Fourteen

Tarlain huddled shivering in his burrow. Well, it was more like a cave really, a cold damp cave, but it felt like a burrow. Outside, yet another storm raged. The wind moaned through the tunnel complex and streams of water trickled through the vent holes dotted the length of the passageways that honeycombed the area. Despite the weeks of being here, he was still no closer to understanding the layout of the place. One tunnel looked just the same as any other and he had no idea how the Kallathik managed to find their way unerringly from one place to the next. At least he assumed they did. For all he knew they could be blundering around from chamber to chamber oblivious. It was not beyond belief, because despite his time here, here in the very heart of their lives, he was still no nearer to a true appreciation of how their minds worked. Either way, they seemed to have a faultless sense of where they were going in the confusing network of passages and tunnels, ambling slowly along with their customary unhurried pace, scraping along the metallic floors and walls. But then, he didn’t know how they told each other apart either. There was quite a lot he didn’t seem to understand.

He stifled a sneeze and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Oh what he’d give for a warm room and a proper bed right at this moment. It hadn’t been so bad before the storms had really set in, and they were nowhere near the worst of it yet. Curse his own impetuosity. It was all well and good to have ideals, but it was easier to have them when you were warm and comfortably dry. He stood and shuffled over to the shelves on the other side of the room, the blanket still draped around him. At least there was no vent hole above this particular room, so it didn’t collect the run-off water directly. The damp still made its way in though, seeping into every crack and space within the entire colony. The Kallathik didn’t seem to mind slopping through puddle after puddle, dragging trails of greasy moisture along the tunnel floors behind them. Muttering to himself, he reached for the small oil stove that sat on one of the shelves, set it down in the middle of the table, and pumped it a few times to get the oil flowing through the system. When he thought he’d primed it enough, he pressed the ignition button and the acrid, sharp smell of burning ajura oil filled the chamber as the pale yellow-green flame blossomed into life.

Tarlain wrinkled his nose, not that he was all that sensitive to smells any more. His own smell had ceased to bother him a couple of weeks ago. It was one of the hazards of being buried away here in the heart of the Kallathik tunnels. The Kallathik appeared to have no need of bathing. At least he’d seen no evidence of it so far. In the meantime, Tarlain had made a few brief trips to the nearby mining facilities to wash and clean up a little, pick up supplies and seek some word of his family. Now, with the weather, and the land’s growing instability, he was forced to keep to the tunnels for days at a time, going out of his mind with boredom. And all the while, he’d heard nothing. Nothing. Not from Karnav Din Baltir, not from Karin nor his father. Nothing.

He would have expected lack of contact from Roge, but he had had some hope that at least Karnav might have made some effort to contact him. After all their long discussions and the plans they had constructed late into the night, after everything they had spoken about, it was unbelievable that the Guildmaster had made no attempt. That lack suddenly made him wonder about Din Baltir and his motivations. What was it that had changed so quickly?

Shaking his head, Tarlain reached for the large water jug and filled a pot that he placed on top of the stove to heat. A strong, hot mug of tea might make him feel a little better, bring back some semblance of humanity. As he placed the jug back down, he noted that the water was getting low — he must remember to refill it. He glanced up at the shelves. The food containers were dwindling too. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to make another expedition to restock supplies before long. Another trip to the mining facilities, about half a day’s travel from here would be a welcome relief from the claustrophobic oppression of the tunnels, but he would have to wait for the weather to lift and that was another thing over which he had absolutely no control.

As he sipped his tea, he thought over the past few weeks, the litany of failure. For the first few days after he’d arrived, Tarlain had started to try and build the vision that he and Karnav Din Baltir had spoken of together. The fire of that vision burning inside him, he had wandered the endless tunnels and passageways, seeking an audience for his impassioned words among the Kallathik. That had been the idea. And instead, he had met disappointment. Slowly, the fire had dwindled, fading to a guttering flame. Once or twice, he had become hopelessly lost and spent hours, even whole days trying to find his way back to his meager cubby hole. The Kallathik had been unhelpful at best, either ignoring him completely, shoving him aside with their large bulk as they ambled up the passageways, or failing to understand what he wanted when he finally managed to attract their attention for a moment or two. There were times he could have cursed the damned aliens for their stupid incomprehension. He caught himself and frowned at the strength of the thought — his people were the aliens here, not the Kallathik. Hundreds of years, hundreds of Seasons, but they were still the aliens. And still this cursed world tried to reject them.

