The Horizon, page 40
Mithila stared at the floor. ‘No. They got away. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh.’ Maji sighed. ‘So this is the end, then.’
Mithila looked up at her. ‘Last night … did you—were you—’
‘Worldfarer.’ Maji held her gaze, and there was something unbearably gentle in her voice. ‘There is something you need to know.’
Mithila looked back at her.
‘Your father’s dead.’
Blue, I dream you, blue…
Mithila walked slowly to the table. She pulled up a chair, and lowered herself into it. Her legs had lost all feeling.
‘So now I am alone,’ she said to the empty air.
‘Worldfarer?’ said Maji.
She didn’t turn. ‘Go on.’
‘We were ambushed,’ said Maji. ‘They drove us back to the Eleventh. They were going to crush us. And then he came. Unasked. But he came. Brand and blade, upon the barricade, it was the Blue Revolution all over again. Everyone remembered. And the Shoortans doubted. We saw the moment they stopped believing. He turned it, Worldfarer. They broke themselves upon us. And then he led us to attack.’
Mithila stared at the door at the end of the Hall, which she had closed upon Ananta two days ago. ‘And then?’
‘An arrow in the back,’ said Carina. ‘I saw him fall.’
‘Shoortans?’
‘Council,’ said Maji. ‘They were hidden in the Ninth. Waiting. Just when the Shoortans broke and ran, when we stood with our wounds and our shattered weapons, they came upon us. And he faced them again, just like it was in the old days. He gave us cover to fall back here. He saved us. But he could not save your Revolution.’
Mithila let her head sink to her chest. ‘Ba,’ she whispered, ‘had you guessed? Did you decide it was better to leave now, than stay to know—this?’
‘What was that?’ said Maji.
Mithila’s head jerked up. Maji was giving her a strange look.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the table. ‘I am not myself. Will you give me a little time to be—alone?’
Maji exchanged a glance with Carina.
‘Take all the time you need,’ she said, her voice raw. ‘There is nothing left for us here, but wait to surrender.’
A knock upon the door.
Mithila, kneeling upon the floor, arms on the surface of the bed, looked up. Soft evening light floated in through the window.
‘Come in,’ she said.
Alvar and Mankala entered. Mithila tried to rise. ‘I—’
‘Hush,’ Alvar said. ‘You don’t always have to look for words.’
They came and sat beside her, as they had the evening before, when it had still seemed that there was a world to remake. Somewhere beyond, the sun began to decline beyond the Wall.
‘I had so much to say,’ Mithila said, at last. ‘But like every other time, I came too late to say it.’
‘He would’ve understood,’ said Alvar. ‘Didn’t he always?’
‘I just don’t want the last time to be how I remember him. Asking me for something I couldn’t give. But that’s all I have to remember him by.’
‘Oh, Mith,’ said Alvar. ‘You have a lifetime of memories.’
‘Do I?’
And some of us to make sure that they burned for something.
She remembered. A journey in the dark, the Heartstone in her hands, counting how many had become Samatis to her Garuda, and now there was one more, Ananta, who had walked off the stage to give her a few hours of grace in a dying world.
‘Will you stay with me,’ she said quietly, ‘while I sleep a little?’
They put their arms around her, and Mithila let her head drop to Alvar’s shoulders.
Running footsteps cut through her dreams. Mithila’s eyes flickered open. Outside, the light had grown grey.
‘What’s that?’ said Alvar, as the footsteps reached the door, and a loud knock sounded in their ears. Without waiting for an answer, the door burst open, and a man entered. ‘Worldfarer,’ he panted. ‘It happened just like you said. We were watching—just after Wallset—’
Mithila rose to her feet, her fists clenched, her teeth set. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘Well done. You’ve taken them to the barricade?’
‘Yes, as you asked.’
‘Good. Summon the POUM. Bring Maji. Tell them it’s an emergency.’
‘Mithila,’ said Mankala, also standing. ‘What’s happening?’
She turned to them. ‘You’ll know,’ she said. ‘Now.’
The two scientists of the Select stood at the banks of the Rasa, hands tied behind their back.
