternoon, sire,” Grass said before she'd left the stairs.

  “Good afternoon, Grandmother.”

  One of the Stationless husbands was scrubbing the floor. Grandmother Grass leaned over, and said, “That'll be enough for now, dear one. Thank you.”

  “No problem, Grandmother. I don't mind staying...”

  “But I would,” Grandmother Grass replied firmly. “Now, be off with you, please.”

  He coloured as he stood, and gave Chain an apologetic look. As before, Chain lowered the trapdoor to give them some privacy.

  “And how are you, Contegon Justicar?” the Grandmother asked once they were alone.

  “I am... well,” Chain replied. “How are you?”

  The old woman eyed her, then said, “I am okay, considering. I don't have long left, of that I'm sure. I sleep so much now, and am tired, and in pain whenever I'm awake.” Her lips trembled. She put her mouth to her face, looked away.

  “It is okay to be scared. A change, an end, is always terrifying.”

  “Oh, how would you know, you whelp?” Grass said, her voice unkind for the first time.

  “At the Battle for Aureu,” Chain said, after allowing Grass enough time to calm a little, “just before I saw that the lead Disciple was dying in the swollen waters of the Journey, I was convinced that I would die. I accepted it. How could I not, with something that... powerful facing me down, the blood of my militiamen still on its claws? I accepted that I was going to die.”

  Grass’ face softened. “How did that feel?”

  “The fear drowned beneath my duty to my cadre. I put protecting those under my care above everything. But that doesn't mean it wasn't there, a sticky and twisting emotion that tasted like blood.”

  “Was that the axe you used in the fight?” Grass asked, pointing to the hand-axe by her bed.

  “It was.”

  “Then that thing has seen blood, and no small amount of fear,” Grass whispered. “Pick it up for me, would you? I'd like to touch it.”

  Chain picked up her axe. Holding it felt good, natural, like returning home after a long journey. She didn't indulge the sensation for long, instead lay it across Grandmother Grass' lap.

  The old woman rubbed her fingertips across the blade. Then she shivered. “I can almost feel it, the power and the fear you put into it at the Battle for Aureu.”

  “I might have need of such power,” Chain said without thinking.

  “Why?” Grass said. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, forget it. I shouldn't have said anything.”

  Grass shook her head. “Contegon, this is my Attendance. Not only that, but Buckle is my town: I won't be here for long, but I don't want to die thinking that everything could fall apart after I go.”

  Chain shook her head again. Perhaps she had let slip her worries because she needed to talk about them. In some ways, Grandmother Grass was the only person she could discuss this with, her only confidante in a matter this grave. “You understand that what I tell you must not leave this room? You could put my investigation at great risk otherwise.”

  “Of course, Contegon. Lun, I might die before I can tell anyone!” she replied, cackling a little. The sound was hollow, but Chain imagined she was getting her amusement and laughter wherever she could.

  Satisfied, Chain unburdened herself on Grandmother Grass, explained what she'd found and her suspicions about the operations of the Merchants.

  “If only I could go deeper into Par's dealings, I could either hang the bastard by his own paperwork or dismiss these fears as a waste of my time,” Chain said. “But I cannot, not whilst everyone is so precious about separating the Stations.”

  Grandmother Grass looked up at the ceiling, considering this point like she was the Guardian. “Do they not teach you about the First Guardian's Tangle any more?”

  “No,” Chain said, “that term means nothing to me.”

  “I suppose they take it for granted that the Stations are separate after so long,” Grass said, shifting to make herself comfortable. “Maybe they're even embarrassed about it, preferring to keep the newly Stationed and the Stationless under the impression that the Stations are perfect.”

  Chain leant in. “What is the First Guardian's Tangle?”

  Grass smiled at her interest. “The First Servant was never going to be eternal, being a normal woman. The time came when, like me, her health failed her, and she couldn't carry on.”

  “So she created the ultimate Station: the Guardian,” Chain said.

  “Exactly. A leader, chosen by the people and the Stations. Her final act as leader of Geos was to hold elections, and install the first Guardian to take her place in the Solaric Council. In the books, it doubtlessly says the transition was smooth. Well, nothing could be further from the truth! The fact is...” She stopped talking and winced, grabbed her chest.

  “Can I get you anything?” Chain asked.

  “New lungs?” Grass whispered with a small laugh. “No, this is just my body shutting down. There's nothing you or anyone can do. Now, where was... Oooh, that's not pleasant. I'll try to concentrate on the truth. That's what I was talking about. It was a scandal at the time, the First Guardian's Tangle. I only have it through rumour, but I believe a lot of it.

