Glory Season (70 page)

“Don’t forget to bring enough ammo, Racila,” the leader told a slight, scar-faced pirate, who pounded the crate shut again. “All right, you lot, let’s get back, or Togay’ll have us eatin’ air for a week.”

Maia tried to take up the rear, but the leader insisted that she go ahead, tromping with the others down the gangplank, onto the pier, and then along thumping, resonant wooden slats toward where bright sconces cast twin pools of brilliance on both sides of the sanctuary entrance.

Loaded rifles, shouted calls, groups of anxious women hurrying through the night. This was surely no Farsun Eve
celebration. What in the name of the Founders was going on? For Maia, the worst moment came as they climbed spacious, cracked steps and passed under the fierce electric dazzle of the sconces. When she wasn’t denounced on the spot, she realized it hadn’t been darkness that saved her, back at the ship.

Either there are so many women in the gang that they don’t all know each other
—which seemed highly unlikely—
or else they think I’m Leie.

The possibility of playing such a ruse—pretending to be her sister—had naturally occurred to Maia. Only it had seemed too obvious, too risky. All Stratoin children, whether clone or var, learned to notice subtle differences among “identical” women. Leie no doubt wore her hair differently, carried distinct scars, and would acknowledge with a thousand disparate cues that she knew these people who were utter strangers to Maia. Besides, what to do when Leie herself showed up?

Maia had finally chosen to try the subterfuge only if stealth utterly failed. Now there was no choice. She could only try brazening it out.

“This dam’ hole is big as a scullin city!” One short, rough-looking var in the group told Maia
sotto voce
as they marched up the broad, splintered portico, then between tall, gaping doors. “We must’ve sniffed a hunnerd rooms already. Can’t blame ya for duckin’ out to catch a snore.”

Shrugging like an unrepentant schoolgirl caught playing hooky, Maia muttered in mimicry of the other woman’s sour tone. “You can say that again! I never signed up for all this runnin’ around. Had any luck yet?”

“Nah. Ain’t seen beard nor foreskin o’ the vrilly crett since watch shift, despite the reward Togay’s offered.”

That confirmed Maia’s dawning suspicion.
They’re searching for someone. A man.
Her chest pounded.
Renna.
She suppressed her feelings.
You can’t be sure of that, yet. It
might be another prisoner. One of the Manitou crew, for instance.

The entrance showed signs of that long-ago battle that had shaken Jellicoe with blasts from outer space. A rough-cut, makeshift portal of poorly dressed and buttressed stone led from the shattered steps into a vestibule that might once have been beautiful, with finely fluted pilasters, but now bore jagged cracks. Rude cement repairs had peeled under attack by salt and age.

These effects ebbed as the group passed into the sanctuary proper, where thick walls had sheltered a grand entrance foyer. From there, broad hallways stretched north, south, and east. Strings of dim electric bulbs cast islets of illumination every ten meters or so, powered by a hissing, coal-fired generator. Beyond those light pools, each passage faded into mystifying darkness, broken by brief glimpses of occasional bobbing lanterns. Distant, echoing calls told of feverish action, nearly swallowed by the chill obscurity.

At first sight, the place reminded Maia of her first imprisonment—that smaller, newer sanctuary in Long Valley—another citadel of chiseled passages and thick, masculine pillars. Only here, the scent of ages hung in the air. Soot streaks and daubed graffiti on the walls and ceilings told of countless prior visitors, from hermits to treasure hunters, who must have come exploring over the centuries, torches in hand. By comparison, the pirates were well-equipped.

There was another difference. In this place, the walls were lined with a deeply incised frieze, running horizontally just above eye-level. As far as Maia could make out, the carved adornment ran the length of each hallway, snaking into and out of every room, and consisted entirely of sequences of letters in the eighteen-symbol liturgical alphabet.

Taking the center route, which plunged deeper into
the mountain, Maia’s party passed through a stately hall where flames crackled in a spacious, sculpted hearth, underneath gothic vaulting. There was no furniture, only a few rugs thrown on the ground. Bottles lay strewn about, along with mugs and gambling equipment, all abandoned in apparent haste. “Seems an awful lot o’ trouble,” Maia probed, choosing the nearby short var who had spoken before. “I don’t s’poze anyone’s suggested we just set sail, and leave the vril behind?”

