The Hanging Mountains (19 page)

Marmion opened his arms, a picture of wounded innocence. ‘I didn’t lie to you. Before, you were a potential obstacle. Now, your mother believes our problems to be connected. You are quite correct in pointing out that we are in your territory now. We cannot proceed on our own. By the same token you need us just as much. The flood affects us all. We must work together to strike at its source.’

Delfine fumed on, but her mother seemed mollified. ‘Your name, warden?’

‘Eisak Marmion. May we have yours?’

‘Caroi Delfine, Guardian of the Forest. Is this one your guide?’ She raised a hand to point at Chu.

‘No. She is one of our party, a citizen of Laure.’

The Guardian’s expression turned sour. ‘An Outcast, then.’

Marmion didn’t argue the point. ‘We came here in innocence, knowing nothing of your laws.’

‘She
should know.’

Skender felt Chu fairly vibrating with the need to defend herself. The wing lay at her feet and her hands hung clenched tightly at her sides. She, like him, was looking filthy and worn after their dunking in mud, dousing in freezing water, and long trek up a mountainside. The bags under her eyes were as dark as her pupils.

‘She
didn’t
know,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘She
was raised by a mother who didn’t once tell her about the place her ancestors came from.
She
came here hoping to find out what sort of people they might have been. And
she,
she’s got to say, is not very impressed so far.’

Heuve showed his teeth in warning. Lidia Delfine looked pained and, in that moment, much younger than she ever had before. ‘Mother — Guardian ... I didn’t desire to bring her here, but we were attacked by the Panic and there seemed no alternative. I am aware that by doing so I too have broken the law. That seemed better than leaving her to die.’

‘I see.’ Her mother’s expression became less stony. ‘It’s clear I need to hear the full story before leaping to any conclusions. You and you —’ one long, elegant finger stabbed at Marmion and Chu ‘— stay here. The others may rest.’

‘Hey —’ Skender began to protest, but was cut off when the finger pointed at him.

‘Not you, young mage. There is someone else who needs to make your acquaintance.’ The Guardian’s lips tightened. To a silver-clad aide within the cloisters, she said, ‘Tell the observer to attend at his earliest convenience in a sub-chamber of your choice.’ The aide bowed and moved off. ‘Heuve?’ Lidia Delfine’s bodyguard looked surprised to be addressed directly. He bowed and moved forward. ‘What is that mark on my daughter’s arm?’

The big man remained bowed before her, every muscle frozen. ‘Forgive me, Guardian. I take full responsibility.’

‘No.’ Lidia Delfine stepped in front of him, hiding the cut with one hand as though ashamed of it. ‘It’s not his fault. The Panic attacked when my guard was down. Heuve did his best to protect me. I—’

She fell silent. Her mother had raised her hand with a swish of fabric and indicated that she should move aside.

‘I thank you, Heuve, for bringing my daughter back to me alive. I would not lose two of my children in one week.’

Heuve dared raise his eyes and saw the Guardian smiling at him with tears in her eyes. He flushed from hairline to beard, and backed away.

Skender felt a hand tug at the sleeve of his robe. Aides had stepped from the shadows to take him away. He went reluctantly, looking over his shoulder at Chu. She stood defiantly on her own. As he slipped into the thicket of pillars, her gaze met his, and she shrugged.

‘Who do you think you’re going to meet?’ asked Eitzen as the aides guided them back down the stairs, the rows of blank-faced guards as stony as man’kin.

Skender shrugged.

‘Call us if you need help,’ said Warden Banner, touching his arm. Her warm round face and curly hair combined in a picture of maternal concern, and his thoughts turned automatically to his parents, so far away. What were they doing? Were they worried about him? Would he ever see his father again, high in the cave-like warrens of the Keep?

At the base of the stairs, the aide guided him in a different direction to the others.

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ he told Banner. ‘If anything happens, you’ll hear me hollering up and down the mountain.’

Banner smiled and waved, and then he was on his own.

* * * *

The Observatory

‘Imagining the future is no great feat. Seers do it

every day. Imagining a future without us in it is

the greater challenge.’

