A World Too Near (48 page)

Cho’s crime had been to help Titus Quinn to find a redstone message from his wife of long ago. That message had changed everything. What could the wife have known that would cause the All to quake? Cho prayed that it was the secret of Tarig vulnerability. But even if it wasn’t, he was prepared to die. I learned to live at the very last, he mused. Better than never learning at all. He had
been born in the Magisterium and had occupied humble posts all his life. The Great Within held all his days, all his concerns. He had counted the chores of a steward worthy and interesting—even fine. Then he had stumbled upon personages like Titus Quinn and Ji Anzi who came from the Great Without and were driven to accomplish high things. Cho had been touched by greatness. He didn’t regret this.

A gust of wind slammed into him as Lord Nehoov caused the field of the wall to evaporate. Cho faced the endless sky, seeing the glint, far below, of the Sea of Arising, its exotic matter sustaining the Ascendancy and the five rivers in one. His chest crimped at the glory of what he was now seeing for the last time. It was only justice that they kill him. He had well understood that to break any of the Three Vows was a capital crime, so he didn’t feel bitter toward the lord. In fact, he rather pitied the lord for trying to keep the door of knowledge closed. Useless, now that many people knew that the man from the dark universe wasn’t himself dark. He was a light, dispelling shadows. People talked of Titus Quinn that way.

Behind him Cho heard the high prefect murmuring something to Lord Nehoov, and the lord responding. He paid them no mind, instead looking down through the platform floor, seeing the assembled clerks, factors, stewards, legates, and consuls. Craning their necks to watch, they gathered— including some he recognized: GolMard the Gond, the Chalin consul Shi Zu, the clerks Fajan and Qing, and fellow stewards Haitao and Mi—each with upturned faces, each with glittering eyes and excited, pinched faces, waiting for the spectacle that came once in ten thousand days.

Lord Nehoov rested his cold hand in the small of Cho’s back, making ready to push.

In the high winds, Cho could just make out the lord’s rumbling voice. “It may be as you say, High Prefect.”

Cixi replied, “In addition, it will cause quite a surprise among those assembled. Let them never guess at the lord’s high purposes.”

“Yet they may think us weak.”

“Never, Bright Lord. Not when you fling Titus Quinn from this same platform. Now
that
will be a spectacle.”

“Let us be content with that.”

“As you will, my lord.”

Nehoov’s hand left Cho’s back and took a grip on his shoulder, turning him around in a painful twist.

Oh, to fall
backward
. Cho tried to calm his dismay. He had mustered his courage about falling forward. . . .

Nehoov looked down at him, his black eyes gone almost white with reflection from the sea. “Bring Titus Quinn to us, Steward. Can you perform a last service?”

“Pardon, Lord?”

“Does Titus Quinn regard you as a friend?”

Cho’s throat was so dry his words were glued inside it. Finally he stammered, “Friend? Oh. A short acquaintance. Only a steward, of course. No personage. Unworthy.” He looked at Cixi in perplexity.

She sneered. “His wits are gone, Bright Lord. Leave him to me.” She leaned in, whispering, “You will be under order of execution. That may bring the man of the Rose to us, eventually. That long, you shall live.”

By the time Cho looked back at the lord, Nehoov was already striding away. Behind Cho, the field wall was knitted up, causing the wind to subside. He felt light-headed.

At his side, the high prefect made a grand gesture toward the assembled legates, commanding them back to their duties.

Cho started to shake.

Cixi cut a glance of pity at him. “You are delighted, of course. You might have had a glorious death, Steward. There is much to be said for a fine exit.” She gestured him into the custody of guards. “Well, you may still have your chance.”

CHAPTER FORTY

How can the Nigh be a river?
How can a city be in the sky?
How can a redstone be wise?
How can a storm be a wall?

—a child’s bedtime questions

Q
UINN AND ANZI TOOK REFUGE behind an undulation in the plain, contemplating the fortress bulking up before them. It didn’t look possible to enter it, but Quinn knew that the outer wall was riddled with openings. He meant to pass through one of those holes.

Behind the fortress, the storm wall teetered like a tsunami of impossible height. On the other side of the plains of Ahnenhoon, the Nigh-ward side storm wall rose in a matching palisade. Between the two walls, the bright squinted down from its narrow slice of sky, leaking a dull glow.

