Geomancer (Well of Echoes), page 58
They sat companionably, eating the meat and cooling their mouths with draughts of water. ‘If only I had some tools,’ said Tiaan. ‘This work is so slow.’
‘What kind of tools?’
‘All sorts. Like those in my little toolkit, only bigger.’
‘I found a whole room full of tools the other day,’ said Haani.
‘Why didn’t you say so?’
‘I didn’t know you wanted them.’
With more tools at her disposal than she had names for, the work proceeded swiftly. Bored with her own company, Haani wanted to be part of the great project. The child proved to be surprisingly useful, fetching, carrying and steadying parts while Tiaan assembled them, or just being company, sometimes silent, sometimes chattering.
Tiaan now found that she missed Haani when she was out of the room. The child filled a void that had been there ever since Tiaan had left home. Haani had become family. A real family, like other people had. Soon Minis would complete it.
Her eyes rested on the child, who sat on the bench humming and swinging her legs as she screwed a tapered topaz crystal onto a threaded silver tube. Tiaan smiled. The child did feel like her little sister. Looking up, Haani caught her eye and smiled back. It warmed Tiaan from top to toe. They both deserved a little happiness. And Minis.
Within days the zyxibule was complete. Tiaan walked around the contraption. She could think of no words to describe it adequately. It was quite as bizarre as its name suggested. No, not bizarre – it had no symmetry at all, though when she stood back Tiaan could see a certain alien beauty in it. It rested on five slender legs made from a soft, lustrous rock that had the look of soapstone but the colour and translucency of amber. Each leg was carved in intricate, swirling patterns.
On the legs rested a thick plate, flat in the middle but dished at the perimeter, with a seven-lobed rim. It was made of no substance Tiaan had ever worked with before. It had the lustre of metal – a deep blue-black. It was light, hard and strong, but when she tapped it, it rang as if it was made of porcelain. An intensely blue glass, swirled with patterns that repeated at every scale, was fused to the underside.
She had constructed the zyxibule on top of that plate. It was framed by four doughnuts of clear glass, the largest two spans across, the smallest about half that. Wires ran through their walls here and there, terminating inside in little pieces of shiny foil. The doughnuts were arranged largest on the bottom, lying horizontally, up to smallest at the top, nearly two spans above. Each was set about with magnets so strong that when once Tiaan touched a spanner to one, she and Haani together could not pull it off. Tiaan had to set up a block and tackle to do so, and succeeded only after the most gruelling effort.
The third doughnut was fixed vertically, sitting inside the top and bottom ones and enclosing the smallest, which lay horizontally in the centre, not touching. Within that was another glass structure that Tiaan found difficult to describe, or even look at. It was a tube rolled and twisted back to join up with itself, but its inside seemed to become its outside then inside again. Tiaan could not see how it was made. Her eye found it hard to follow the curve of the thing, and kept sliding off it. Twisticon, Haani called it.
Within, around and above these structures was attached a profusion of wires, tightly wound metal coils, clusters of tubes and rods, mysterious constructions of wire and a host of the incomprehensible mechanisms she had spent so long studying on the third day. Everything was connected to everything else but nothing seemed to do anything.
‘I’m sure that’s it,’ Tiaan said, stepping back. She had spent all day going through the test procedures. Each part worked as she had been told to expect. She had tried to contact Minis several times but there had been no response. She felt a chill of terror every time she thought about that.
‘What is it for?’ asked Haani, gnawing at a piece of green cheese.
‘It is to bring my lover to me,’ said Tiaan. ‘Ah, but I’m tired. We’ll begin in the morning.’
FIFTY-EIGHT
‘Where the hell are we?’ cried Nish, staring into the impenetrable darkness.
S’lound let out a mirthless chuckle. ‘Not the sea, anyway. A bog, by the smell of it. And not a very deep one either.’
