Thirty-Five

Sandon squatted across the other side of the tent, watching the man who had once seemed so young, so ineffectual, wondering at the ways things changed. Most of the tent’s other occupants had already left. Tarlain sat in the chair at the end, staring into space before him, rubbing a hand across his brow in a gesture deeply reminiscent of his father. He glanced across and caught Sandon watching him.

“Sandon,” he said. “There are some things I have to say to you that are long overdue.”

Sandon inclined his head and Tarlain continued.

“I was never very fond of you, but you probably know that. I could not see how you warranted the influence you held within the Principate and with my father. Certain things have happened over the past few weeks that have made me change my opinion. I have seen what you’ve done for my father, despite everything, despite what he did to you.”

“It was only my duty,” countered Sandon.

“No, but it was a duty that went beyond duty, Sandon. You have been completely faithful to that. I understand how beliefs can motivate you to do things, but what I’ve seen goes further than that.”

“Tarlain, there is no need...”

“You’re wrong, Yl Aris. There is a need. Despite everything, I want to thank you for what you’ve done for the old man. I understand now that everything you’ve done in the past, every subterfuge, every underhand manipulation, all of it was done in good faith in support of the Principal and his aims for the Guilds. It’s taken me a long time to see that and I apologize that I did not see it sooner.”

Sandon bit his lip. Tarlain looked away again, his gaze fixed in the middle distance.

A slight cough from the tent’s entrance interrupted the moment. Alise stood just inside the tent flaps, waiting for their attention.

“Sandon,” she said. “I think the old man is calm enough within himself to talk. Would you like me to bring him here?”

Tarlain stood. “Yes, Alise. Please.”

A few minutes later, she led Leannis Men Darnak into the tent. He had been cleaned up a little. Fresh white robes hung from his skeletal frame. His hair hung lankly about his head, but it had been washed and combed. He looked confusedly about the tent’s interior.

“Why do you take me to this place of death?” he asked, querulously.

“Father,” said Tarlain, taking a step forward.

“Tarlain?” Men Darnak peered through the gloom.

“Yes, Father.”

“Tarlain? Then I must be dead. I had a son called Tarlain, but he’s gone.”

“I am not gone, Father. I’m here.”

The old man shook his head. “No, no. A long time ago. A long, long time ago. Let me look at his spirit.” He took three stumbling steps forward and held out his arms. “You look like my son, but I have no children any more. They are all gone.”

Sandon stood. “Principal,” he said. “You are here with your son. We are all here. You have not yet passed from this life.”

Men Darnak frowned. “Yl Aris? You too? But you are gone as well. Everyone is gone. This must be the afterlife. The Prophet has taken me.” He looked around the tent. “Such a grim place for an afterlife don’t you think?”

“This is no afterlife,” said Tarlain. “Enough of this nonsense from the Church, Father. The priest’s not here.” He placed his hands on his father’s shoulders. “You are here now. Here with us.”

“And what of Kovaar?” said Men Darnak. “He must still be alive. That’s why he’s not here. Yes. We’re dead and he’s still alive.” He frowned and nodded to himself, following his own chain of logic down whatever path it was taking.

“Kovaar is off across the camp talking to the Atavists, Principal.” Sandon felt hollow, watching the man to whom he had devoted so much of his life reduced to this. He felt hollow and helpless. He could see the feeling echoed on Tarlain’s face.

Men Darnak lifted a hesitant hand to his son’s cheek. A tear spilled from one eye. “I’m sorry, Tarlain. I’m so sorry.” His hand trembled as he slowly traced the shape of Tarlain’s face. Then his attention was gone.

Tarlain turned away, his own eyes brimming with moisture. “Take him somewhere safe, Alise,” he said quietly. “Make sure he’s comfortable. Please ... please, look after him.” His voice caught with the last request.

After Alise had withdrawn, leading the old man, Tarlain turned back to Sandon. “We have to make sure he’s safe when we start. We can do that much at least.”

Sandon returned Tarlain’s imploring look, suddenly without any words. He felt powerless, powerless to do a thing, and that feeling gave him nothing but shame. He looked away, no longer able to meet the young man’s gaze

#.

