SIXTY-FOUR

Vithis questioned Nish about Flydd and Yggur’s plans, in much the same way as the lyrinx had done, though he displayed little interest in Nish’s answers. Vithis no longer feared the lyrinx and could not have cared less about the fate of humanity. First Clan was the only thing on his mind.

Nish was given a room with a window that looked south across the arid plains of Narkindie, and allowed to roam at will through the tower, so little did they fear him, though he was not permitted to go outside. After wandering on the first day he kept to the one floor, for the tower had been thrown up so quickly that it looked the same everywhere.

A few days later, he was eating black bread and spicy pickled fish in the open dining chamber when he heard the click of someone walking with a pair of crutches.

‘Hello, Nish.’

The voice was Minis’s, though the face was that of a stranger. Minis had aged more brutally than his foster-father. He was no longer an impossibly handsome young man, but one who’d been cast prematurely into a tormented middle age. The once smooth cheeks were now weathered like a desert hermit’s and creased with vertical pain lines to either side of his mouth. He walked with an awkward twist of the hips and, though he wore robes, the stump of his right leg, amputated at mid-thigh, was clearly visible.

Nish rose abruptly, unable to keep the shock off his face. Minis faltered, then came on, forcing a smile.

‘How are you, Minis?’ Nish held out his hand and the Aachim’s first finger and thumb wrapped right around it. The other fingers were gone.

The smile vanished. ‘Even less a man than when last we met,’ Minis said bitterly. ‘And no man at all to Foster-father.’

‘But …’ Nish found his eyes drawn down to Minis’s groin, then had to look away. He had no idea what to say.

‘It’s not that. Though my pelvis was smashed, in the vital respect I’m still whole. But to Vithis a maimed man is no man at all. He’s given up on me and thrown everything into this insane search for First Clan. They’re dead and gone but he can’t see it – or won’t. I think he’s going out of his mind.’

‘What do the other clans think?’ asked Nish.

‘The same, but discord would be fatal on this alien world so they’ve allowed him his way, for the time being.’

‘Well, if he’s given up on you,’ said Nish carefully, for he’d had dealings with Minis before and knew how erratic he could be, ‘you’re free at last.’

‘Free for what? What can I do like this? First Clan is extinct and no other clan would take in a maimed man. I have no future, Nish.’

‘Perhaps, outside …’ Nish began, only because he had to say something.

‘Within days I would feed the lyrinx and, though I’ve nothing to live for, I cling to the rags of the life I have.’

‘In time, Vithis may –’

‘He’ll never forgive me for calling across the void to Tiaan, or for her answering my call. He would sooner we’d all died in Aachan’s volcanic fires than end up clanless on this accursed world. Neither has he forgiven me for instructing Tiaan in the making of the gate, because it went wrong.

‘But most criminally of all, I allowed Tiaan to escape, causing many deaths, my own maiming and Foster-father’s humiliation. She took the secret of flying constructs with her, which everyone now has but us, and not even our brethren at Stassor will reveal it to us. It was my own fault – Tiaan feared for her life and begged me to help her escape. I promised to do so and yet …’ His eyes met Nish’s and Minis flushed a ruddy brown. ‘And yet, when it came down to it, I couldn’t find the courage to defy Foster-father and betray our people. I did nothing and so, by default, betrayed the woman I love. This is my punishment. I am bile in Foster-father’s mouth. And in my own, it need not be said.’

Nish had to look away to hide his contempt. Minis’s dilemma had been a wrenching one, but Nish would have felt more respect for the man if he’d turned Tiaan in. At least he’d have made a choice, instead of doing nothing and whining about his regrets afterwards.

‘Had it not been for you,’ Nish said, to try to salvage something, ‘none of your people would ever have reached Santhenar. The Aachim would be extinct on your home world. You saved them.’

‘Foster-father does not count that to my advantage.’ Minis clicked away, turned, then said suddenly, ‘Have you seen Tiaan lately?’

‘Not for some time, though we’ve had many adventures together in the past year. We’ve become friends, and I’m as surprised to be saying it as you must be to hear it.’