‘Oh!’ Mithila heard Mankala gasp. The Select turned their eyes up. Mithila saw murder in their gaze. She shivered.
‘Well,’ she said, stopping a few feet from them. ‘How goes apoptosis?’
Neither of them reacted.
‘May we know,’ said one of them instead, in a voice that dripped deadly politeness, ‘the purpose of this outrage?’
‘You know already,’ Mithila’s voice matched his. ‘But I’ll just remind you.’
Footsteps sounded. Maji came hurrying from the tributary road. Behind her, Mithila saw Carina, Prana and the POUM.
‘An emergency?’ Maji panted, as she reached the Maliot. ‘What—’ Then she saw the two scientists. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Commander,’ the older one stepped forward. ‘I am Kanu of the Select, and I must register my displeasure at this—’
‘Be quiet,’ snapped Mithila. She pointed at Kanu’s chest. ‘You’ll get to speak soon, Kanu of the Select. Let everyone hear you this time.’ She breathed hard, and then turned to the man who had come up to their room. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘tell us what you saw.’
‘Uh, alright.’ The man cleared his throat. Behind them, Mithila saw more people gather around, coming up from the Eleventh.
‘I am Lahar-Fourteen. Today afternoon, on the Worldfarer’s instructions, Prana-Eleven asked me to go to the sewage chamber of the Eleventh. He told us to watch the Select and seize them if they stopped standing guard, and did anything else. We kept watch from the terraces. At Wallset we saw these two enter the ground and start to dig into the sewage chamber. That’s when we came down and seized them. They had dug a full hole, and—’ Lahar drew something from his robe, and dropped a dark, opaque cylinder, half an arm’s length, on the ground. ‘They were lowering this in.’
Silence descended upon the Maliot.
‘Well,’ said Mithila. ‘Kanu of the Select. Mind telling us why you were digging into the sewage chamber? Apoptosis, maybe?’
Kanu looked unperturbed. ‘I am unaware of this word,’ he said to her. Then he turned to Maji, as though Mithila didn’t exist. ‘Commander, this is highly irregular. My companion and I were guarding the sewage chamber, under the Protocol. Just as we began our periodic disinfecting of the chamber, we were rudely grabbed by your men here.’
‘Do you normally disinfect in the dark?’ Mithila said.
Kanu waved her words away. ‘We can do it any time of the day—or night,’ he said, still looking at Maji. The crowd around them had grown denser. ‘This is the regular maintenance work we’ve been doing for centuries.’
‘And your lies have grown smoother in that time,’ Mithila said. She stepped in front of the Select, and faced Maji. Her breath came quickly. ‘Do you know what I found last night, after Ghada was killed? I found out who it was that stayed back in Sumer to see we never got out.’ She pointed at Kanu, shaking. ‘Two thousand five hundred years, measuring the harvest, keeping the sewage chambers, the Towers of Rebirth, to ensure we live here, and in that life, not have to seek a new one. And now …’ She paused. ‘They want to destroy even that, they want to destroy us.’
Kanu looked at her, almost pitying. ‘Do you hear this?’ He spread out his arms. ‘We, the Select. We, who have never sought power. We, who have only ever pursued reason for its own sake. We are women and men of science. And now you say we want to destroy Sumer. The Sumer we are standing in? Now?’ His voice lowered, and he spoke gently. ‘Revolution is stressful. I understand that. But this—this, Citizens—is paranoia. You can’t indulge this.’
There was a low muttering in the air. Then Maji spoke, and her voice was racked with doubt.
‘Worldfarer,’ she said, ‘this is a serious accusation. The Select? Really?’
‘I met them last night,’ said Mithila. ‘They told me. They tried to convince me to join them.’ The pitch of her voice rose. She tried to calm it. ‘I did not tell you when I came back, for just this reason. That you wouldn’t believe me without proof. Because they are the Select. Now we have this—digging up the sewage chamber, Maji. At night. There is no reason why anyone would do that.’
‘Digging is … it’s just digging, Worldfarer,’ Prana said. ‘And he’s explained it.’
‘If we, the Select, were planning to destroy Sumer,’ Kanu added, ‘do you think we would just tell people about it? Are we that stupid?’