So it proved, when a cold day dawned some hours later. They had gone through thin ice into a waist-deep pond. There were reedy bogs all around, but little wind at ground level, so the balloon had stayed upright once the weight went off it. S’lound climbed up to the brazier, reporting nothing but mire in every direction. Ullii took one look at the place and retreated to her basket. Nish fed the skeet with a couple of half-frozen rats from a bin. The messenger bird screamed and tried to take his fingers instead.
‘Now what?’ said Nish as they ate bread and cheese for breakfast, washed down with swamp water.
‘Gather reeds for fuel,’ said S’lound. Nothing seemed to upset him. No doubt he’d had many worse days as a common soldier.
Nish picked a handful of reeds. ‘No heat in these. We’ll never get off the ground.’
‘Soak ’em in tar spirits. That’ll get us high enough that we can look for some wood.’
Nish doubted it. The expedition was turning into another disaster and this one was entirely his responsibility. Of course, they might not be able to walk out of this place at all. They might die here.
They spent the day gathering reeds. It was tedious work in the freezing water and sucking mud, and after labouring for about nine hours, all the daylight they had, the pile of fuel was depressingly small. Late in the afternoon Ullii came out of her basket and collected a bundle of reeds, handing it to Nish with the air of someone bestowing a great gift. It was, had Nish only realised it, but he was in no mood. He snapped at the seeker, who retreated to her basket, deeply hurt, and did not come out all night.
It was too late to take off that afternoon. The following morning, Nish’s prediction proved correct – the damp, hollow reeds generated hardly any heat at all. The ones soaked in spirits of tar were better, exploding as soon as they were tossed in the brazier. The first time it happened Nish fell off the ladder into the water and emerged covered in smelly mud. Had it happened in the air, he would have been killed.
‘Less spirits,’ said the imperturbable S’lound, lifting him over the side all black and dripping.
It was nearly midday by the time they were ready to go but the balloon did not budge. The basket was stuck in the mud. They had to rock it free before it would lift, and then sluggishly. Once in the air they caught a breeze and drifted west over swamp, lake and yet more swamp. There was not a stick of wood to be seen.
S’lound leaned on the edge, cheerful as ever. Nish scrunched himself up in the corner next to Ullii’s basket, pulled the coat over his head to keep the drifting flakes off, and felt a failure in every respect.
He was disturbed by a cold nose pushing against his cheek, an arm going over his shoulder. To his amazement it was Ullii.
‘You are sad, Nish,’ she said softly.
‘We’ll never get out of here. We’ll never find her. I’ve failed again.’
She sat quietly beside him. Nish was touched. She cared about him.
‘I can see trees!’ called S’lound.
Nish jumped up. A scrubby patch of forest had appeared out of the foggy distance, and just as well. The reed bundles were exhausted.
It was almost dark when they landed by the forest. The following morning they chopped wood for several hours, and had a good bit stacked in the basket, when Ullii cried out.
‘What’s the matter?’ yelled Nish.
‘Someone coming.’
A tall man was advancing towards them, waving a wooden spear and shouting in an unknown dialect. There was a host of angry villagers behind him.
‘Any idea what he’s saying?’ asked Nish.
‘We’re stealing his wood.’
‘There’s wood everywhere. It’s rotting on the ground.’
‘Nonetheless, it’s his.’ S’lound sprang up on the side and began shouting back, waving a menacing broadsword. ‘Get the fire stoked up,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘We’re ready to lift.’
‘Untie the ropes.’
Nish climbed out. The balloon was already putting pressure on the knots. He got them undone but the balloon went up too fast. Afraid of being left behind, he gave a triple turn of the rope around his wrist. It tightened and jerked him up. A spear whizzed between his legs, close to parts he was particularly fond of.
Ullii gave a shrill scream. The rope felt as if it was going to tear right through his skin. If it came undone he was dead. They were already as high as the treetops.
He snatched and caught the rope with his left hand. It eased the strain a little. Then S’lound was leaning right out, hauling him up and grabbing his free hand to make sure he did not fall. Nish was pulled over the side and dumped on the floor. Ullii herself helped to bring him down, and when he lay there, gasping, she kissed him on the nose, an astonishing intimacy.
