Geomancer (Well of Echoes), page 51
‘Haani?’ Tiaan called. The child did not react. She called more loudly. Nothing. Tiaan stood up, shouting, ‘Haani, come here!’
Haani jerked, gave her a vacant glare, but skied across to the log. Tiaan patted the space beside her. ‘Sit down. Eat your lunch.’
She knew that the child understood a little of her language, though maybe not very much. Haani went to the end of the log, took off her pack and began nibbling on a piece of dried fish, staring into the emptiness between the trees. Tiaan had no idea what to do. She could hardly blame the child. It was a wonder she did not lie down and refuse to get up, or have a screaming fit. Perhaps it would be better if she did.
Tiaan ate her strips of leathery meat. After a lot of chewing, they released an overpoweringly strong flavour, like the smell of a male Hürn bear in the mating season. The taste did not appeal.
She washed the meat down with a swallow from her flask. ‘Ready?’ she said to the staring child.
Haani made not a sound but rose at once, tightened the bindings and put on her pack. Clearly she was used to travelling, and doing what she was told.
As she rose, Tiaan felt a stabbing ache in her calf and a cry of pain slipped out. Haani, who was already heading off, spun around on her skis. Perhaps she thought the nylatl was coming back.
Tiaan drew up her trouser leg, which was matted with blood. Her sock was stuck to the wound. It would have to wait until tonight.
As Tiaan struggled onto her skis, Haani glowered at her, sprang in the air, came down with her skis facing the other way and headed off at a pace Tiaan could not match. Perhaps she blamed Tiaan for not being killed, or taking on the role of her mother. Or the whole disaster.
Well, she was right to. Tiaan was to blame. And what was she supposed to do with an eight-year-old who had no relative left in the world? “Tiaan iss Haani’s mother now,” Fluuni had said. Tiaan had no idea how to be a mother to an eight-year-old, and there was no one she could model herself on. Most of the indentured children at the manufactory had families but she had not been to their homes. She had no idea what a home or a proper family was like. The only homes she’d been in were Joeyn’s and the three women’s. All dead because of her.
Haani was almost out of sight, skiing fast down the smooth ice and never looking back. Tiaan was about to yell at her but thought better of it. She increased her pace, pushing herself as fast as her injury would allow and knowing she would suffer tomorrow.
Around four in the afternoon, when the short day was rapidly closing, Tiaan skied around a bend in the river and saw Haani standing on the other side, staring into the forest. Tiaan stopped beside her.
‘Time to find a camp, eh?’
The child sidestepped up the low bank and glided over soft snow into the trees. A few snowflakes drifted down. Tiaan went after her. It took an effort to climb the bank.
Haani’s skis had left twin paths through the pristine white. Tiaan pushed through the silent forest and down into a dip with an arc of trees around it. The child was taking her pack off. It was a good campsite – sheltered, plenty of firewood nearby, yet cleared land around so they could keep watch. The child was an experienced traveller, a necessary survival skill in these parts.
They built a fire on branches piled against a fallen log. Haani went about the camp chores silently: gathering wood, putting up the tent, filling the pot with packed snow. Tiaan prepared dinner.
Later, Haani sat across from the fire, staring at the flames unblinking. What was going on in the child’s mind? Tiaan had seen no tears. Maybe she had blocked it right out. Tiaan wanted to comfort her but had no idea what to say.
Steam rose from the pot. Dipping out a wooden mug of water, she began to soak the bloody sock off her ankle. The scabs had stuck to the cloth and once it was free the wounds began to bleed.
There were deep tooth marks down her shin and ankle, the gouges torn and inflamed. It looked gruesome. After bathing the injury carefully, Tiaan squeezed honey over it, the only dressing she had, and bandaged it up. If it became badly infected she might as well lie down and die.
At one stage Tiaan looked up to see Haani’s eyes on her and for the first time saw a spark of fellow-feeling there. Tiaan had suffered too.
Tiaan was in turmoil. Down at the coast she’d planned to find a boat going west, sail up as far as the sea of Milmillamel, then take another boat upriver in the direction of Tirthrax. How hard a journey would that be, and how long, with a child?