A creak and groan came from further down the corridor as something within the surrounding landscape shifted. He sat where he was, waiting to see if it was the herald of something new. They had had a brief quake about ten days ago, and the noise had almost deafened him, metallic booming noises pulsing through the entire complex, loud creaks and the sound of metal under stress. How the Kallathik lived with it Storm Season after Storm Season, he had no idea. He swallowed the last few drops of tea and placed the mug carefully back down. After a few more seconds had passed, he sighed and relaxed a little, feeling the tension go out of his shoulders. It looked like they were clear for now. He glanced around the chamber. This was no place for a person to live. No place at all. The Kallathik could have it.

Standing again, he shrugged off the blanket and bundled it onto the bed. He had either to achieve something here, or leave, find some other way to do what he needed to. Enough. Curse his father anyway. Sufficient time had passed. He could spend the rest of his life down here moping, but it would achieve absolutely nothing. And dammit, he would achieve something here. He had to.

Resolved, he moved to the high, roughly shaped doorway leading out from the chamber. He felt around the edge, searching for the scratched star shape he had scored into the metal on the other side. He didn’t need to check that it was there, but it gave him a sense of comfort knowing that it was. He stepped out into the corridor’s gloom and headed deeper into the complex. It was hard in the semi-dark avoiding the pools of water, and before long, his boots were damp, squelching with every step he took. At each intersection, he felt for his mark, tracing his fingers across the metallic surface, confirming that he was traveling in a direction he knew would actually lead him somewhere rather than around and around, retracing his own steps. It would do no good to get lost yet again and spend the rest of the day wandering aimlessly through the passageways trying to find his way. Somewhere down in this direction, he knew the central meeting chambers lay. He’d been there once or twice, and if anywhere, that was where he was going to find his proper audience.

He found another mark at the entrance to a tunnel, and headed down that way. He’d not gone a dozen steps, when a vast shape loomed out of the darkness ahead of him, and he was forced to press himself flat against the wall or risk being scraped along beside the shuffling Kallathik. He stifled a curse and when he was sure the beast had no companion trailing along behind, peeled himself off the wall and stepped out into the passageway once more. He shook his head at the thought. Even he was starting to refer to the Kallathik as beasts in his own mind. That was not good. It was not good at all.

He sloshed down the corridor, heading toward a patch of light that he knew to be another randomly placed vent hole to the surface. There seemed to be no pattern to the spacing, but the murky shafts of light gave welcome relief from the gloomy dampness of the corridor’s depths.

He reached the end of one passageway, and feeling around for the mark on each wall of the connecting branches, located his direction. This far in, the tunnels were slightly warmer, the atmosphere thick with humidity, and over it all lay the tang of damp metal. He hadn’t believed before coming here, that metal would have such a distinctive smell, but it was everywhere around him, different from the smell of damp earth, or of wet wood. At least it didn’t have the sharp unpleasantness of burning ajura oil, but it wasn’t a smell he’d look forward to ever again if he finally got out of here. He had a sudden vision of a much older Tarlain, dressed in tatters and wandering through the darkened corridors muttering to himself. He grimaced and shook the thought away.

A scraping sound further down the tunnel alerted him to the approach of another Kallathik. Forewarned this time, he was flat against the wall before the creature was upon him. As it drew closer, it slowed. It took one more step, and then stopped completely. The vast head swiveled to face him directly. Several moments passed, and though Tarlain couldn’t make out its features in the dim light, it was apparently regarding him. A moment more, and it seemed to make up its mind. It took another step closer, then stopped. Tarlain waited. To have been noticed at all was one thing, but to be worthy of such sudden attention was another thing entirely.

The Kallathik drew close to him. It tilted its head to look down on him. “You are lost,” it said. It was a question.

“No, I’m just...”

“You are lost,” repeated the Kallathik. This time it was not a question. “You should be with the others.”

