The Blackwing War, page 20
“Let General Carroll know I’m here to see her,” Tembi said as she swept past the desk, her bare feet slapping against stone. No shoes, not this time, and the last few days had exhausted most of her supply of expensive Witches’ clothes, so she was wearing the same headscarf and casual robes she had thrown on that morning. She was certain she came across as one shabby-looking piece of dross.
Focus, Tembi.
The soldier with the popstick lurked on the edge of her peripheral vision as she retraced her steps from a few nights before, moving steadily towards Carroll’s office. Walking was a courtesy, really, as Carroll’s entire garrison had become a blur of motion, rushing to get everything presentable before the Witch passed by. It took a while before Tembi got the feel of the twisting hallways, all of which doubled back upon themselves as if making it more difficult for an enemy to reach the vulnerable core. However, she was a Witch: a sense of direction was her sole purpose. She pulled apart the knot of corridors in her head, and found herself before Carroll’s doors. They stood open, the arch framing Carroll at her desk.
The general was glaring at her. “Witch Stoneskin.”
Tembi blinked. There was something different about Carroll, something better, something—
She cackled aloud.
She couldn’t help it. Carroll glowed. It was faint—barely noticeable at all!—but the general literally glowed, a halo of celestial light gently spinning around her. With her near-white hair and skin, it gave her the appearance of a gods-touched creature from old Earth, divinely manifest.
Carroll’s eyes tightened.
“I apologize,” Tembi said, bowing her head to the general. “I didn’t realize we had caught you without your makeup the other night. It surprised me.
“Camouflage ’bots?” she continued, moving closer to the general’s desk. Another soldier with a popstick moved to intercept; she jumped past him, still staring at Carroll. “Set to illumination, and opacity dialed down to almost nothing?” She found the chair in front of the desk and sat, one bare foot balanced across her leg, the white box in her lap. “We used to wear them as kids when we went dancing. Cheap way to look fancy.”
Carroll said nothing, even as her fingers tapped against her databand. The faint illumination faded, leaving Carroll clad in her uniform and her own natural beauty. Finally, she sighed. “I’m extremely busy, Witch Stoneskin.”
“I won’t keep you,” Tembi said, as she held out the white box to one of Carroll’s guards. “But I was given a priceless gift by a Blackwing soldier, and I cannot in good conscience accept it.”
Carroll nodded to the soldier, who opened the box and—
“Careful,” Tembi said, as she asked the Deep to catch the box and hold it aloft. “Someone did me a great honor, and I would not see her disrespected.”
The soldier nodded as they gingerly pushed the floating box towards Carroll, and kept nodding even as the box settled beside her before leaving to go be quietly sick in the corner.
Carroll nudged the half-open lid aside and peered into the box. A sharp breath, followed by a hard swallow. Then: “Won a duel with a Kingsrow lass, did you?”
“You could say so,” Tembi said. “I would like to see her home safely.”
“And you’ve come here as I have her genetic tags on file,” said the general, as she shut the lid and turned the white box back into something ordinary. “Any high-ranking Blackwing officer could get you this information.”
“I am on speaking terms with you and no other,” Tembi replied, and tried to ignore how her stomach felt as if it had already decided to leave this confrontation, with or without the rest of her. “As we left our last meeting in such poor faith, I thought a dialogue of how to right this particular wrong would be of use to both of us.”
The general stared at her, long ears tipped out, as if trying to catch the words that Tembi wasn’t saying. She turned to her soldiers and said, “Leave us.” As the door shut out the rest of the world, Carroll asked, “Where is your friend, the politician?”
“Lady Oliver of Atlantis has prior commitments.” Now that the others were gone and she was left alone, staring up at this golden creature, the realization that this was a tremendous mistake hit her anew. “It is up to me to see this soldier home.”
Carroll sniffed. “The head’s yours,” she said. “The body will be buried by her kin with honors, but the head is now your property. They won’t take it back. If you try to force it on them, they’ll think that the original insult hasn’t been resolved. If they’re traditionalists, then trying to return it will only create more of…” She laid a hand upon the box. “…this.”
