Ammonite Stars (Omnibus): Ammonite Galaxy #4-5 (76 page)

There was a hideous rending noise, and then the shrieking of rock as it cleft into fragments. The thunder continued, for what seemed hours, until finally a shower of dust appeared from the tunnel face, covering him.

“Petra?” He tried to cry out loud, but could only manage the thought. “Petra?”

But his words came back to him, empty. The tunnel felt bereft. Petra, he knew, was gone. As if to mock his inability to move, a slight breeze of air seemed to make its way into the confined space. His lungs reacted automatically; expanding to drag in as much of the reviving gas as they could. He was alive. His fingers felt the blue stone she had placed between them, and he began to cry.

ARCAN APPEARED IN front of them all, where they were searching the tunnels under the Valhai Voting Dome. “You must come.” A bubble of orthogel surrounded them all, and transported them along to one of the most easterly corridors.

They found some twenty Sellites crushed into a small tunnel. There was a stretcher, and Mandalon 50 was lying prone on it, his eyes closed. Vion was attending him, and looked up at them as the others materialized.

“He will recover,” he said shortly. “He has been very lucky.”

Tallen stared at the fallen rock which was blocking the tunnel. He had gone white and his face was anguished. “Petra?” He turned to the orthogel entity with a pleading expression on his face. “Petra?”

Arcan went black. “I am sorry. I cannot detect another living presence,” he said slowly. “But I will find her body, and transport her here.”

Grace put a hand out and touched the orthogel. “There is no longer any hurry, Arcan,” she said to him quietly. “Let us do it. Let us do it ourselves.”

Tallen began to tear at the rocks with his bare hands, huge sobs taking over his whole body. “NO!” he cried. “NO! PETRA! NO!”

The Sellites moved back, as if embarrassed by his behaviour, but the others all threw themselves at the rocks alongside Tallen, determined to find the Namuri girl.

Arcan had turned an uncomfortable black. He knew what they were going to find.

Six was throwing rocks behind him, uncaring of the Sellites, who were huddled together, muttering.

“Petra!” he called. “Don’t worry, we are here!”

Diva was at his side, scrabbling frenziedly with the rubble. “Yes, hang on! We are nearly with you!”

Ledin and Grace were beside them, and even though Grace was lacking several fingers, she was still managing to rip rocks away from the blockage. Bennel was there too, his long body more fluid as he picked up a rock, turned to deposit it neatly behind them, and then turned back to repeat the process.

Tallen was distraught. He dragged boulder after boulder out from the rubble. At one moment he turned back to the huddle of Sellites.

“That’s right,” he shouted, his voice broken with worry. “Do nothing. Stand there watching. You are none of you worth one hair of her head! None of you. You are traitors and liars!” He spat in their direction, and the worthies stepped further back, murmuring amongst themselves, irate at having to witness the insults of an offworlder.

“Yes, you may laugh!” he cried at them. “But I swear I will find out what has happened to my sister, and I give you my blood oath that I shall avenge her!”

Then, aware that he had taken too much time away from the search for Petra, he turned back to the task at hand. “Petra! Namuri! NAMURI!”

It took them over an hour to uncover the remains of the young girl, and they needed the help of long levers brought hurriedly down from one of the store rooms in the dome above. She was buried underneath a huge slab of stone, which had crushed the life out of her with consummate ease. The girl was lying peacefully, a smile on her face, as if, in the moment of her death she had sensed something wonderful.

Tallen bent to take the broken face in his hands. The tears fell unrestrained down his cheeks. His face was harrowed with a pain so intense he couldn’t bear it. He smoothed the hair back over the white face, and his own features seemed to blur into utter despair.

“Namuri!” He bent over her, and pressed his lips to the cold forehead. “Namuri!”

Grace was crying too. She began to gently brush the dust and pebbles from the girl’s body, freeing her from the rubble. Her throat had closed up, and she had no words to offer Tallen. She said nothing.

Diva was standing frozen to the spot. She wanted to say something, anything, but her voice had evaporated. She looked down at Tallen, then turned slowly, and walked away. Her face was bleak.