“Others? But—” Tarlain bit off the rest of what he had been going to say. Others? Who else could be here? Perhaps finally Din Baltir had come looking for him, or perhaps someone from his father. “Yes, of course,” he said quickly.

“What are you doing here?” The Kallathik stared at him with its impenetrable gaze.

“I... I just needed a breath of fresh air. I went for a walk. I guess I lost my directions.”

The Kallathik said nothing for several long moments, just standing there, peering down at him. Tarlain’s unease grew. He cleared his throat. The Kallathik turned its head to look up the passage down which Tarlain had just traveled, then turned back to peer down at him again.

“Go back down this passage,” it said. “Continue to the end. Turn. Walk more. It will lead you to the chamber with the others.” It looked at him for several moments more, as if determining what it had just said had sunk in, then turned to face back up the passage and continued on its way.

Tarlain, still pressed flat against the tunnel wall, could barely believe what he had just heard. The sound of the Kallathik scraping up the passageway faded to dull, distorted echoes, then drifted away entirely. Tarlain was left alone once more in the gloom. He could not remember ever hearing a Kallathik utter such an extended group of clear, meaningful sentences. And it was about something apparently unimportant. He frowned. Strange. But still not as strange as there being someone else here. And the Kallathik had assumed he had been part of a group. What group? What group could possibly be here? Perhaps it was something to do with Roge, or maybe Din Baltir really had finally sent someone. But if that were the case, they would have surely come looking for him. He pushed himself from the wall and headed in the direction that the Kallathik had indicated.

At the junction, he found one of his marks on the adjoining wall. Thinking about it, he pulled out his knife and scored another, just below the first and parallel to it. This was a tunnel he needed to remember. He ran his fingers over the twin marks, making sure they were deep enough, the returned his knife to his belt. There. On the way back, he would make other, similar marks at all of the intersections leading to this particular part of the complex. He’d had quite enough of wandering aimlessly through this warren.

As he neared the chamber at the end of the last passage, the sound of voices drifted vaguely through the heavy air. He couldn’t make out individual words, but he could tell there was more than one voice. A man’s voice, followed by a different man’s voice, and a Kallathik followed that. Then the second man’s voice came again. Tarlain slowed, drawing closer to the wall, his sudden caution prompted by memories of the last time he and his father had spoken. He didn’t know who these people were or what they were doing here, deep in the Kallathik network. His senses singing, he crept toward the yellowish glow issuing from the passageway’s end.

Atavists! In the center of the vast meeting chamber stood an odd group—two Atavists and several Kallathik. They were clustered on a raised rock platform, typically used for the formal speaking of one or more of the Kallathik leaders. Lamps lit the edges of the chamber, probably as a concession to the Atavists themselves, though Tarlain had never quite worked out how the Kallathik managed to light lamps, or why they would use them in the first place. He moved as close as he could to the opening into the chamber, still pressed tightly against the wall. He strained to make out what they were saying, leaning as far forward as he felt was safe without risking discovery. The darkness of the tunnel itself, and the dim lighting should protect him from direct observation, at least from the Atavists, but of the Kallathik, he was not so sure. And yet, what if that particular Kallathik that had spoken to him were to return? He glanced nervously back up the tunnel, but there was no sign of any movement.

The burr and buzz of a Kallathik voice drifted to him from the chamber, working at his attention. It was completely impossible to make out what it was saying, despite straining forward to hear. Another Kallathik spoke, and it was the same. Then one of the Atavists spoke. He was an older man, bearded, but that was all Tarlain could tell at this distance. The Atavist’s robes effectively hid any further detail. This one’s voice, he could hear, though not all of the words. The man’s speech was slow and deliberate.

“We are close, my Kallathik friend. Signs of the instability are ... sweeps down on us in the same way Storm Season grows with every day.”

One of the Kallathik said something and the other Atavist nodded slowly in response. The other Atavist looked younger. The robes he wore were paler, his beard dark. He wasn’t quite as tall as the one who had spoken. Tarlain got the impression that the older man was in control of the situation, the second Atavist subordinate. The sounds of a Kallathik voice again, and then the older man spoke.

“If the Prophet wills...”