“Ah,” Tembi said, nodding, as if such a concept was wholly sensible and not a swiftly moving exponential nightmare of severed heads. “Even if I explain that their concept of honor isn’t compatible with my own?”
An ear twitched, tugging a strand of fine blond hair backwards. “Most of Kingsrow now considers this type of behavior to be barbaric. You happened to find a soldier from one of the holdout colonies. Congratulations.” Carroll netted her fingers together. “What else may I help you with?”
Bayle always said that silence and a simple smile were a diplomat’s best friends. Tembi did her best, but found herself leaning forward, her ears tilted in the Adhamantian signs of watching, waiting, ready…
Adhamantians and Tolkiens shared enough body language to communicate her unspoken purpose. “Clever. No one could fault you for coming here, not with that.” Carroll nodded towards the box. “Who brought it to you?”
“Admiral Wallis.”
Carroll’s eyebrows lifted. “Moving up in the galaxy, I see.”
“It came to him, and so he came to me.”
“Wallis knows who you are. Impressive.” Now Carroll leaned back, smiling. “Have you thought on what I said?”
“About ending the war? Oh, yes. Very much so.”
“And?”
Tembi bowed her head in a motion which might be mistaken for a nod. “First things first.”
“Of course.” Carroll’s ears twitched, first down and then up: amusement. “If you do not wish to display the head in a place of honor in your own home—”
“I do not.”
“—then the next best outcome would be to entomb it within your own family’s ancestral burial site.”
“I have no family burial site,” replied Tembi, as she added yet another item to her to-do list. Ghastly, yes, but she had come to terms with the notion that her first mother and sisters would likely die centuries before her, and she would rather not think about the specifics while mourning them. “My family does not come from wealth. I could pay for a cremation or a grave.”
Carroll made a sour noise. “That’s no good. It’s got to rest in a place of personal value.” She paused, and added, “I would like to offer a kindness to you, Witch Stoneskin.”
Tembi allowed her ears to perk up: firm attention!
“My family has a large tomb on Tolkien.” Carroll grinned slyly, as if confessing a secret. “I am in excellent health and have no intention of dying any time soon. Let me offer my space to inter the soldier’s head for a period of no more than five years. During that time…”
Tembi picked up on Carroll’s meaning and nodded. “I will establish a permanent place of rest worthy of her sacrifice.”
“A lovely plan. No family of a soldier could find fault with a general’s own tomb.” Carroll waved one graceful hand in the air. A voice replied: “Sir?”
“I am leaving with Witch Stoneskin,” she replied. “I shall be back within the hour.”
A pause. “Yes, sir.”
Carroll rose, hands out, as if asking Tembi to come into her arms. “I have never done this,” she said, a confession. “How does one travel through deep space?”
Tembi stood and reached across the desk to place her hands upon Carroll’s. “Like this.”
The Deep wrapped them up, and they were gone.
The Deep’s back was wide enough for them both (and a large dinner party besides), but Carroll’s face was fixed into a polite smile as she looked straight down, down… “How long will this take?”
“Not long.” Tembi ran her fingers through the feather-fur. The Deep’s pelt was thoroughly shining in rainbows; it loved showing off for strangers. “Short jumps are near-instantaneous. Long distances require a little more time…or maybe not. I think the Deep could make it shorter, but it likes the company. We went across the galaxy, once. It took eighteen minutes.”
“Eighteen minutes.” Carroll shook her head. She was still looking down, as if expecting to fall. “Eighteen minutes to move across the Milky Way. So brief, and yet an eternity—how do you manage the dark?”
The Rails sang around them, bright and cheery, with the near-infinite colors of the Deep below. But this was not the first time Tembi had brought a stranger into the Deep; not everyone could see it, hear it, feel the rainbow rush of the galaxy around them. “It’s not dark for me,” she replied, even as the color dimmed and the scent of an irritated musky animal filled her mind. “It’s beautiful. Every color you can imagine, and the Deep loves to sing.”