THE BOOK OF TOWERS,
EXEGESIS 19:8

hilly and Tom trailed Ramal closely enough to make it clear they were keeping up, but not so close as to breathe down her neck. The female soldier radiated a low-level hostility that discouraged any attempt at familiarity or conversation. Rosevear walked beside Kemp, still slung between two solid guards whose creaking leather uniforms made a counterpoint to the steady slapping of their sandals. Ramal led them along a confusing route through the Panic city, grunting with annoyance when the humans failed to keep up. Shilly doubted she could have retraced their steps. She wasn’t seriously considering making a break for it, but if she had been, that alone would have made her think twice.

Tom didn’t appear at all worried that they were captives of strange creatures in a city far from home. He seemed perfectly happy, craning his head to glimpse the sweeping curves of the structures around them. Every time they turned a corner, something new came into view. Surprises constantly loomed at them out of the mist. Panic children suspended upside-down by ropes above a net strung between two buildings, tossing a ball backwards and forwards in some kind of game; a low-pitched elegy sung by a deep-voiced male with a throaty flute accompaniment; a curling, tenuous sculpture of mist formed by three gold-clad Panic females waving large fans back and forth; rows and rows of thin wooden planks suspended from parallel cables that rocked faintly in the night air, purpose unknown. It was enough to make Shilly feel dizzy.

‘Is Sal going to be all right?’ she asked Tom, unable to stop worrying about the others, as well as herself.

The young seer nodded. His hair had sprung up into vigorous waves thanks to all the moisture in the air. It bobbed like a living thing. ‘I see you two together, at the end.’

Of course,
she thought.
Arguing about how the world will end.
‘Would you tell me if you knew otherwise? If you’d dreamed that he was going to die?’

He turned to look at her, frowning. ‘Would you want me to tell you?’

‘Of course, so I could do something about it.’

‘But what if I said you couldn’t? How would you feel then?’

Shilly couldn’t imagine what that would be like. She didn’t
want
to imagine. ‘I think I’d want to know anyway.’

‘I’ve dreamed all our deaths,’ he said, as calmly as though talking about the weather.

‘What?’ Her stomach felt suddenly hollow. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Of course. Yours. Mine. Sal’s. Kemp’s.’ He looked away, following with his gaze the curvaceous sweep into cloud of a tethered building. ‘But they’re not necessarily real. You know how dreams — real dreams, not a seer’s dreams — are about everyday stuff? Things we forgot to do, or should have done, or wish we could do?’ She nodded. ‘Well, being a seer is part of who I am, so I dream about it. I dream about seeing things. Those sorts of dreams sometimes aren’t about knowing what’s going to happen, but how it
feels to
know.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s very complicated.’

So she was beginning to appreciate. ‘You dream about seeing the people you know die — and then what? You try to help them?’

‘No. I know I can’t. There’s nothing I can do. I’m trapped.’

‘Goddess. That sounds awful.’

Tom nodded.

Ramal guided them across a broad walkway to a giddyingly high beanstalk of a tower, its base steadied by cables tied to five neighbouring structures. Its top disappeared into the clouds that were growing lighter with approaching dawn. Shilly pictured a lighthouse taken between two gigantic hands, stretched, and given a slight twist. They stepped through a gaping circular door into a round room with a caged platform in its centre and the base of a spiralling ladder-staircase to the left. There was no ceiling. Windows dotted the tubular interior, letting in shafts of pure white light. High above, the top of the tower faded into a blur.

‘The injured ones go in there,’ Ramal said, pointing at the cage. Her voice was rough and matter-of-fact. ‘The rest of us will climb.’

Shilly and Rosevear watched anxiously as Kemp’s two guards lifted him from the stretcher and arranged him on the floor of the cage.

‘Now you,’ said Ramal, pointing at Shilly.

‘Me? I’m not injured. A long time ago, yes, but —’

‘The ascent is steep and exhausting, even for those whole of body,’ said the Panic soldier, glancing upwards. Her dark recessed eyes glinted. ‘Your pride is not my concern.’

She indicated the cage again, and Shilly climbed aboard. One of Ramal’s fellow soldiers shut and locked the door behind her. He untied a cord fixed to one side of the cage and gave it an almighty tug. Seconds later, the cage lifted off the ground and began its smooth ascent to the top of the tower.

‘Uh.’ Shilly shifted awkwardly, unable to stand fully upright. The cage was wider than it was tall, and wasn’t built with human comfort in mind. Its floor consisted of nothing but wire netting. After waving nervously to Tom and Rosevear, she swore not to look down for any reason.