‘Shut up,’ Mithila said. She turnd to Maji. ‘This is exactly what Marwana—yes, Marwana—told me last night: go and tell, if you want. Who will believe you?’
But Maji’s face was unchanged, skeptical, almost kind. And as Mithila turned, she saw other faces looking back at her, embarrassed, even pained.
As if to confirm it, Maji said gently: ‘Why would the Select destroy their own City, Worldfarer? When they’re all here with us?’
‘Because they’ve been able to go beyond the Wall this whole time! And because they think that we’d destroy the world if they didn’t destroy us first!’ Even as she said that, she realized how ridiculous it sounded.
‘Worldfarer,’ said Maji, now firm. ‘Savar—Ananta has just died. You may be—’
‘Maji, what are you suggesting?’ Mithila interrupted, her voice very soft. ‘That my father’s death may have made me lose my judgment? That I can’t think straight anymore?’
Maji flinched. ‘No no, it’s just—’
‘Let us go,’ Kanu’s voice cut through the air, crisp and clear. ‘Things happen in conflict—people snap—we understand that. We will not hold this against you. We can even protect you.’
And now Mithila saw the expressions around her change once more, into cold calculation. She felt as if she was falling back, backwards into the Rasa, into the cold waters that would take her forever, that would become the sea—
Maji stepped forward. ‘Untie them,’ she said, firmly.
‘No …’ Mithila whispered.
Mithila heard the bonds snap. Maji picked up the cylinder, walked up to the Select, and returned it to Kanu. ‘Our apologies. We will see that she gets help.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ Kanu said graciously. ‘And if we can to anything for her—’
‘Yes, yes of course.’ Maji turned to Mithila. ‘Worldfarer—let’s go home. We need to talk about this. I have seen this before—sometimes things become too much. There’s no shame in needing help.’
Maji made the slightest of gestures with her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, Mithila saw two of her men move to position themselves behind her, on either side. She stepped back, her body thrumming, tense—the crowd was around her, closing off the road—
‘One moment, please.’
Mankala’s voice seemed to come from very, very far away.
‘What is it?’ Maji said, irritated.
Mankala ignored her. She spoke directly to Kanu. ‘This is to disinfect the sewage chambers, yes?’
‘Yes,’ Kanu said easily.
‘How does it work, exactly?’
‘Wood-pulp, boiled down to speed up the decomposition of the rahi-lined walls.’
‘Ah,’ said Mankala. ‘Then you won’t mind a little experiment.’
She spun around to one of Maji’s men, who was holding a flame lamp in his hand, and before he could react, seized it from him.
Kanu staggered back, his arms up, shielding his face. The cylinder dropped to the ground.
Mankala darted forward and picked it up. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Scared of fire? For a disinfectant?’ She flicked open the lid of the cylinder, and—tearing a strip off the hem of her shirt—stuffed it into its mouth.
‘NO!’ Kanu screamed.
‘Yes,’ Mankala answered, and set the cloth alight.
Kanu screamed once again, but Mankala had turned to the Rasa, taken a short run-up and hurled the cylinder across the river as far as she could throw it. It swung in the air, a flaming arc, and landed on the other shore, on the bank before the fields.
For around three seconds, they saw the flickering light of the flame.
The explosion ripped through the Sumerian night.
The noise was nothing like Mithila had ever heard, a punch to the gut, and then a roaring wave, consuming everything. She was hurled off her feet and thrown backwards, with everyone around her.
Across the river, the fields had begun to burn.
Mankala staggered to her knees and pointed at Kanu, who was coughing on the ground.
‘Fucking disinfectant, is it? Just like you disinfected my house?’ she shouted, hoarse, and turned to the people. ‘They were going to burn the City down. They’ve done it before. The great fire, they called it—oh yes, I see, some of you have heard about this. And they were going to do it again. I bet they’ve started planting these all over the City, the moment they got control from the Protocol.’
Her voice died down to silence.
Maji stepped up to Kanu, who was struggling to his feet. Moonlight glinted off a knife-blade. And then the blade was hovering around Kanu’s neck.
‘Listen, Select,’ Maji said, as the flames rose across the river. ‘There are many ways a man can die. Some are more painful than others. What will it be?’