Tarlain strained forward, trying in vain to decipher the Kallathik voice that followed. Nothing. This was next to useless. He ground his jaw in frustration. What were the Atavists doing here anyway? That was the big question. His caution had been worth it.

The older man was speaking now. “We have positioned our family in places that we can take advantage...as soon as the Prophet guides us.” The buzz of a Kallathik voice, and he nodded, then continued. “No. You are right. We will be close enough to tell the signs. We have been close enough to tell the signs ... Seasons now.” The older Atavist spread his hands. “They leave us to get on with our life. We are of no concern to them.”

Another interruption, this time from another quarter, and the second Atavist answered. His voice was less deliberate, less controlled. He was clearly nervous in the Kallathik presence.

“Of course the trade is important. We understand your needs.”

Tarlain frowned. The words made sense, but what they were talking about eluded him. Trade? What trade? He knew that the Atavists and the Kallathik had dealings from time to time, but like anything to do with the Atavist community, the details had more or less slipped right past his awareness, as it had slid quietly past the attention of most of the Guild community.

The older Atavist was speaking again. “When we are ready, we will pass word ... Yes, of course. They have no idea of ... numbers. And when they are struggling because everything they rely upon is no longer there, then, with the Prophet’s guidance, we can step in ... finally cleanse the world of their evils for good.”

A Kallathik who had been standing toward the rear of the group loomed forward suddenly, and the Atavists stepped back reflexively. Tarlain would have done the same. The movement had been so quick. It buzzed something, and the older Atavist, seeming to have regained his composure stepped forward again, moving close to the creature to say something lost to Tarlain, because now he was facing in the opposite direction. The creature’s size dwarfed him.

After a few more moments of incomprehensible conversation, they seemed to have reached some agreement, because both Atavists stepped back, clasped their hands in front of themselves and together, inclined their heads. They turned, and with another Kallathik accompanying them, headed for a darkened entrance on the other side of the chamber. The remaining Kallathik clustered around each other on the central platform in a huddle, apparently discussing whatever it was that had just passed between them and their Atavist visitors.

Tarlain had seen enough for the moment. He started to withdraw back into the tunnel, sticking close to the wall and keeping one eye on the group assembled in the central chamber. He took one step back, two, and then...a large hand gripped his shoulder from behind. No, it wasn’t a hand; it was harder, larger, more like a huge pincer. Tarlain felt his stomach drop. He turned slowly, swallowing, to look up into a broad Kallathik face, emotionless sets of eyes peering down at him from above. The Kallathik tilted its head to one side, its grip upon Tarlain’s shoulder constant.

“This place,” it said.

“But I — ”

The Kallathik looked up and peered into the chamber, before looking back down at Tarlain. It held the gaze for several moments, maintaining its restraining grip, as if processing something. It looked back into the chamber, and then froze. The grip on Tarlain’s shoulder was starting to become uncomfortable. The Kallathik had ceased all movement. It might have been a statue standing there, and just as immovable. Tarlain swallowed again, then tried to slip out from beneath the creature’s grasp. He was held tight. He could be stuck here like this for hours, and the pain in his shoulder was becoming unbearable.

“Please,” he said. “Can you let me go? I am Tarlain Men Darnak, attached to the Guild of Welfare. I think you have made a mistake.”

This, at least, invoked some reaction, for the Kallathik swiveled its head to peer back down at him.

“Welfare,” it said.

“Yes, Tarlain Men Darnak. You know who I am. Guild of Welfare.”

“Welfare,” said the Kallathik again.

Tarlain sighed. Sometimes dealing with the Kallathik was close to impossible. “Yes,” he repeated. “Tarlain Men Darnak.”

There was another pause, an extended scrutiny, and then, without uttering another sound, the Kallathik released its grip on his shoulder, shuffled past him, and headed into the chamber, leaving him standing where he was as if he simply didn’t exist.

Perhaps it had been a mistake telling the Kallathik who he was. It had obviously thought him a member of the Atavist party. He grimaced. All the same, it had produced the desired effect. Not wanting to push the matter any further, Tarlain slipped back up the corridor and away. Suddenly, he had a great deal to think about. A great deal indeed.

Chapter Fifteen