‘I’m not surprised at all,’ said Minis, and for the first time there was a spark of life in his eyes as he turned back to Nish. ‘How did it come about? Tell me everything.’

Nish related his story from the time he’d last been with Minis, during their escape from burning Snizort, and how Tiaan had saved his life on more than one occasion.

‘She’s a wonderful woman,’ Minis sighed. ‘Tell me, does she have many lovers? I suppose she must.’

Nish resented the question and felt disloyal for answering it, though he did, curtly. ‘As Tiaan is my friend, I wish you hadn’t asked. But since you were … are also my friend, I’ll do you the courtesy of an answer. As far as I know, she has no lovers at all.’

‘Ah.’ Minis looked away. ‘Do you think there’s any chance for a maimed man like me?’

Another question Nish didn’t want to answer. ‘Minis, how can I tell what is in Tiaan’s mind? She keeps her feelings to herself.’

‘Please, Nish. In your heart, do you feel she might ever consider me?’ Minis’s shiny eyes were on him, hope warring with dread.

Nish delayed his response for as long as he could. ‘In all honesty, Minis …’ He searched his former friend’s face. What would be worse: to lie or to tell the truth? It had to be the truth, and in terms Minis couldn’t possibly misunderstand. ‘If she loved you, it wouldn’t matter that you are maimed. But you betrayed her and that must have killed her feelings for you. I’m sorry. I wish you hadn’t asked.’

Minis turned away, trying to compose his ravaged features. ‘I – I suspected as much. Thank you for telling me. In some respects it makes my choice easier.’

Nish didn’t ask what choice. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to get away and never see Minis again. They talked about other matters until the conversation petered out. Minis was returning to his work when the floor shook and there came a rumbling from below.

‘What was that?’ said Nish.

‘The earth trembles here from time to time. We often felt it, when we were putting down the foundations.’

Two Aachim, deep in conversation on a bench across the room, also came to their feet but soon sat down again. Minis stood at the misty slot in the floor, looking down at the Hornrace for a drawn-out moment, before nodding curtly and stumping away on his crutches.

The afternoon dragged, as did the night. Nish was used to being busy all his waking hours but there was nothing to do here. He cadged some paper and spent the following day writing down his experiences with the lyrinx, and all the questions Ryll had asked him. Later he recorded Vithis’s interrogation, just in case he escaped.

To ease the boredom, Nish began to do a sketch of the building, or at least the floors he’d been on, but soon put it away. His rudimentary drawing skills could not do the tower’s wonders justice. He returned to the slot over the Hornrace again and again, staring down at the racing water and marvelling at the power of nature, which could reduce such a staggering work as the Span to insignificance.

Again there came that little shudder, but this time the water, hundreds of spans below, cusped up for an instant before the torrent flattened it out again. Three Aachim walking by stopped to remark upon the tremor, which struck Nish as odd if they occurred all the time.

Someone took him by the arm from behind and a deep male voice said, ‘Come this way, please.’

‘Where are we going?’ said Nish.

‘Vithis would like to see you again.’

‘What about?’

The Aachim didn’t answer. In Vithis’s room, the same spherical one as before, the Aachim left him and closed the door.

‘What’s going on, Cryl-Nish?’ Vithis was deadly cold now.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Then you’re a bigger fool than I take you for. Those two tremblers weren’t like the normal ones we have here.’

‘What do you mean?’ Nish’s voice had gone squeaky.

‘Someone is sending me a warning. Who among your kind hates me the most, Cryl-Nish?’

‘I don’t know that anyone hates you,’ said Nish desperately. Had Vithis finally cracked?

‘One of your great powers is trying to bring me down. Who is it – Flydd? Yggur? Gilhaelith?’

‘Maybe it’s one of your own,’ Nish snapped. He was taking a risk, but knew Vithis couldn’t respect anyone who didn’t stand up to him. He also knew of the longstanding bitterness between Vithis and Tirior of Clan Nataz.

‘I have the full support of my people,’ snarled Vithis, and Nish wondered if his guess had struck the mark. ‘Come on; which one is it?’