Tarlain scanned the hillsides and the surrounding landscape, looking down over the clustered Storm Season holdings of the Guild dignitaries. He swallowed, knowing what was about to happen, how much of this was against everything he’d been brought up to respect and honor. He had seen what the Kallathik could do. Was this right? None of it was right any more. He’d seen what had happened to his father and now what they’d done to Aron Ka Vail too.

The Kallathik were motionless now, nothing to distinguish them from a line of carved totems, apart from the twin sets of spears they carried at the ready. Lines of wooden statues heralding the gray and windswept dawn. The breeze fluttered against his tunic. He could smell the rain in the air.

Off to the right, two hills away, stood the gaunt, robed figure of the priest, Witness Kovaar. At this distance, he could not make out the man’s features, but the priest seemed to be in conversation with one of the Kallathik leaders. The creature’s head was swiveled down attentively. Kovaar pointed across to one of the estates, then across to another. Tarlain turned his attention to the landscape in front. So, it had finally come to this. The Kallathik, the Church of the Prophet, the Atavists, the workers from the mines, all stood together, and there, below, lay the symbols of what they stood against. Over to the left stood the estates of Karryl Ky Menin, Guildmaster of the Technologists; further off in the distance, the estates of his sister, and her husband, Yosset Clier. Somewhere, out of sight from where he now stood, lay Welfare, and Primary Production. These lands were power, or at least the symbol of power. He glanced over at the horizon, where a pale orange-red glow marked the edge of the land. The Twins would rise soon and paint everything before them with the color of blood. He drew in a deep breath and held it. It would not only be The Twins that would mark the landscape with a bloody taint.

A flash of something from Ky Menin’s estates drew his gaze, and reflexively, his grip tightened on the wooden shaft of the spear he was carrying. This was it. Even at this distance, he could see figures emerging from the buildings of Ky Menin’s holdings. Apparently, Kovaar had noticed the motion too, for a triumphant cry issued from his position. The priest was waving his arms, gesticulating toward the emerging figures.

“Do something! Now!” he heard him scream. Still the Kallathik stood unmoving.

People below were running out from the Ky Menin estates. Tarlain glanced about himself. Surely, the idea was to catch the Guildsmen unawares. There was little hope of that now. Someone had clearly raised the alarm, because more figures were starting to emerge from the other estates. What the hell was he doing here, alone and exposed on an empty hillside? At least he could have positioned himself amongst the ranks of Kallathik warriors, but it was too late for that now.

Over on the other hill, Witness Kovaar was making a show of waving his arms, dashing halfway down the slope, then charging up again. As the wind swirled about, he could catch half-defined snatches of the priest’s cries. It seemed to have absolutely no effect on the ranked Kallathik, who simply continued to stand as if they were carved from the very stuff of the hill itself.

Small knots of men were crossing the fields below, drawing ever nearer. They wore clearly visible Guild uniforms and carried various weapons. Tarlain frowned. These were Guildsmen of number. They were more than simple household staff, and there were far too many of them. This was not a population caught unawares. Somehow, the Guilds had been warned. They were all there, representatives of each of the Guilds, their uniforms separating them one from the other by color and cut. Even Welfare was there. Despite all their conversations, despite everything they had spoken of, the fine ideals, the recipes for change, Karnav Din Baltir had thrown in his lot with the rest of them. Tarlain worked his jaw and tightened his grip on the spear handle, trying to push away the feeling of betrayal. What else could Din Baltir have done?

Across the landscape, the deep ruddy orb of the Minor Twin crept above the horizon, a sliver of orange-yellow light marking the presence of its larger, brighter sibling. Shafts of light thrust across the plane, setting long copper shadows streaming from buildings and the approaching Guildsmen. Why weren’t the Kallathik doing anything? What were they waiting for? Kovaar was still charging up and down the hillside in front of them, exhorting them to move, but they just stood there, seemingly unaffected by his performance.

The twin suns crept ever higher, then, as if at some strange signal, the wind stopped. The silence was so clear that Tarlain could hear his breath in his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. Everything was still. The men below were still too far away to hear anything from then. It was as if, in that moment, the entire world was holding its breath. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, a strange humming swelled from the Kallathik ranks, a deep moaning cry echoing in the pit of his abdomen and growing with every second.