‘I can see the sea,’ S’lound said as the sun was setting.
Nish scrambled to his feet. ‘We’d better put down. We can’t afford to go over the water.’
‘Then what?’
‘We gather fuel and wait for a southerly to take us north to the mountains.’
‘Shouldn’t be too long a wait,’ said S’lound. ‘Feels like it’s blowing from the South Pole right now.’
He was still saying that a week later. This time they’d gone to see the villagers and made an arrangement with them for fuel. Nish was canny enough to pay in coppers, which they were glad to have, and the villagers chopped and fetched a mountain of wood, enough to enable them to keep the brazier going the whole time. If the air in the balloon went cold it would take hours to fill it.
The wind blew from the west, the north and even the east, but never from the south. Nish fretted. What was Tiaan up to? Ullii had sensed great urgency the last time she’d seen her. They had, however, found out where they were, somewhere between the cities of Runcil and Tatusti. Ullii had managed a clear sighting on Tiaan. Assuming she had not moved, the intersection showed her to be near Mount Tirthrax.
Late on their eighth night in that place they were woken by a great buffet on the basket. The wind whistled through the ropes, a gale carrying not snow but stinging crystals of ice. It was a howling southerly that lifted the balloon with every blast.
‘We’d better go,’ said S’lound.
‘I don’t dare take it up in this.’
‘It’ll get worse! We’ll lose it if we stay here.’
The wind screamed and flung the balloon right over. Nish thought it was going to smash against the ground. Before the craft could right itself another gust pushed it over again and the stakes on the windward side tore out.
‘Cut the ropes,’ S’lound roared, drawing his knife.
Nish did the same. Either way they were doomed. Before he could put his knife to the rope the other stakes tore free. The basket bumped along the ground. Flames belched out of the top of the brazier and he held his breath as they went close to the tarred fabric.
Bump, bump, then the basket struck an obstruction that caved in the side but kicked them into the air. They drifted sideways, almost parallel to the ground. The wind eased and the balloon pulled the basket up.
Nish climbed the ladder, hanging by one hand while he stoked the fire with as much wood as he could cram in. ‘I want to get as high as I can,’ he said when he was safely down. ‘That’s where the winds are, and the further we’re blown the less we’ll have to walk.’
Soon the brazier was glowing red, the distant ground racing by faster than it ever had. The whole balloon was shuddering, as if the air up top was moving faster than at basket level. The moon reflected silver off a thousand lakes.
‘How far to go?’ S’lound asked.
‘A hundred and twenty, maybe thirty leagues.’ Nish was watching the procession of lakes and rivers go by, comparing them with his map and making constant amendments. ‘This is a very poor chart,’ he said, peering over the side. ‘That huge lake down there isn’t even marked, and the river turns west, not east.’
‘Hard place to map, I’d reckon,’ grunted S’lound. ‘Bad maps are the soldier’s biggest problem.’
‘Except from a balloon!’ He had an idea that might earn him credit with the scrutator. ‘Hey, S’lound, what if we were to fly over all the lands where the soldiers were fighting and make proper maps from balloons?’
‘Good idea! Guess that’s why you’re in the favour of the scrutator and I’m just an old soldier.’
‘I’m not … Really?’
‘So I hear.’
‘That was before I cocked up this mission.’
‘Ain’t over yet. How long to go, do you think?’
‘At this rate we should be pretty close by lunchtime. Ah, balloons are wonderful. This trip would takes us months, through the snow.’
‘If the wind lasts. And it takes us where it wants, not where we want to go.’
‘Well, yes, but certainly closer.’
As the sun rose it reflected redly off the eastern flank of Tirthrax itself, a way to their left. They were no more than thirty leagues from the mountains, which thrust up in an east–west line from the hummocky plains.
‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ Nish cried. ‘Come look, Ullii. You’ll never see a sight like this again.’
She peeped out of the basket, earmuffed and begoggled, and even she gazed at the astounding spectacle with wonder.
‘Can you still see Tiaan? Please say that you can, Ullii.’