Without a word, Kanu threw himself backwards into the Rasa.
There were shouts from the road, as his body hit the water. Mithila ran to the shore. The ripples were already widening out into nothingness. They did not see him rise to the surface.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Maji groaned.
‘Maji!’ Mithila grasped her shoulder and shouted. ‘We have no time! Citadel. Now. Before they kill us all.’
Maji snapped into action. ‘DOOMA!’ she called, and her voice carried. ‘POUM. To the Citadel. Now. Now!’ She turned to Mithila. ‘But, Worldfarer, the Council! They’re in the way.’
Mithila held up a hand. ‘The Council will not interfere as long as we stay on the Maliot.’ As Maji looked at her doubtfully, Mithila drew herself up. ‘This time you will do what I say.’
Maji nodded. Then she was amongst the people, moving, talking, calling, summoning.
Mithila turned to Mankala. ‘I’m sorry.’
Mankala looked into the river. ‘Oh, Marwana …’
They did not march up the Maliot. They ran.
Maji was at the head of the column, alongside Mithila, Prana, and Mankala. Behind them, no longer in formation, holding flame lamps in one hand and blades in the other, came the women and men of the Dooma and the POUM.
Sumer had not seen this before: a stream of flame lamps up the Maliot, heading towards the Forum. Maji set the pace, a steady, rhythmic cycle, a relentless speed that had them panting as they entered the Upper Circles.
For a few moments, Mithila was afraid. Afraid that she had a made a mistake, that the Council would find them too soft a target to resist. She clutched the piece of paper in her pocket, on which she had secretly signed away her banner, thrown away her allies, and dropped her claims to going beyond the Wall, from the morning to come, for all time.
A surrender for one night of non-interference, Rama. And then you can start the world over, in whatever shape it’s in, from the morning after.
Her betrayal of the Revolution, of herself, to save Sumer. The other copy was with Rama.
Her eyes flicked to roof and ground, for arrows and swords. There was nothing.
They entered the Forum Plaza at a run. It was dark and unlit.
As they approached the Citadel, Mithila hesitated. Maji didn’t. She hurled herself against the wooden doors, shoulder-first. They gave way, and Maji careened into the hall of a thousand pillars, Mithila behind her.
Throbbing blue light surrounded them.
The hall was empty.
‘The Senate’ Mithila gasped. ‘That’s where they assemble. Straight up the stairs, in the dome.’
‘Marwana could be in her office,’ Mankala offered. ‘I know where it is.’
Maji turned around and barked quick orders. Her fighters fanned out, some behind Mankala. Maji turned to Mithila. ‘You coming?’
But that uneasy feeling in her head was back, the feeling of things out of place. ‘Carry on,’ said Mithila. ‘I’ll just join you.’
She heard the receding sound of their footsteps, sprinting towards the stairway, leaving silence behind.
Silence?
And Mithila realized what was wrong. That faint, sawing noise she had heard in the Citadel was gone. There was nothing.
There was nobody.
‘Shit!’ Mithila whispered.
She ran. She ran like she’d never run before, through the hall and into the descending corridor, through the empty rooms, through the hidden passageway, and then down at last, into that last room, whose door was open, ever so slightly, and a flickering light came through …
Mithila burst inside.
The room was bare, but for a table and a chair set against the wall.
Garuda sat there, head bent, arms folded
Mithila came to an astonished halt.
Garuda looked up. His eyes were tired.
‘So it’s my turn to ask,’ he said, ‘will you kill me, Mithila?’
Mithila covered the distance between them in seconds. She seized Garuda’s collar and smashed him against the wall, her blade at his throat. Garuda went limp, unresisting.
‘Ow,’ he said.
‘Give me one reason,’ she said, ‘one reason why I shouldn’t.’
‘I haven’t got one.’ Garuda’s eyes flickered. ‘I won’t blame you if you did. Just. Make it quick.’
‘Quick? Quick? Is death by burning quick, brother?’ Mithila whispered. ‘How do you think fire feels upon the skin? Smoke in your throat? Your flesh charring like paper, your bones cracking like kindling? Quick?’