‘We’re fighting for our lives, surr. No one has time to think about you.’

‘What about Gilhaelith?’ Vithis said menacingly.

‘I hardly know the man.’

‘He’s a geomancer, is he not?’

‘As I understand it,’ said Nish, ‘he wishes to comprehend the roots of the world and all the secrets that go with it.’ He didn’t see any point in mentioning the theft of the relics.

‘Does he now?’ There was a glint in Vithis’s eye. ‘And should he succeed in that impossible aim, what then?’

‘Gilhaelith seeks knowledge and understanding for its own sake.’ That may have been true once. Nish didn’t have a clue what Gilhaelith wanted now.

‘So pure a motive does not exist,’ said Vithis. ‘In my long life, there’s one thing I can be sure of – once people have tasted real power, there are few who can give it up.’

Nish shrugged. ‘Gilhaelith is an enigma.’

‘Even more dangerous,’ said Vithis. ‘Leave now.’

Nish went.

That night he was lying in bed when the stones of the tower let out a groan like a ghost in torment and the room gave a long, sideways shudder. Nish’s wiry hair stood up. He got out of bed, staring at the roof. The room shook the other way but this time it kept shaking. It felt as if the tower had been set vibrating and each oscillation plucked at the foundations of the Span.

Slowly the vibrations died away and did not resume, but sleep had fled. Nish went barefoot down the stairs, drawn to the slot above the Hornrace. The floor was dark but lights from the lower floors illuminated mist rising up through the slot.

He edged to the brink, fascinated by the torrent yet terrified of it. He went down on his belly and crept forward over the last distance.

‘It compels, doesn’t it?’ said a low voice from the darkness. ‘I come here every night, to think and to dream. To wonder if this will be the night when I take that way out.’

Vithis was sitting up the other end of the slot, his long legs dangling over the edge. The tone of his voice frightened Nish, who came to his feet and began to back away.

‘Stay, Cryl-Nish. I mean no harm to you. Come and sit down.’

Nish did so, as far away as he reasonably could. His heart was thudding.

‘They’re trying to destroy me, you know.’

Mad and paranoid. Nish attempted to speak but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. ‘Who?’

‘Everyone. Yggur, Flydd, Gilhaelith –’

Nish wondered how the other clans allowed Vithis to remain leader. But then, from what he knew of Aachim Histories, insane obsessiveness was an all too common trait.

‘You think I’m mad,’ Vithis went on, softly. ‘You think the loss of my clan has broken me. It hasn’t, Cryl-Nish. I’m going to bring them back.’

‘What if you can’t find them, surr?’

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Vithis’s eyes caught the light and again Nish felt an urge to run away. ‘I still have Minis,’ he grated, ‘despite what that little bitch did to him. He’s pure First Clan. He’ll build us up again.’

‘Does Minis want to?’ said Nish.

‘Minis wants what I want.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He always has. He’s never once tried to make his own life.’

‘He’s tried, but you would never allow it.’

‘That proves that he never really wanted it.’

‘You’ve broken his spirit,’ said Nish.

‘He didn’t have any to begin with.’

‘Then why did you adopt him?’

Vithis jumped up, swaying at the other side of the slot, his big hands held up as if he planned to leap it and throttle Nish. ‘His parents were dead and I … could not have children of my own. Why was I so robbed?’ he cried. ‘My children would have been as strong as the founders of First Clan. Why am I cursed with this weakling who can never do anything right? Minis could have had his choice of a dozen women – all noble, all beautiful, all clever – but he wouldn’t have them. He still pines after that sad little creature who brought him to ruin. Who would mate with him now?’

‘Tiaan is a brilliant artisan and geomancer,’ said Nish. ‘She’s brave and kind, loyal and generous.’

‘She’s an ugly, wretched little sow and no noble Aachim could see anything in her.’

‘Among our own kind, Tiaan is considered a beauty. I think her –’

‘An insipid kind of beauty, at best, and she has no family. Her mother is a breeding-factory slut; she has no father at all.’