‘I can see her. Her crystal fills my mind.’ She pointed to Tirthrax mountain, then darted back like a rabbit down a burrow.
‘How close do you think we can get?’ said Nish. The rugged foothills would be difficult country to walk in.
‘The wind has turned more easterly,’ said S’lound. ‘It’s carrying us in the right direction, at least.’
It was the first bit of good luck they’d had on the trip. ‘And maybe it’ll turn due east when it hits the mountains,’ Nish replied.
‘Or up and over, or fling itself at the cliffs. Might be an idea to set down sooner than later.’
‘We’ll keep going as long as we can. Most of those rivers look impassable.’
They drifted towards the mountains for another couple of hours. They were still east of Tirthrax, easily recognisable because it stood a good thousand spans above any of the other peaks. Great ice mounds covered the plain below the glacier falls.
Approaching the mountain wall, the winds did blow more from the east, carrying the balloon west towards their destination. They began to encounter turbulence, which grew worse the closer they approached, flinging the balloon about until they felt seasick. Nish could hear Ullii retching in her basket but she would not come out.
He let the fire die down. They were slowly losing height as Tirthrax loomed up before them. The buffeting diminished. Another hour passed. They crossed onto the middle flank of the mountain, the tree line a long way below them.
Nish called Ullii out, cleaned her up with a damp cloth, washed out her basket and asked her where Tiaan was now. Ullii pointed straight up the mountain, but as they drifted by her arm moved.
‘We’d better put it down,’ Nish said urgently. ‘We’ll get no closer than this.’
‘There, ahead.’
It was a long slope stripped down to rock by ice falling from the hanging valley above. On the other side lay a great boulder field, beyond which was a clear space that looked safe, though it was rather small. More rough country extended beyond it. Making an instant decision, Nish pulled the rope to open the valve.
They drifted towards the boulders. ‘Aren’t we going down a bit fast?’ yelled S’lound, who was hanging off the ladder near the stove.
Nish pulled the other rope. Nothing happened. ‘The valve must have frozen open! Come down, quick!’
S’lound stayed where he was, fiddling with the brazier lid. ‘Leave that!’ Nish yelled. ‘It won’t make any difference.’
Nish kept trying the valve to the end. They were dropping too quickly and would smash into the rocks. The ground raced up at them but at the last moment a gust lifted them over the rocks, unfortunately carrying them beyond the clear area as well. They headed towards another cluster of boulders. Nish threw himself at the side of the basket, which swayed in the air, glanced off the side of a boulder, then another, and fell between them, thumping into the ground. S’lound cried out.
Nish was hurled off his feet, cracking his head against the corner of Ullii’s basket. The slack went off the ropes; balloon and brazier seemed to be plunging straight at him. Momentarily he imagined the conflagration but the brazier stopped, resting on the rim of the basket. High above he heard a click that must have been the valve closing, for the balloon and brazier slowly drifted up until the ropes were taut.
The skeet let out shrill cries of rage. Nish picked himself up, bruised but unharmed. The basket was jammed between the boulders. He fixed the rope around a rock. ‘Well, that’s that. Are you all right, Ullii?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly.
Creeping out, goggles and muffs on, she surveyed the scene then slipped under Nish’s arm. He gave her a gentle squeeze.
‘Where is S’lound?’ she said into Nish’s armpit.
They found him around the other side, lying on his back with his head at a strange angle. He was dead. An unlucky landing had broken his neck.
Nish squatted beside him, head bowed. He’d never really come to know the soldier, but S’lound’s company had been pleasant enough these past days. He’d provided a reliable solidity, a cheerful presence.
There was nothing to bury the man with, so they piled stones over him. At least, Nish did. Ullii had no concept of cooperative work. She sat watching while Nish laboured. At the end she picked up a small stone, studied it carefully, turned it around in her hands several times and placed it on the pile above S’lound’s head.
Having done that, she slumped as if she’d done most of the work. Perhaps, for her, placing that small piece had been harder than Nish’s labour. Who knew what went on in that strange, closed-over mind of hers?