  “With the First Servant gone, there was an absence of power at the top. The first Guardian was a young man, so the First Servant's approval had carried him to victory. She trusted him to rule for decades. That long-term view turned out to be right, of course, but, whilst his rule settled, the Stations ran wild: they tried to claim power, or saw this encroachment and instigated Hereticums against one another.

  “We were at the early stages of the war with the Disciples but another, covert war began for authority and power. The Guardian only realised what was happening when a chain of Hereticums crossed the Stations, accusations and counter-accusations six levels deep. The Shields stayed out of the politicking because they were at war, but everyone else was deeply embedded in the mire. The Guardian stepped in, cancelled every Hereticum, and created boundaries between the Stations. That, at least, there is evidence of: I bet you could easily find records of that Geos-wide edict declaring the responsibilities of each Station.”

  Grass rested back in her bed then, a slight smile on her face. “That's why everyone is so nervous about the Stations crossing: it's a waste of time and effort when we're at war.”

  Chain considered this 'Tangle.' The suggestion that the Stations had broken out in petty in-fighting and jockeying in the absence of a firm hand was Heretical. However, Chain could imagine people who saw an advantage would do everything they could to take it, particularly someone who already had power. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as Grass believed, the story having gained something in the telling, but the concept of the Tangle seemed more than possible.

  “I suppose there's an element of trust,” Chain said. “We trust the Stations to mine, farm, and build. But what happens when that trust is taken advantage of? Shouldn't there be changes then?”

  Grass shrugged. “What would you do if Carmen broke your trust?”

  “Carmen would never do something like that.”

  “Forgive me for saying so,” Grain said dourly, “but your daughter will break your trust. That is the way of children: they press at the boundaries of their power, try to find its limits, and that includes their moral power. At some point, you will trust her to do something, and she'll do the opposite, tempted by sin.”

  Chain bristled. She wanted to argue, but Grandmother Grass had seen
more generations of children than Chain ever would. Still, she didn't like to think of Carmen in that way.

  “No parent I've ever said that to liked hearing it, Contegon,” Grass said with a small smile, “but it's how children learn. If they can't break the trust of those who are the most likely to give them it back, how will they know how awful it is to lose someone's faith?”

  “If... No, when Carmen breaks my trust, I will make her earn it back, make her prove that she has learned her lesson. I suppose I'll trust that she can earn my trust, if you see what I mean.”

  “What if you suspected her of breaking your trust, but didn't have enough evidence?”

  Chain shifted where she stood. This was uncomfortable territory, but she supposed she might face it some day. “I would interrogate her and trip her up. If that failed, I'd hope that her conscience would weigh on her enough to tell me the truth.”

  “That, then, is what the Guardian expects of his Station, surely?” Grass asked.

  “I don't think so. Merchants have often sought to skim: some think it a game, others are simply desperate to keep their lifestyle and license going. Merchants are licensed for their area of work, you see, and they must pay for the privilege. Added pressure comes with the familial inheritance of licenses: no child wants to disgrace the family by losing a prestigious license. This creates a world where skimming can seem less of a personal risk than admitting Sol’s plan for the license is for you not to hold it. Let alone the temptation to skim in order to buy a new license.”

  “How do you know all that?” Grass asked in wonder.

  Chain sneered for a second. “Carmen's father told me.”

  “I have always been curious about Carmen's father. Can you tell me about him?”

  “What about trust and the Stations?” Chain asked.

  Grandmother Grass shrugged, her cheeks drooping now. “I don't know what more we have to say. I was just trying to explain why you mightn't be allowed the access you need. But you are a Contegon touched by Sol: it is unlikely that your concerns will be for naught.”

  “Thank you,” Chain replied.

  “No, it is true. Now, I am tiring. Please tell me a little about Carmen's father?”

  “You like to ask about awkward subjects, don't you?” Chain joked.

  “If it's too painful–”

  Chain shook her head. “No, it's fine. Carmen's father was, very briefly, the Merchant Councillor. His name was Wasp. We met at the luncheon to celebrate my Naming, and a quick romance followed. But he was... he was touched by Lun. Mentally. He snapped just before the Battle for Aureu. I had to injure him, leave him... though he left me with a child”

  “You said he was a Councillor,” Grass mumbled. “What happened?”

  “He lost his mind for a while, I know that,” Chain replied. “But I've not been in any rush to find more. For all I know, he died during his treatment.”

  “He must have been a great man, then, to capture your attention?”

  Chain shook her head. “He wasn't. Not often enough, anyway.”

  “I am sorry, but I cannot stay awake,” Grass said, her eyes closing. “Take your axe and let me sleep.”

  Grandmother Grass was snoring by the time she'd opened the trap door.