Minis had said that his people could last a year, at most. It had been late autumn when she’d left the manufactory, and winter as she’d reached Kalissin. Tiaan had lost track of time there but it must have been the best part of three months. So it was past mid-winter, though winter in these latitudes was long and maybe the worst of it was yet to come. She might get to the sea and find it frozen too.
Every prospect was gloomy. She could almost sense Minis’s despair. She was the last hope of his people and she was going to let him down. I’ve done my best, beloved, she thought. What more could I do? It did not help.
The child rose, stirred the pot with the knife and scooped out a mugful of stew. Haani ate listlessly, unaware of what she was eating.
There was a cold hollow in Tiaan’s belly but she felt too depressed to eat. What kind of life would it be for the child, travelling month after month, having no home, never able to make friends with other children? And at the end, if they did reach Tirthrax, living in a cave in the mountains while Tiaan worked day and night to find her lover?
What on earth was she thinking? Of course she must take the child with her. She had to look after Haani until she had grown up. It was a sacred duty. But what about my life? Tiaan agonised. What about my lover?
Haani was still staring into the fire. There were bright red patches on each cheek, as if she had a fever. She had laid the mug aside and was rocking gently, her arms wrapped around herself.
Tiaan felt ashamed. The child had seen her mother and aunts brutally slain, her home debauched. The memories would never leave her. And all she, Tiaan, could think of was how her own life would be disrupted. How selfish she was.
Tears hovered on Haani’s lashes. Tiaan moved down to her. The child tried to draw away but Tiaan put her arms around her and lifted Haani into her lap. Haani struggled but Tiaan held her more tightly and eventually the child began to weep.
Tiaan held her for an hour or more. Eventually Haani’s head fell to one side; she was asleep. Putting her in the tent, in the fur-lined sleeping pouch, Tiaan went back to the fire.
She was afraid to sleep. Sleep led to dreams and she knew what she was going to dream about. Stamping her feet to warm them, Tiaan took half a mug of stew and found her thoughts wandering back to Minis. She felt a great flood of longing. She had to know if he was all right.
Taking out her devices she set them up and began to work the beads. Nothing happened. It was as if Minis had never existed. Wrenching the helm off, she tossed it on the ground. She had failed him. The Aachim must be dead.
The amplimet looked dead too. It was cold, hardly glowing at all, and the little spark had disappeared. Useless thing! She gave the globe an angry kick, sending it rolling towards the fire. At the ice houses she might have escaped, had she tried a bit harder, but now it was too late. She could never go home. Yet if she no longer had her quest, she had nothing at all.
Tiaan paced around the fire. A walking disaster, she had caused the death of practically everyone she’d touched, starting with poor old Joeyn. She itemised them, human and lyrinx. All completely pointless. Better she drop the amplimet through a hole in the ice, and throw herself after it.
She had just taken off her boots to warm her feet at the fire when there came a cry from the tent. Tiaan was there in three bounds.
‘Mumu!’ Haani screamed. ‘Mumu, im sklarrrr!’
‘It’s all right, Haani,’ Tiaan said. ‘I’m here now.’
The child retreated to the back of the tiny tent, holding her hands out. ‘Mumu! Mumu!’
Tiaan tried to take the child in her arms. ‘Haani, you’re just having a bad dream. I’m here now.’
‘Nya!’ screamed the child, beating her off. ‘Mumu nya!’
An elbow went into Tiaan’s eye and she lost hold of the thrashing child. By the time she’d recovered, Haani was gone.
‘Haani? Where are you?’
No answer. She could hear nothing but the wind in the treetops. Pulling a burning stick from the fire, Tiaan held it up. The flame went out. ‘Haani?’ she shouted, and running around the fire tripped on the globe. The amplimet was glowing now, though faintly. Holding it out, she followed the child’s footprints in her socks. There was no time to put her boots on. It was snowing and if she lost Haani’s tracks, the child would die.