Six had dropped to his knees beside the body, and was slowly freeing it from the surrounding rocks. He and Ledin cleared a path to it, and then touched Tallen on the back. The expression in his eyes as he turned to them was one of such stark despair that they bent their own eyes to the ground. But the Namuri saw what they meant, and nodded. Bennel crept past Grace, and the four men began to extract the body from the rocks which had crushed the life out of it. It was a long process, and they wanted to touch her as gently as they could.

Grace fell back with Diva, and the remains of Petra slowly emerged from the darkness of the tunnel. Arcan had offered to help, but Tallen had shaken his head. “This is my privilege,” he had said. “It is my duty.” Then his young face had crumpled, and he had been unable to go on. With great tenderness, he ministered to his sister, treating her with such delicacy that she could have been a great queen.

And then she was free of her stone tomb, and they laid her carefully on a stretcher. The four men lifted her up, and began to escort her out of the tunnel where she had lost her life, with Diva and Grace following silently behind.

The Sellites they met on the way fell back, allowing them to pass, making no comment. The procession wove its way through the labyrinth of tunnels until it reached the Valhai Voting Dome, and then took Petra up the long entry passageway and out into the huge dome.

Here, Vion was waiting for them, his face long. He bent to examine the body. It took some time, but he was finally satisfied. “She was crushed to death,” he told them. Then he walked over to Tallen and held his hands up, in the binary salute. “I am sorry for your loss. May Almagest take her spirit into the heavenly triangle.”

Tallen stared, and then slowly held his own hands up to touch those of Vion. The others were not sure if he was aware of what was happening; his eyes were unfocused and he seemed to be moving as if in a haze.

“Where are you taking her?” Vion asked Tallen. “Would you like me to arrange burial here?”

Tallen shook his head. “She will go back to the clan,” he said. “I will take her back to Coriolis.”

Six stepped forwards. “We will all go. We will all go with you.”

Tallen seemed unaware of the import of the words. “I must take her home,” he whispered brokenly. “She must go home to the sacred marshes. She didn’t fail. She saved her emptor. The oath is broken, and she must go home. The namura stone will welcome her. She must be buried in the quickmire.” Then he folded down onto the magmite floor of the dome and stared around him with unseeing eyes. Grace sat beside him, and put her arm around him. The huge dome fell silent.

THE STRAGGLING GROUP which arrived on Coriolis was very different to the one which had landed there only a short time before. First came the funeral bier – a simple stretcher made of wood. This was carried at each corner by the men; Tallen and Bennel supported the front poles on their shoulders, Six and Ledin the back ones. Walking after them were Diva, Grace and Cimma. Grace’s mother had insisted on coming over from Kwaide to be with them for the funeral.

None of them spoke during the long walk across the Coriolan countryside. They soon turned away from the main road to Mesteta, and down a well-trodden trail through the grass up towards the marshlands to the west of the city.

As they walked, they gathered more followers. Grace noticed that people suddenly appeared from in amongst the trees, holding blue stones in front of them as the litter passed. Once this mark of respect for the deceased girl had been shown they fell in behind the procession, making absolutely no noise. Grace doubted that those carrying the pallet were even aware of the swelling ranks of the funeral procession.

Tallen’s eyes were blazing at the countryside. His insides were burning hot for revenge, and he would have razed all the opulent greenery of Coriolis with his stare, if he could. He wanted no sights of life; his own heart was dead. He trudged on, step after step, revelling in the pain which the pole gave him on his shoulder, wishing it would wear right through him so that he could go with her.

It took the slow line of mourners over three hours to reach the place where Petra was to be put to rest. By that time there were more than a thousand members of her clan following the simple wooden stretcher.

Diva looked around her. She could feel the resentment of these people, all of whom were armed, and she felt very uncomfortable. When they saw that one of the members of the procession was a meritocrat, their eyes opened, and she was aware of a wave of resentment, followed soon after by surprise. She hoped that none of them would decide that this was the moment to take civil disobedience to the next step. Her eyes set on the backs of the pall-bearers, she walked steadily on.

At last they seemed to reach the spot ordained for the ceremony. Tallen muttered some instructions out of the corner of his mouth, and the four men shuffled around with their burden until they were able to place it securely down on four flat stones which lay slightly off to the right of the beaten track.