‘I’ve always thought the qualities of the person to be more important than the lineage of the family.’ That was a lie. Until recently Nish had been as proud of his family’s wealth and status as he’d been ashamed of his father’s lowly ancestors.

‘Considering your own lineage, I’m not surprised.’

‘My mother and father –’ Nish protested.

‘Now you change your song. And who, I ask, were your father’s parents, or your mother’s? Nobodies! Minis can trace his lineage back ten thousand years. No old human on Santhenar can claim a quarter of that. Not one single person.’

‘I dare say you’re right,’ said Nish, annoyed because he was sure it was true.

‘Of course I am. I took the trouble to find out –’

The earth gave another wrenching groan, the building a grinding shudder. Vithis broke off and came around the slot. Taking Nish by the arm, he hauled him all the way up to the spherical room. By that time, Aachim were running everywhere in silent efficiency. Divided they might be over the construction of the Span and the great search, but a crisis instantly united them.

Tirior and Luxor appeared at the door. ‘I see the Art in this,’ Tirior said. She was in a blue nightgown which swept the floor, and her black hair formed a cloud of ringlets. Luxor was dressed but barefooted. He had extremely long and hairy toes, like brown caterpillars.

‘Indeed,’ Vithis said grimly. ‘Do you know who it is?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Bring up the miasmin at once.’

Directly, an underling carried in an object roughly the size of a port barrel, shrouded in a green cloth. Tirior removed the cloth, revealing a glass bell jar mounted on an ebony base. There was something inside, obscured by fog. Tirior and Luxor worked their hands, eyes closed, with evident strain. The fog cleared and the object, the size of a large round melon, began to glow. The miasmin became brighter and brighter until it resembled the sun as Nish had once seen it through a smoked-glass spyglass. Its surface roiled and dark spots broke through, emitting flares and prominences that looped partway around it before plunging back into the surface.

Luxor whipped the bell jar off its base and the miasmin drifted up towards the ceiling, swelling to many times its size and boiling like a thunderhead. Red and black streamers were plucked out of it in one direction, then another, only to be resorbed. Tirior moved back, holding her arms spread above her head and making little movements with one hand or another. Luxor stood at right-angles to her and did the same, their hand movements seeming to keep the sphere away from the walls.

Vithis touched the lights on the wall to darkness. The surface of the miasmin smoothed, though it still roiled inside. A glowing filament arced from the top, twisted like a thread in the air and plunged back in halfway down the right side. Other filaments arose, whirled about and sank back into the mass. Dark, fringed spots appeared on the surface, slowly rotating.

‘There are too many powers,’ said Tirior with a shake of her black curls.

‘I think not. That would be the scrutator, Flydd,’ said Vithis, indicating a large spot from which the glowing filaments arose like sparks from a firework. ‘And this, his chief lyrinx opponent. They seem too preoccupied with each other to be attacking us, though … the scrutator is cunning.’

‘But not that powerful,’ said Tirior. ‘It’s someone else, Vithis.’

‘What’s that one?’ said Nish, pointing to another fringed spot that pulsed and spat black filaments, arcing out only to be sucked straight back in.

He shouldn’t have interrupted. Vithis looked at Nish as if he’d just discovered a servant’s nose hair in his wine.

‘It’s a node that’s been sucked dry,’ said Luxor. ‘Not what we want to see, so close to our principal node.’

‘It’s being attacked, so as to drain our node,’ said Tirior.

‘Who by?’ asked Nish.

Luxor consulted the miasmin, which was smaller than it had been. ‘I can’t tell.’

‘Vithis,’ said Tirior urgently, ‘the field is falling faster than I’ve ever seen it. It’s as if our node is being drained.’

‘This reeks of the way Nennifer was destroyed.’ Vithis’s eyes were unfocussed.

‘The field is collapsing around us,’ Tirior said. ‘We’re being attacked from the Foshorn.’

‘It’s the Council, but I have their measure.’ Whipping an emerald rod from his belt, Vithis pointed it at the black fringed spot they’d just been discussing.

‘No, Vithis,’ cried Tirior. ‘Not that one.’