The snow had a crust and in places there were no tracks at all. A dense overcast did not hint at moon or stars. Within minutes the night had swallowed up the firelight. Tiaan was no longer sure she could find her way back. She tramped harder, making sure she left tracks.
‘Haani?’
No reply. How had the child gone so far, so quickly? Tiaan stopped within a windswept clearing. The stunted pines hardly broke the wind at all. The snow was packed hard. There were no footprints.
A blast blew through her unfastened coat. Pulling it tight, Tiaan looked around frantically. No sign; no sound. She held the amplimet up in fingers that were numb, and called more light from it. It waxed then waned, as if it was dying.
Hobbling across the clearing, she checked the patches of snow on the other side. No sign. She did a complete circle, came on her own marks, and despair crept like ice into her bones.
Backtracking, she found a single small print pointing left, before the clearing. It was under a tree. The child liked to climb trees. She looked up. ‘Haani?’
‘Haani,’ she roared with all her might. All she heard was the whistling wind.
The light was dimming and Tiaan could not coax more from the crystal. She could hardly hold it, it was growing so cold. As she opened her mouth to yell, the cry of a wildcat came on the wind.
Haani screamed, to her left. Tiaan ran that way, her numb feet thudding the ground. Not far on, she stumbled on a bloody print, and another. Tiaan hoped it was just a cut foot. As she burst into another clearing, Haani was frantically trying to climb a tree. She kept slipping down the icy trunk.
Tiaan trod on a branch, which snapped loudly. Haani screamed and ran into the dark. Tiaan pounded after her. ‘Haani, stop! It’s me, Tiaan!’
Again came that wildcat cry. Haani shrieked, just ahead, and when Tiaan ran into the clearing the child came racing back the other way, looking over her shoulder, and crashed into her. Tiaan threw her arms around Haani, who screamed and screamed.
Squeezing her hard, Tiaan yelled, ‘Haani, you’re safe now!’
Haani went rigid, stayed that way for a minute then began to weep in great wracking sobs. Tiaan lifted her up. The child clung to her desperately. The foot injury was minor, though she was at risk of frostbite. Tiaan put Haani’s feet in the pockets of her coat, wishing she could do the same for her own.
It was snowing hard now, the amplimet practically dead. Before she had gone far Tiaan lost her own tracks. She had no idea which way to go.
FIFTY-ONE
A week went by while Nish sat around in Tiksi, until he was completely fed up with idleness and his own company. Irisis and every other able-bodied person, apart from Ullii, had gone back to the manufactory days ago. Having heard nothing about his fate, he lived in fear of it. Fyn-Mah had given him access to her files on lyrinx flesh-forming. Nish read until his eyes ached, but found it difficult to concentrate.
Eight days after their arrival he was called to the master’s mansion and ushered into the same chamber. Xervish Flydd lay back in the chair with his eyes closed, sucking on his beard.
‘Good morning, scrutator!’ said Nish politely.
The scrutator gave no reply. He simply ignored Nish. Nish cleared his throat several times, shuffled his feet and tapped on the table, wondering if the scrutator was asleep. He did not think so. Eventually Nish took a piece of paper out of his pocket and began sketching on it, considerations for improving the clanker javelards. He worked on that for an hour before the man sat up suddenly.
‘I’ve been thinking to put you in the front-line, Cryl-Nish!’
The paper went one way, the pencil another. Nish bent down for them, trying to conceal his shock. He’d thought he had escaped that fate.
‘And you could hardly appeal such a judgment, artificer, after the trouble you’ve caused. Even your own father’s reports say so. Poor Jal-Nish. Well, it’s up to me now. Have you anything to say for yourself?’
‘I believe I’ve done some good since then,’ Nish said weakly.
‘Indeed? That’s not what I heard from the plateau.’
‘What did you hear, surr?’ Nish had to force the words out, he was so afraid.
‘I heard that you threatened Ky-Ara, which led to the destruction of his clanker.’
Nish looked around frantically, wanting to deny it but not daring to. There was no truth the scrutator could not dig out and the process would be most unpleasant.