Suddenly, without warning, a tall, pale robed figure broke from between the ranks of Kallathik and charged down the hill, a spear held high in one hand, the dirty white robes flapping around it, sleeves flying from its arms. Tarlain narrowed his eyes? The snowy mane was matted, tresses bunched together with muck. Some mad, old deluded Atavist, charging down the hillside to make his stand. Tarlain applauded the sentiment, but no, not now. They didn’t need this. Someone cried out from a neighboring hill, but the Atavist ignored him.

Someone down below had seen the charging figure too, because he was pointing up the hillside and gesturing to his companions. A small knot of men broke off from the rest of the group and started jogging forward toward the hillside. Tarlain glanced over to where the priest stood. He had stopped his mad dash for the moment and was staring down at the charging Atavist. For an instant, it seemed that all eyes were on the sole figure running across the ground between them. Even the group of men jogging toward them had stopped their progress. One of them toward the front of the group had his arms out wide, halting the rest of his companions. Alone, robes flying, the old man bounded across the field, waving his spear. With a mighty heave, he threw it forward and released. The hard wooden shaft arced up and out, catching the ruddy light across its shining length. It sailed across the intervening space, to fall, skid across the grass and lie like a pointer on the ground. For a moment, there was silence. The old man slowly lowered his arms and let them hang limply by his sides.

“Principal Men Darnak!” called a voice from the hillside.

The old man looked around himself, trying to locate the source of the shout.

“Principal Men Darnak!”

Tarlain looked over. It was the priest shouting. And then, with sudden realization, he knew who it was down there and his guts went cold.

“Principal Men Darnak!” Witness Kovaar shouted again and started running down toward the solitary figure in the middle of the empty field.

A sudden shaft of light speared across the landscape. It came from the group of men below. The man in front, the one who had held back his companions, was holding something to his shoulder. The light drew a straight line from the thing he carried to the priest on the hillside. Witness Kovaar threw up his hands and crumpled to the ground in mid cry, tumbling forward to lie in an awkward heap.

Tarlain didn’t understand what he had just seen. The priest lay where he was. Another shaft of light, and this time one of the Kallathik toppled where it stood. And suddenly Tarlain did understand. They had some sort of weapon down there, and they were using it to pick off the figures on the hillside.

“Father!” he cried.

Then, everything erupted. Without a sound, the waves of Kallathik broke their formation and charged down the hillside with their impossible speed, twin sets of spears whirling in their arms.

Tarlain barely noticed. His attention was fixed on the solitary old man, caught between the lines of Kallathik and men. He was standing there, looking confusedly around himself.

“Father, up here!” Tarlain shouted again.

Leannis Men Darnak seemed to come to himself. He turned and looked back up to where Tarlain stood, fixed to the spot, still calling. And then he started running.

Tarlain was vaguely aware of the line of charging Kallathik. It barely registered as one by one they toppled, holes appearing in their number as they made their rapid advance, soundless except for that deep eerie chant that still echoed within him. He barely noticed the flashes of searing light, impossible and bright in the dull light of the Storm Season suns. All he could see was his father, arms outstretched, running across the fields toward the hill, toward Tarlain, as if coming to greet him after a long absence. He took one step, two steps. Then the line of Kallathik obscured his father’s position. For a moment, then another, the line of Kallathik blocked his view, and then it was clear. His father, Leannis Men Darnak, was gone.

“No!” shouted Tarlain.

He couldn’t see him. What had happened?

One of the charging Kallathik had stopped. It turned slightly, lifted its spear arms and shook them. For a moment, Tarlain didn’t comprehend what he was seeing, the white bundle held aloft by a set of twin spears, the sudden red stains swelling across the white. The Kallathik shook the object free, and then turned and charged off toward the knots of men before it, leaving a splayed figure tossed aside on the ground behind it. And then Tarlain knew and his mouth fell open.

This could not be happening.

“No,” he breathed. “Father. Not you. Not now.” The words shuddered from his throat.

All around him, down below, battle raged, but he could see none of it. All he could see was a lone, pathetic crumpled figure, stained and lying sprawled on an empty field.

One by one, the Kallathik fell, the lines broke, and the creatures started to retreat up the hillside. Groups of Guild functionaries followed, gradually increasing their pace. Over somewhere, out of sight for now, there were Atavists, and mineworkers and others, but Tarlain gave them no thought. He gave no thought to anything, but the solitary figure lying still on the empty field. It was all he saw as the Guildsmen reached his position and surrounded him.

Chapter Thirty-Six