At a word, Anzi would go with him. But he wanted maximum flexibility, with no one to hamper his movements. When he came out of the Repel, Johanna would be with him—might be with him. She would be difficult enough to guide through the outer defenses.

“It’s time, Anzi.”

“Yes.”

“Do I have to tie you down to make you stay?”

“I could be at your back in a fight.”

He sighed. “I won’t take you with me, Anzi. I’ll be making sure Johanna gets out. Three is too many.” He didn’t like bringing up Johanna. He saw her close down, turn away. “Anzi,” he said, taking her hands in his, “the nan . . . the fire in the chain . . . it will rush outward. Don’t be here when it arrives. Please.”

She pulled her hands away. “Where can I go?”

Oventroe said that forces in the storm wall would repel the tide of nan away, directing it onto the plains. If it weren’t for this factor, Quinn’s job would be somewhat easier. He might drop the chain anywhere close to the engine. Perhaps even outside the wall of the Repel. But it wasn’t going to be so easy.

“Go to Su Bei,” he urged her. “He has the correlates.” If Johanna was with him, Quinn would also go to Su Bei. He couldn’t think past that.

It was Last of Day when Quinn left the rumpled hills and walked out onto the plain. The bright simmered low, sinking into folds of amethyst. He didn’t look back toward the ridge that hid Anzi. They would meet, if they could, at Su Bei’s reach. Even to Quinn it sounded hollow.

The words he might have said to her felt like a bone stuck in his throat.

Chiron’s formerly faithful servant Depta made her way through the pitted fields of the war zone. Her mind was strangely calm. She was a Hirrin with a purpose, a lofty one.

She stepped carefully, bearing the heavy instrument on her back. The tube shifted as she walked, falling first to one side and then the other. When she’d left the armory, Depta had been in a hurry. Chiron was only an interval ahead of her, and she couldn’t afford to lose the trail. Normally Depta would have been a poor tracker, but Chiron’s footprints were unmistakable: She wore boots with a distinctive bud on the heel, allowing deployment of a knife.

Since leaving the Ascendancy, Depta’s journey had taken her from the center of the All to the ends of the primacy. She had traveled down the bright, and into the Nigh. She had toured the plains of Ahnenhoon with a general. Depta had seen a wonder or two. But her journey of the heart was more remarkable.

She knew a worthy undertaking from a false one and dared to disobey.

And more: She had become kindled by the notion that her beloved Entire wasn’t in peril from a flood of Rose darklings. No, far otherwise. The Entire stood in great need of humans and other sentients of the Rose. They must come and hold converse with Chalin, Hirrin, and Jout. They must challenge and balance the power of the Tarig. Why, after all, should the Tarig reign unquestioned? They had created the Entire, and for that they earned honor. But when had honor turned to corruption? Perhaps long ago.

So, Depta reasoned, there must be converse between one world and the other. In fact, it had already begun.

Now there was only one more place to go. Depta prayed it
wouldn’t be too late.

Over the wide roofs of the watch and the terminus, Johanna watched the sky for the signal Lord Oventroe had devised, that of an illusion of a burning airship. When the dirigible appeared, when it was aflame, Johanna would know that her countdown had begun—that Titus had arrived in the Repel. She hadn’t asked Lord Oventroe how this signal could be given. Nor would she be the only one to see it. What the generals would make of a burning ship that their soldiers hadn’t attacked, Johanna couldn’t guess.

Before her on a small table, SuMing had laid out a simple meal. Johanna turned to it gratefully. “My eyes hurt, SuMing. Watch the sky for me. Watch for a burning ship.”

“Yes, mistress.” SuMing didn’t ask why. The young woman had committed to Johanna, and did her bidding. All because Johanna had once saved her life. That she was likely to die now was surely too generous a return gift. But on behalf of Earth, Johanna accepted it.

Not long ago Johanna had stood on this same spot watching for Morhab to cross the mustering grounds so that she could intercept him and give Gao the time he needed. Now both of them were dead. She had murdered one of them, but she didn’t regret it. War had made her ruthless. War also had driven out all thoughts of Titus as a man she had loved. In truth, her life with Inweer had driven out thoughts of Titus long ago. She had believed she would never see her husband again, and gradually she had let him go, praying for his welfare, as she prayed for Sydney’s. When at last it seemed he
would
come, she had nothing left of personal hopes. Had she forgotten how to love, or had it been stolen from her, day after bright-laden day? There had been a time in the Rose when she couldn’t have imagined being as she was now, doing what she was doing. Doing any of the things she had done.