Vithis spun the rod in the air, caught it, pointed it again. Momentarily a tight green beam burst from one end and illuminated the fringed spot, which sent out filaments in all directions before collapsing in on itself and disappearing. ‘That’s the end of them.’

While Nish stared, his mouth agape, Vithis slipped the rod back in his pocket. With the air of a man who had just succeeded at an impossible task, he walked out and closed the door behind him.

‘But …’ cried Nish, horrified.

‘It wasn’t them,’ said Luxor. The fringed spot reappeared. Prominences arced from it and it grew until it covered the visible hemisphere of the miasmin. ‘Whoever it was, he was just testing our defences. But now he’s threatened and may hit back.’

The sphere shrank further, but the fringed spot stayed the same size until it covered the entire surface.

‘Vithis has finally broken,’ said Tirior. ‘Let him go. Run for our strongest adepts, Luxor. I’ll hold the miasmin until you get back, but …’

‘What is it?’

‘Whoever is attacking us, they’ve drawn the field so low that I don’t think we can defend ourselves.’

‘We’ll have to rely on charged devices,’ said Luxor.

They exchanged glances. ‘And we both know how that’s going to end.’

Luxor ran out, shortly to return with six Aachim, four women and two men. They assembled in a circle around the miasmin and it grew a little.

Without warning the earth rumbled and went on rumbling. Masonry ground together and a crack began to snake across the open floor outside. Nish stood by the glass for a while, staring down at the Hornrace, which looked as though it was boiling.

Vithis’s door banged shut. Tirior and Luxor still had their arms in the air but the miasmin had shrunk almost to nothing.

‘We can’t hold it,’ gasped Tirior. ‘Sound the alarm.’

Someone lifted the glass bell jar, the miasmin was directed beneath and the bell jar clamped to its base.

‘The tower is empty, apart from those keeping Vithis’s watch,’ said Luxor.

‘Tell them to come down. It isn’t safe.’

‘They’re under his direct orders.’

‘Then send someone to find the lunatic!’ said Tirior. ‘I’ve had enough. I won’t see one more Aachim die in pursuit of this folly. If you’d supported me against him at the beginning –’

‘Not now!’ snapped Luxor.

‘Should I run outside?’ called Nish, looking anxiously at the roof.

‘The Span was built to resist the strongest earth tremblers,’ said Tirior.

‘But this isn’t an earth trembler,’ said Luxor. ‘It’s an attack directed at the Span itself.’

A grinding scream, so loud that it cobwebbed the glass of Vithis’s room, rose up the register. Concentric fractures formed in the ceilings outside, rapidly grew larger; then, with a roar even more deafening, the centre of the ceiling collapsed. Nish caught a momentary glimpse of something massive hurtling down and smashing through the slit above the Hornrace, before boiling dust blotted out the scene.

Pieces of stone crashed against the glass wall, which starred in dozens of places but did not break. The floor went up and down, throwing Nish off his feet. The miasmin shrank to a glowing point and vanished. Dust poured in under the door.

Nish lay on the floor, his sleeve over his eyes and nose, expecting the roof to fall on him, or the whole of the Span to collapse into the Hornrace, but after a minute or two the crashing and grinding ceased. Outside, the dust clouds slowly began to settle.

Tirior sat up, her hair grey with dust. She shoved the door open, having to push against heaped rubble.

The Span still stood, though the needle-shaped watch-tower that had once reared above it had fallen right through the building into the Hornrace, leaving a ragged hole where the slot had been. They crept across the gritty floor, which was littered with crumbled and shattered stone. Cracks radiated out from the hole.

‘Come this way,’ said Tirior.

Nish looked over the edge. The debris had formed a dam in the Hornrace, out of which the twisted spire from the top of the tower extended like a dead flower in a vase. Above, the roughly circular holes went up at least a dozen floors.

‘I always knew it was a folly,’ said Tirior, and led the way outside.

Nish followed. The episode also reminded him of the way Nennifer had been destroyed. And if the amplimet had woken again, what had it done to Tiaan and Malien?