They placed Petra’s remains on the rocks, and then stood where they were, proudly erect on each side of her funeral bier, forming a small honour guard for her.

Grace caught Tallen’s eye, and raised one eyebrow. He nodded, and she pressed the orthogel bracelet which she was wearing around her neck.

Almost immediately the orthogel entity arrived. He materialized slightly to the back of all those who had already accompanied them on the walk here, and he was not alone.

Standing as straight as he possibly could, and using a walking stick to help him, Mandalon 50 made his way unsteadily towards the bier and the waiting members of Petra’s clan. He was carrying an ornate wooden box, tucked under the arm which was not using the stick.

His face still bore witness to the ordeal he had been through, and so did the way he was walking. He was moving like an old-timer with space-bone disease, not like a twelve-year-old. The waiting Coriolans parted to let him make his slow way past and through them. They stared at him, curious to see an emptor at a clan funeral.

Eventually Mandalon reached the bier. With some difficulty, he propped the stick against his good leg, and opened the box he was carrying. Those watching noticed that he was missing one finger as he drew out a large oval object, wrapped in silk.

The Sellite leader’s hands shook slightly as he took the object out of its rich trappings, and the light suddenly found it. There was a gasp of awe from all those present. There, flashing a diamond-hard blue in the sunlight of Coriolis, was a namura stone the size of his fist. All those Namuri present held up their own stones and muttered a small chant.

“I ... I promised myself I would give her the biggest namura stone I could find,” said the Sellite boy, looking around at the gathered crowd. “I ... I just wish she could have lived to see it for herself.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

“She only taught me one Namuri chant,” he said, tears beginning to roll slowly down his face, “but I shall never forget it. I would like to recite it now, in her honour. Because she didn’t fail in her task. She gave her own life so that I could keep mine.

‘
I will not stop, I will be a river.

I will not pause, I will be light.’

All the Namuri present had begun to intone the words with Mandalon as soon as he had started to recite it. With their namura stones held up high, flashing a bright, deep blue in the fresh air of Coriolis, they helped him finish the chant.

‘I will not waver, I will be the earth.

I will not give up, I will be death.

I will not fail, for the blue stone is in my heart.’

Many of them were crying now, and Tallen thought that his heart would break from the sadness and the pride which struggled with each other. He was numb. Yet he was one of the few people not showing emotion. It was all churning inside his chest, but too recent for him to show to the rest of his clan. The ache inside was so strong that he felt he might fall in front of all of them, and disgrace himself. He tried to make himself breathe slowly, but the ragged sounds he was making told him that he was not achieving his goal.

Mandalon fell silent, and then turned to the oldest of those present, offering him the huge namura stone he had brought.

The clan leader accepted it, and nodded slowly. “The Namuri did well,” he said, in a thin but clear voice. “The oath she made has been honourably discharged. She has freed her people by her acts.”

There was a curious stomping sound, which Grace realized was approbation. She joined in, banging first one foot and then the other into the ground. Diva stared, and then began to stamp her own feet too, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

A group of four clan members stepped forwards, to flank the clan leader on both sides.

He raised his arm, which held a stick shaped like a serpent. “We receive this Namuri with the respect she deserves. We take her body back into our hearts and our land, relieving those that brought her here.”

The four clan members moved to exchange positions with Tallen, Bennel, Six and Ledin, all of whom stepped slightly to one side of the proceedings. They slipped a beautifully patterned shroud underneath the bier, hardly disturbing the dead girl on top.

The clan leader went on, “According to our traditions, only those worthy of the stone may be buried in the sacred marshes. This Namuri has proved herself and her family worthy of the honour, and her body is therefore entrusted to the eternal vigilance of the quickmire, where no meritocrats may find her, and where her heart will sing with the future generations of namura stone.”

The four clan members gently raised some threads at each corner of the shroud, took the weight of the bier on which she had been laid, and walked towards a particularly rich brown area of earth, just off the track, laying it down on the ground. Tallen gave a strangled moan.

Then the clan leader walked slowly up to the corpse and gathered the four lengths of woven threads which lay folded at the corners of the silk shroud, one from each carrier. He made a sign to Tallen, who came forwards to pay his last respects to his beloved sister.