‘For the want of a clanker the artisan was lost. The crystal too! And a perquisitor maimed.’
‘Ky-Ara should have resisted me,’ Nish muttered.
‘Indeed he should, and will be brought to account for his negligence. As will you.’
The scrutator glanced down at his bony hands. The fingers were gnarled and twisted as if they’d been broken in a torture chamber, then set by someone who knew nothing about bones. He flexed his fingers, which moved as awkwardly as the limbs of a crab. Nish shuddered and tried vainly to conceal it.
The cold eyes saw everything. ‘On the other hand, you have shown courage, Cryl-Nish. And courage, I need not remind you, is an essential quality in the front-line soldier.’
‘I may be more use to you at the manufactory as an artificer,’ Nish said desperately.
‘I doubt it! You’re an indifferent artificer, Cryl-Nish, though you work hard at it.’
‘I’ve done my best. Artificing was not my choice.’
‘Indeed you have, but your best is not good enough.’
‘What about my project for Fyn-Mah? To learn about the flesh-formers?’
‘Have you done any good with it?’
‘No, but I’ve only …’
‘Leave it to her!’
‘But …’
‘No buts, artificer,’ growled Flydd.
Nish stared at the floor in despair. He was doomed. Then inspiration struck. ‘How have you gone with Ullii, surr?’
The scrutator’s mouth curled down, and then suddenly he smiled. ‘I see what you’re about. You hope to prove useful in an endeavour that an old monster like me has failed at.’
‘Well, er … the seeker is difficult to work with.’
‘I found her not unusually so.’
Nish’s mouth fell open. ‘But …’
‘People are not necessarily what they seem, boy. Sometimes we show others what they want us to see. You, for example, think of the scrutator as a bloody old bastard.’
Nish could hardly deny it, so he remained silent.
‘I understand your friend Ullii very well. We got on famously and parted friends.’
Nish could not believe that, although the scrutator would hardly lie about something so easily checked. The piece of paper fluttered from Nish’s hand. He watched it drift down but did not go after it. ‘Then it’s all over for me. I’m done for!’
Those eyes burned through him again.
‘Perhaps I can use you after all, Cryl-Nish. I don’t have the time to keep watch with Ullii. And why should I when you could do it for me? I think I will send you back to the manufactory. You can be a second-rate artificer by day. At night, when the seeker is not out hunting crystal in the mine, you will ensure that she keeps watch.’
‘Watch for what?’ Nish said stupidly.
‘For people using the Secret Art. What else?’
‘Oh!’
‘Also for Tiaan. One day she will reappear and I want to know immediately. By skeet, and damn the expense! And then I want her found. This is the sole reason I have spared you, artificer. So you and the seeker can track down Tiaan and, more importantly, this rather interesting hedron she seems to have discovered. Don’t fail me, boy, or you’re lyrinx fodder!’
The following morning Nish and Ullii were on their way back to the manufactory with an escort of six foot-soldiers and a clanker. Ullii was uncommonly cheerful. She did not say much, but when Nish mentioned the scrutator she said ‘Xervish!’ and smiled at some memory. There had to be more to the man than that unprepossessing exterior showed. No doubt there was – one did not rise to one of the most powerful positions in the land without having many talents.
Nish’s father had recovered from his rages sufficiently to travel and had been sent home to Fassafarn by ship. Nish was delighted to see him go. His father the perquisitor was bad enough, but Jal-Nish the one-armed, mutilated failure was a terrible sight to see. The expedition had gone after Tiaan on his orders and it had been a disaster. The blame could fall nowhere else.
As they walked beside the clanker, Nish wondered what would happen to his father. Would he be quietly retired on grounds of injury? Was that what happened to important people who became incapable? They could hardly send him to the front-lines.
Nish could not see Jal-Nish settling calmly into domestic impotence. He would drive his mother out of her mind. Ranii was an ambitious, clever woman who, when she was at home, could stand no interference in the way it was run.
Well, Fassafarn was a long way away, thankfully. Nish was unlikely to see home in the next five years.