A wide-eyed glance from the husky little reaver told Maia volumes. The spoken response was barely a hiss. “Go suggest it yerself! If Togay ‘n’ Baltha don’t quick make ya swim like a lugar, I may say aye, too.”

Maia hid a smile. Only loss of their chief prize would provoke such wrath. Although this would make Maia’s own task of finding Renna harder, it was nevertheless great news to hear that he had given them the slip.
Now to reach him before they get really desperate.

Abruptly, Maia recalled what she was carrying in her arms—long, finely machined articles of wood and metal and packaged death. The weapons gave off a tangy smell of bitter oil and gunpowder. Apparently, after hours of searching, someone had decided: that which cannot be recaptured must not be lost to others.

The anomalous frieze helped distract Maia from her nervous dread. As the group passed room after empty room, they were accompanied by that row of stately, engraved letters, punctuated by occasional, ill-repaired cracks. Now and then, she recognized a run-on passage from the Fourth Book of Lysos, the so-called Book of Riddles. Other stretches of text seemed to parrot nonsense syllables, as if the symbols had been chosen by an illiterate artist who cared more how they looked next to each other than what they said. The effect, nevertheless, was one of grand and timeless reverence.

Certainly males were welcome to worship in the Orthodox
church, which even attributed them true souls. Still, this wasn’t what you expected to find in a place built solely for men. Perhaps, long ago, males were more tightly knit into the communion of spiritual life on Stratos, before the era of glory, terror, and double-betrayal leading from the Great Defense to the toppling of the Kings.

The group continued past gaping doorways and black, empty rooms, which must have already been searched hours ago. Finally, they arrived at another vast foyer, encompassing six spacious stone staircases, three descending and three ascending, again divided among the directions north, south, and east. It was a monumental chamber, and the running frieze of enigmatic psalms expanded to glorify every bare surface, seeming all the more mysterious for the stark shadows cast by a few bare bulbs shining angularly across deeply incised letters. All this grand architecture might have impressed Maia, if she did not know of greater vaulting wonders that lay just a kilometer or two from here—secret catacombs containing power unimaginable to these ambitious reavers. The reminder of her enemies’ fallibility cheered Maia a little.

Two bored-looking fighters stood watch at this nexus point, armed with cruelly sharpened trepp bills. They spoke together in low voices, and barely glanced at the passing work party. Which suited Maia just fine. She averted her face anyway.

The string of electric lights continued down only one staircase to the right, while Maia’s group plunged straight across the open foyer to the dark center steps, leading upward and further into the heart of the dragon’s tooth. Two lantern-bearers turned up the wicks of their oil lamps. As Maia and the others climbed, she glanced down and caught sight of several figures, two levels below, standing at the start of the illuminated hallway. Four women were exchanging heated words, pointing and
shouting. Maia felt a chill traverse her back, on hearing one harsh voice. She recognized a shadowed face.

Baltha.
The erstwhile mercenary stood next to one of the other Manitou traitors, a wiry var Maia had known as Riss. They were debating with two women she had never seen before. Emphasizing a point, Baltha turned and began waving toward the stairs, causing Maia to duck back and hasten after her companions. High on her list of priorities was to avoid contact with that particular var, not least because Baltha would recognize her in a shot.

Maia’s group plunged deeper into the mountain. Since leaving the last electric light, stiltlike shadows seemed to flutter from their legs and bodies, fleeing the lanterns like animated caricatures of fear. To Maia, the effect seemed to mock the brief, earnest concerns of the living. Each time a black silhouette swept into one of the empty rooms, it was like some prodigal spirit returning to exchange greetings with shades of those long dead.

If experience had taught Maia to endure water, and even enjoy heights, she felt certain her habituation to deep tunnels would never grow beyond grudging tolerance. She could stand them, but would never find confines like these appealing. Of late, she had begun wondering if men did, either. Perhaps they built this way because they had no other choice.

Maia leaned toward the woman warrior she had exchanged words with, earlier. “Uh, where are they … er, we … looking for him, now?” She asked in a low voice. Her words seemed to skitter along the walls.

“Up,” the short, husky pirate replied. “Five, six levels. Found some windows lookin’ over both sea an’ lagoon. We’re to skiv anyone comin’ or goin’, them’s the orders. We also look for any signs the vril’s been that high. Footprints in the dust, and such. Cheer up, maybe we’ll get th’ reward, yet.”