The cage rose at walking pace, powered, she assumed, by a chimerical engine at the top of the tower. If she moved, it swayed slightly, so she stopped doing that too. All in all, it struck her as a rather strange contrivance. Why have stairs
and
an elevator? Perhaps to ferry supplies to whatever lay at the top.

Kemp stirred at her feet. His waxen forehead crinkled.

‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ she told him. ‘It’s all under control. Probably.’

She tilted her head upwards, hoping to gain a glimpse of their destination. The lines of windows converged impossibly far up — so far that she was soon heartily glad not to be climbing, despite the awkwardness of the cage.

A strange feeling overcame her. She squatted down on her haunches, feeling suddenly dizzy. The thin wire seemed to twinkle under her fingers.

The Change,
Shilly thought. Some kind of charm, and a powerful one at that, was at work in the tower. She couldn’t fight it, but she did her best to study its effects.

The swaying of the cage slowed; her limbs grew heavy; time dragged to a halt.

Then she blinked and the effects of the charm had vanished. She looked around her, then up, and saw the top of the tower’s shaft finally coming into view.

She stood up as the cage creaked to a halt, suspended from the complicated-looking system of pulleys and wheels that had lifted it so high. The cage had risen into the centre of a broad, disc-shaped room with windows all around the outer wall. She had an unobstructed view of the entire space. Bookshelves, workbenches, chairs, cushions — all demonstrated that this was an inhabited space. But where was its inhabitant? There was no sign of the mysterious Vehofnehu.

‘Hello?’ she called. Bright yellow light poured through the windows, casting golden glints off instruments and ornaments. It was difficult to tell which was which. ‘Is anybody here?’

Something occurred to her as she waited for a response:
yellow
light, not white. The only way that could be was if the tower poked straight out the top of the forest’s permanent cloud cover.

‘Do I hear someone calling?’ An unusual head popped up from behind a workbench. What hair remained — in a narrow tuft around the ears — was frizzy and grey. His distinctive Panic brow and mouth were heavily wrinkled and age-spotted. ‘Is that a visitor on my stoop? Ah!’ On seeing Shilly and Kemp, the speaker stood up and smoothed down a faded aqua robe. Angular joints stood out beneath the fabric. ‘I’m not ready. No. Had no warning. No warning in the slightest. This won’t do, won’t do at all.’ The grizzled Panic male bustled about, muttering and looking for something. Beyond that quick initial glance, he seemed happy to ignore Shilly completely.

‘Are you Vehofnehu?’ she asked him, swivelling to keep him in her line of sight as he overturned cushions and upended piles of notes.

‘Eh? Oh, that’s just one of my names. I’ve had several. Ha!’ From beneath a ceramic plant pot that contained nothing but a bare stick the strange figure produced an ornate key, which he held up in triumph. ‘Knew it was here somewhere. Hold still, young human girl. I won’t keep you dangling much longer.’

The cage hung in a hole surrounded by gleaming brass rails. All the furniture in the room pointed away from the hole — bookcases, desks, chairs — except at one point where a small gangplank rested, hinged away for storage. A tube dangled over the rail near that point, terminating in an ornate nozzle. The other end of the tube disappeared into the floor. Vehofnehu picked up the tube and blew into it, then recoiled when a cloud of dust blew back at him.

‘I told you to give me notice when you send me visitors,’ he barked into the nozzle. ‘It’s discourteous and improper. What if I’d been working on something important? What if you’d distracted me?’

A tinny voice, too low for Shilly to decipher, squeaked back at him, and he held the nozzle to his ear for a moment.

‘That’s as may be,’ he said, ‘but the fact remains. I—’

More squeaking. Vehofnehu nodded, then rolled his eyes at Shilly. ‘I’d better not keep her waiting then, had I? We don’t want to add insult to injury.’ He draped the tube over the rail, ignoring the ongoing squawk from the far end. ‘Now,’ he said, tugging a section of railing out of the way and unfolding the gangplank, ‘let’s take a look at your sick friend.’

He shuffled out to the cage, unconcerned by the height, and worked the key in the lock. His hands were sure and steady, despite his age. The cage door sprang open, but Shilly was prevented from exiting by a hand held palm outwards at her. She didn’t move, more startled by the odd symmetries of his thumb and fingers than by the gesture itself.