One by one the others followed. Diva bowed her head, Grace sketched the Sell cross in the air, Six and Ledin mumbled something, and then Mandalon hobbled up last of all and stopped in front of her. He took something from his neck, and placed it on top of Petra’s body.

“You gave this to me to keep me safe,” he whispered. “And now I return it to you, that it may do the same for you. I am in your debt, and I shall never forget you.” He walked, with some difficulty, off to one side.

The clan leader raised his hands, lifting the threads together, and gestured behind him to a decrepit old woman, who had been standing to one side.

The woman moved deliberately towards a stark tree, which had obviously been clinging on to its existence in adverse conditions for centuries. It was twisted; its silhouette was a stark contrast to the rich colours of the countryside all around it.

The old woman unfastened one end of a rope from the tree, and handed it to the clan leader, who arranged his four threads in a complicated knot with a long pull string as a release, which he retained in his hand.

The old woman began to draw in her length of rope, and, to Grace’s surprise, the bier began to rise above the ground, and move towards the bright patch of earth some metres away. There was a pulley fixed high up in the crooked bows of the venerable tree, tied to a large, moveable arm made out of a smaller tree which at some time in the distant past had been felled. The arm was pinned to a bifurcation in the tree, and could be moved from side to side via another rope.

Diva looked at the ancient old woman, and felt a certain strange affinity with this custom. She looked around the clan out of the corner of her eye. None of the strong men were coming forward to help this aged woman. They were simply watching impassively as she bent her back and forced her tired muscles to do her bidding. With each movement, the bier moved one small distance nearer to its final resting place, with each creak of the threads, it traveled a few feet closer.

The rest of the clan were standing motionless, but all of them were holding out namura stones towards the marsh, their hands stretched out high in front of them, unwavering. Light flashed off the blue stones to pervade the ceremony with a strange dappling effect.

The old woman ignored the rest of the clan, and ignored her own hands, which were bleeding now, continuing solemnly with her task, maintaining the whole weight of the wooden pallet and its cargo in her bent and stiffened fingers. Gradually, the remains of the Namuri girl swung out over the dark earth and down, down until they touched the darkest patch of all.

There, the ancient woman paused, simply maintaining the body carefully just touching the land. Then the clan leader gave a quick pull of his thread, the knot untied itself, and the bier settled onto the few clumps of grass, surrounded by the shroud, which had opened out across the marsh, to display its intricate pattern one last time. The old woman pulled her ropes back, fastened them, and then stood facing the bier, with her hands spread open.

The waiting clan members began to stamp their feet on the ground again. As they did they started to make a humming noise, which grew and grew. The bier began to slowly sink into the quickmire, taking long minutes in its final journey. The ground trembled under the stamping feet, and the sound of humming filled the marshlands of Coriolis as the shroud gradually wrapped itself around the bier and Petra sank beneath the earth to be swallowed up forever into her natural grave. As she finally disappeared the Namuri fell absolutely silent. Nobody moved for a long minute, and then the clan began to disperse, its members vanishing into the background scenery as quickly as they had come.

ARCAN TOOK MANDALON back to Valhai immediately after the funeral on Coriolis. The young leader had now only two days to recover sufficiently to lead the Second Valhai Votation, and was struggling to stay upright after the stress of the funeral rites.

Arcan deposited the leader of Sell gently on the 1st floor of the medical skyrise, where Vion 49 was waiting.

Mandalon stumbled and nearly fell as he arrived back on Valhai. Vion hurried forwards to help him onto one of the available daybeds.

“I told you that you shouldn’t go!” he scolded.

Mandalon smiled. “I know you did, but I owed her that much. I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for her.”

“Then you should take the gift she gave you, and care for it.” Vion was critical. “You should not risk that life that she gave you.”

Mandalon waved away the risk. “I am not that much of an invalid. Besides, all I need is a bit of rest. If I spend the remainder of the day in bed, I will be fine by tomorrow. You will see. I am no sickly weedling!”

“You nearly died down in that corridor. You are in no condition to lead the Votation the day after tomorrow!”