The ruddy-faced var leading the party glared briefly at
the one talking to Maia, who grimaced a silent insult when the leader’s back was turned once more.

“What about the room where he was kept?” Maia whispered. “Any clues there?”

A shrug. “Ask Baltha.” The reaver motioned with a vague nod behind them. “She was still checkin’ out the cell, after everyone else had a turn.” The reaver shivered, as if unhappy to remember something weird, even frightening.

Maia pondered as they walked on silently. Clearly, this expedition was taking her farther from any useful clues. But how to get away?

At last, the group arrived at the end of the long hallway, where a narrow portal introduced a spiral staircase set inside a cylinder of stone. The women had to enter single file. Maia hung back, shifting from one leg to the other. When the boss woman looked at her, Maia acted embarrassed and pushed the rifles into the older woman’s arms. “I have to … you know.”

The squad leader sighed, holding a lantern. “I’ll wait.”

Maia feigned mortification. “No. Really. Climbing’s simple. No way to get lost, and there’s a rail. I’ll catch up before you’re two levels up.”

“Mm. Well, hurry then. Fall too far behind th’ lantern, and you’ll deserve t’get lost.”

The leader turned away as Maia ducked into a nearby empty room. When the footsteps receded, Maia emerged and, with only a distant glow to guide her, swiftly retraced the way they had come.
Could I have gotten away with holding onto a rifle?
she wondered, and concluded this had been the right choice. Nothing would have been more likely to elicit suspicion and alarm. Under these circumstances, the weapon would have been a hindrance.

Soon she arrived back at the great nexus hall and cautiously looked down. Two guards still kept watch where the string of light bulbs made a downstairs turn.
Maia would have to get by them, and then past Baltha and Riss, in order to reach the site where Renna had been kept, and vanished. That was clearly the best place to look for clues.

Do I dare?
The plan seemed rash, more than audacious.
Maybe there’s another way. If all passages end in spiral stairs, there may be one at the far end of the south hall—

Sounds of commotion reached her ears. Maia crouched next to the stone banister and watched as women converged on the guard post from two directions. Climbing from below came Baltha, Riss, and two tall vars, one carrying an air of authority to match Baltha’s. At the landing, the foursome turned and looked west, toward the sanctuary entrance, where a single figure appeared, a slender shadow marching before her. Maia felt a numb frisson when she recognized the silhouette.

“You sent for me, Togay?” the newcomer asked the tallest reaver, whose strong-boned features stood out in the harsh light.

“Yes, Leie,” the commanding presence said in an educated, Caria City accent. “I am afraid it’s out of my hands, now. You are to be kept under confinement until the alien is found, and thereafter till we sail.”

Maia’s sister had her face turned away from the light. Still, her shock and upset were plain. “But Togay, I explained—”

“I know. I told them you’re among our brightest, hardest working young mates. But since the events on Grimké, and especially tonight—”

“It’s not my fault Maia escaped! Isn’t it enough she died for it? As for the prisoner, he just disappeared! I wasn’t anywhere near—”

Baltha’s companion cut in. “You was seen talkin’ to the Outsider, just like your sister!” Riss turned to Togay and made a chopping motion. “Like seeks as seeks like. Ain’t that what they say? You may be right ‘bout her bein’
no clone, an’ I guess she don’t smell like a cop. But what if she wants revenge for her twin? Remember how she was against us tuckin’ in Corsh an’ his boys? I say drop her in the lagoon, just to be safe.”

“Togay!” Leie cried imploringly. But the tall, strong-jawed woman looked at her sternly and shook her head. With an expression of satisfaction, Baltha motioned at the two guards, who stepped alongside the fiver and took her elbows. Leie’s shoulders slumped as she was led away. All seven women descended the southward set of stairs, leaving behind a dusty, silent emptiness.

Creeping as quietly as possible, wary of the betraying reach of shadows, Maia followed.

A single electric cable continued down to the lower level, bulbs spaced far apart. Maia let the reavers and their captive get some distance ahead before hurrying after in short bursts, ducking into dark doorways whenever any of the women seemed to even hint at turning around. After they passed into a side corridor, she sped at a dead run, stopping at the edge to cautiously peer around.