“Ah,” Carroll said softly. “The Deep.”
Tembi grinned. “If you close your eyes, it’s not as scary.”
Instead, the general pulled her long hair into her lap and began to plait it, forming a complicated pattern which resembled waves upon the water. Tembi took note: Bayle would want to learn it. “Tolkien is a large planet. How do you know where I want to go?”
“Best as we know, a Witch tells the Deep she wants to travel, and the Deep parses the destination from either her or her companions.” Tembi leaned back, arms out and sprawling against the thick pelt. “There’s loads of research on brain waves, telepathy, and the Deep. Very little of it conclusive, of course.”
From her vantage point, she could see Carroll nod politely. “Of course.”
“Even here, you don’t believe in it?” Tembi propped herself up on her elbows. “We’re traveling back to your home planet in a pocket dimension! I’m human, yes? How could I do this?”
“Perhaps this is a discussion for a later time,” Carroll said, braid forgotten and hands clasped in her lap. “I am at your mercy, and do not wish to antagonize you.”
Tembi snorted. “Fair. But the Deep is a miracle.” She flopped backwards, the feather-fur drifting around her. “It’s a shame you can’t appreciate it.”
“Oh, I do,” Carroll said.
“Right. That’s why you’re here.”
The general took a breath, as if preparing a response, and then they were standing in a wide meadow, green-gold grass all around, with a crystal blue pond shaded by a single large tree.
“Ah,” Carroll sighed, almost satisfied, as she straightened her flawless dress trousers. “That was quite fast.”
If this was a graveyard, it was unlike any Tembi had visited before. Not a marker or a memorial marred the pastoral landscape. “Are we in the right place?”
Carroll nodded absently, tapping on her databand as she walked slowly forward. “East by north-east. It should be right…ah.” She stopped, and uttered unfamiliar words in a light, lilting tongue. As she spoke, a veil parted and a building of pure white stone emerged, as if Carroll’s words had drawn back a painted curtain. Beneath their feet, the grass withdrew, fine-honed blocks lifting themselves to provide a path to the crypt.
“Stay close,” Carroll warned her, her eyes alighting upon Tembi’s ears, her face. “There’s security here, and it might mistake you as unwelcome.”
Tembi stilled her hands; no fists, not here. Besides, she’d drop the box. “What do you mean?” she asked, as wide-eyed and innocent as any person could be.
Carroll was pressing against the stone, her attention set on a puzzle which served as a lock. “There are several races on Tolkien,” she replied. “Mixing does happen, but responsible parents take their children offworld so as to not offend. With your ears…” There was a click, and a panel of the door slipped into itself. “If you were taller, it would not be an issue. But please, Witch Stoneskin, stay close.”
The door opened, sliding apart as if it was a silver-wrought necklace coming undone. As the pieces fell away, Carroll stepped into the dark of the tomb.
“Come,” she called to Tembi. “Come.”
Tembi looked at the box, shut her lips to trap a sigh, and then followed.
The inside of the tomb was quiet, thick pieces of colored plass turning the golden meadow light into chunks of solid reds, blues, purples… No yellow and no orange, Tembi noted, with a mere smattering of green in the corners of each window. “It’s peaceful,” she admitted, as her eyes searched every cranny of the room for corpses.
“I used to come here as a child,” Carroll said. She nodded towards one bare wall made from the same white stone as the building’s shell. “My mother lies there. She passed when I was but five and two.” The general’s voice had changed, an accent peeking through its surgically clean edges. “She died in an accident. I never saw her body; I eavesdropped on the funeral and learned she was maimed beyond recognition, and I spent much of my childhood believing they sealed her behind stone to preserve the memory of her beauty.”
She glanced at Tembi and her cheeks colored ever so slightly. “Not in so many words, of course.”
Tembi smiled. “Children are complicated. We’re smarter than we understand. I was eight when the Deep took me, but even then I realized how Lancaster used it.”
“Lancaster…” Carroll sighed, fingers resting against the wall where her mother lay. “Yes, you have been poorly used, haven’t you?”