From time to time Johanna glanced at the entrances to their rooftop viewpoint, to ease her mind that Lord Inweer wasn’t standing there. He had grown colder with her of late, perhaps suspicious. Now, of all times, he mustn’t seek her company.

In front of the yawning structure of the terminus, a field of grasses lay over in a stiff wind. Three hundred feet of waist-high grass lay between Quinn’s position and the great wall. It wouldn’t matter which opening he passed through, Oventroe had said, so he decided on one closest to the line of hills through which he’d passed.

Quinn looked up at the sky, uttering in a small exhalation,
By the bright
. In the Entire, those not inclined to religion often swore by the bright, and he did so now. In the next hour, or perhaps two, he would find his way through the Repel’s defenses. It might seem a nearly impossible task except for the aids that Lord Oventroe had given him, and the guides that waited for him. Odd as it seemed, in the end he had need of a Tarig to defeat the Tarig. It unsettled him.

Oventroe had no reason to lie. The chain would destroy this fortress. Repelled from the storm wall’s superior power, the nan’s molecular chaos would spread onto the plains in an arc. Then, overcome by phage sentinels, it would congeal, cool, and die. Let the Tarig learn that the Rose wouldn’t be fuel. True, they might build another engine. On the other hand, they might wonder how strong a nan-force the Rose might bring
next time
. That was the thing to remember about the über-beings of the Entire: They lived in a glass house.

Crouching in the tall grasses, Quinn made for his chosen entry—a dark hole, rounded and gaping. There was no door; the Tarig seemed to welcome entry. In his pocket he clutched the bud that Oventroe had given him, the one that allowed infrequent movements of servants into the fortress, the one that would show the path. As he moved toward the wall, the cirque crimped against his ankle, feeling somehow heavier. The chain, so steadfastly cold to the touch, had in the last few hours been growing warm.

Left behind, Anzi had only a brief interval to make up her mind. Titus had said that he didn’t want her along. But there were times when he was wrong, and this was one of them. He couldn’t achieve his purpose alone, no matter how much help Lord Oventroe had given him. The lord was gone. Anzi was here. No question, then, who was most able to help.

Her feet started walking before she knew that she had come to a decision. She hurried over the ridgeline. In the distance she saw Titus, nearing the terminus wall.

Then, off to the side she saw another figure moving toward Titus. Someone very tall.

Alarmed, Anzi rushed forward, drawing her knife. She could barely make out a commotion ahead, but too distant to hear sounds of fighting. It was a Tarig. She was sure of it. Stuffing panic back into her chest, she crept forward, wishing for speed but needing stealth.

Titus
, she thought.
Titus.

Quinn saw a movement in his peripheral vision. He went to ground, but it was too late. Through the mesh of grass, Quinn saw a dark figure loping toward him.

A Tarig. Giving up his hiding place, Quinn bolted for the opening in the wall. He felt for his knife—still there. He had once killed a Tarig, but the creature had been half dead. Tearing through the field, he heard the grass crunch behind him as a part of his mind calculated his chances against the stride of a Tarig.

Soon answered. The blow came from behind, a sharp, glancing hit that sent him sprawling. He blacked out.

When he opened his eyes, a Tarig was bending over him. The net in her hair held small chunks of light. A steely hand clutched the front of his jacket, at the same time pinning him to the ground.

He knew who this was. It gave him a moment of hope, until she spoke:

“We have been hunting you. Having caught you, shall we split open your chest?”

He tried to rise, but she held him flat.

Her deep voice sounded masculine. Once he’d been used to it. “We do not prefer game meats, but in this excitement, the meal might suit.”

Staring into Chiron’s eyes, he looked for a chance, a flicker of old affection. She was not in an affectionate mood. She jerked him into a sitting position, the strength in her arms impressive.

“I won’t beg.”

“You will beg, Titus-een.” Her claws were fully extended.

He took note of his position. Still fifty feet from the wall. But the wall offered no advantage: She could follow him in—supposing he could make a break from her.