“The Deep has been poorly used.” She realized she was grinning, and quickly wiped her face of all expression. “As all of Lancaster is trained in how to use it, but not with kindness.”
“As you say.” The general bent her head towards where her mother lay, and then turned to the wall below it. She whispered a word to the stone and it opened for her, shaping itself into a wide ledge long enough for a tall woman to rest. “Here, Witch Stoneskin. Our soldier can sleep here for those five years you’ll need to establish your own family tomb. It will rest in stasis, eternal from this day forward.”
The white box slid easily into the niche. Tembi had a moment of What Next? paralysis: Do I need to take the head out of the box? Do I need to display it? Do I need to vid it and send it to the family as proof? but Carroll touched her forehead, then the box, and then the wall, which obliged her by melding shut into a solid face of smooth white stone again.
“I shall have the caretakers send notice to her family, with my family’s seal upon it,” Carroll said. “We provide stipends to the survivors of those killed in battle. With your permission—”
“Let me think on that,” Tembi quickly said. “There are implications of defining this incident as a battle.”
“Of course.” Carroll’s smile didn’t touch her eyes. “But most soldiers do not come from money, and their families would surely welcome the gesture.”
Oh, and it seemed to have been going so well! Tembi thought she had been in control of the situation, but no, no, she was still far out at sea with no rescue in sight. She paused, as if thinking, and then asked, “Would the stipend be split, or would each family get a whole?”
If Carroll realized she had been caught, she didn’t show it. “We are generous,” she said. “Each family would receive a whole.”
“That is most generous,” admitted Tembi. “I will consider it.” She turned away, pretending to show respect to the blank wall of stone where the soldier’s head now lay, until she no longer felt the urge to shout, “I did not mention a second soldier!” like an actor delivering a crushing blow.
TWENTY
“Do you think Wallis had them killed?” Bayle was wide-eyed, properly horrified.
Even after hearing the story of the beheading, Kalais was not. He made a sour sound at Bayle, who returned it by lobbing a bottle of beer at his head. The bottle vanished before it hit him, reappearing in Bayle’s hand.
The Deep wouldn’t allow harm to come to its Witches even in its dream? Ah, well.
The tavern where they had left Moto’s stasis pod was untouched, likely abandoned save for Tembi’s brief examinations of the pod. She and Bayle were sitting as near as they could to Moto, while Kalais sat across from them, leaning against the bar with his own cold bottle of beer balanced on his knee. “Of course not. Carroll didn’t expect Tembi to come ask her for help, either. I’ll bet her morning briefing contained a mention of the incident in Downriver, and when Tembs showed up, she saw an opportunity.”
Tembi leaned back to rest her head against Moto’s stasis pod. The sharp electrified feeling of a real object shoved into a dream had dissipated, but the pod had remained too cold to touch until she had realized that it would never come up to room temperature if it wasn’t in an actual room. After she had told the Deep to warm it to a comfortable 26 degrees, it now gave off enough heat to feel welcoming. She was drowsy, rolling on the very edge of unconsciousness, but if she fell asleep here in the Deep’s endless dream—or fell into…more sleep? A Deeper sleep? a ha ha ha ha oh gods—she wondered if she’d wake rested, or if she’d have to spend twice the energy to pull herself out of the dream.
“Carroll doesn’t know I tipped to her,” she said, talking mainly to stay awake. (Alert? Aware?) “I played wide-eyed child the entire time.” After their visit to the tomb, the general had suggested a friendly meal. Tembi had brought them back to Camp Divested, and they had dined in the officers’ mess. The food had been wonderful, until Carroll let her know the produce was farmed on worlds that had been recolonized by Earth-normal populations once the Sabenta had been… Carroll had paused, waved a hand, and allowed Tembi to change the topic.
It had been a feint. If Tembi returned to meet with Carroll again, it would likely become the first of many, as the general attempted to tap away at Tembi’s opinions on the Blackwings’ ideology, or perhaps her faith in the Deep.
