The Chronicles of the Pale Books 1-3

Chapter 6

Chapter Two

The tremulous air of the night sky offered subtle warning signs that none of the settlers recognised. Nobody heeded the frantic howling of canini that rang from the plain, or observed the strange behaviour of the flying creatures weaving through the clouds. Few noted the unusual conduct of their own menial animals. Any poor dumb equo who reared at the stable door, or planted all four hooves to resist being caught under a tiled roof, had been beaten inside. The panicked flapping of housefowl had been cursed and ignored. The whining of the rat-terrier was stifled with a kick; the mournful lowing of penned ovines too common to be given a second thought. No one noted the unusual absence of every creeping thing from underfoot or along alleyways. The tiny skinks and rodents fled the Settlement’s confines before the gates were closed against the coming night and went unseen.

Turbulent lights were to be expected in the billowing clouds that rumpled the night sky at the tail end of autumn. Chief Valkirra little thought that this night would erupt into flames across the compound. Her spouse Talis Jarisson was beside her watching the spectacular lights when they felt the first tremor of the ground beneath their feet. Only moments before, the evening had seemed almost romantic, and Talis had been murmuring ideas to her. Now, grabbing the rail of their balcony on the north wing of the Chief’s house, they looked down from the High City, appalled and amazed as flames erupted below them.

Valkirra never wasted time or words. ‘I’ll rouse the house, you get down to the city,’ she said, leaping ahead of Talis towards the stairs. ‘Douse every fire you see. Get as much help as you can. This place will burn like a beacon if we’re not quick.’

Talis was weapons-trained and always quick to catch his Chief’s meanings. ‘I’ll deal with the Temple too,’ he added, following her down the spiral stairs, though he doubted that she heard him, her own very penetrating voice being raised in calls to action. His last sight of her was the flick of her long auburn braid as she sprinted through to the inner chambers.

He headed for the narrow streets of the High City, guards scrambling to the tasks he assigned them: some to the Temple, some to the gates, some to the stables, some to the Lower Town. ‘Make sure every flame in the Settlement is smothered. Yes, that includes the sacred light in the Temple! Quickly!’

Valkirra had awakened the entire household, her shouts ringing through the corridors. When everyone was gathered in the hall—nurslings, children, elders, servants, guards, councillors, all exclaiming as the ground rippled beneath them—she began to detail duties. ‘Every fire, every lamp, every candle in the house, is to be quenched, now. Now!’ As a half-dozen ran to do her bidding, she gestured at the open door to the courtyard. ‘Some to the water pumps, the rest fill as many buckets as possible. Children, I want you to herd the house cows to safety. Take them down to the Lower Town. Stay with them, out in the open by the Lower Well.’

‘What about the equii?’ asked one of the youngsters.

‘Talis will see to the stables. Off you go. Now, you elders, you mind the littlest ones. Everyone get to open ground and stay there!’

With that, confident that she would be obeyed, Valkirra turned and dashed for the kitchens, where she was among the most efficient and thorough of those extinguishing every hearth and light. That done, she herded everyone ahead of her out into the courtyard and to the precipitous steps that led to the Lower Town. A dozen guards followed her as she turned back, and together they checked that every street lantern in the High City was lowered and smothered. At two places they were late, the rocking ground having already dislodged the burning torch, but Talis, directing the relay of water and sand buckets, already had these under control. Leaving the guards to mop up and follow, the Chief and her spouse hurried down to the Lower Town.

After the first convulsion, the tremors grew weaker and less frequent, and the earth began once more to feel solid under their feet. The initial outcries of dismay around the Settlement subsided as householders applied themselves to the task of containing the fires. The situation was well enough in hand that everyone they passed had time to speak to Valkirra and Talis. Making her way to the Lower Well where their own household was gathered, the Chief breathed a sigh of relief, one not complete until her own children were safe in her arms. The first pre-dawn light was glimmering before the earth was still. Now they had time to look around them and count the cost.

Constructed of precious timber stored and maintained from the pre-Conflagration days, the buildings of the Settlement were to some extent kinder to their inhabitants than the stone and metal edifices of the Pale. Many fewer people were crushed, but some were horribly burnt as domestic and industrial fires burst from their confines and leapt at every stick of timber in reach. In the High City, decorated oil lamps spilled fire onto rugs and hangings. In the Lower Town, tallow candles were upset onto rushes. At least there was running water piped through the entire Settlement, a stalwart Chief to direct operations, and an active population to leap into action. Calamitous as the event was, the Settlement survived and looked ahead.

As he made his way to the isolation oikos, which stood alone in a rare patch of empty ground in the Esquiline district, the shock sent Tad to his knees. He did his best to shield the human immature from the chunks of mortar that dashed down from the perimeter walls. The earth shook repeatedly, and a thunderous boom battered the city. The child put up his hands to cover his ears. Tad hunched his shoulder around him, facing in to the massive metal bastions of the wall. The ground bucked again. The boy uncovered his ears to fix a bindvine hold around Tad’s neck.

Suddenly the youngster’s breathing was loud in Tad’s ear. The whole policosmos was silent; not a whirr or a click sounded. In the distance, a lone clunk reverberated as another single stone fell to the pavement.

Then the noise started again as citizens emerged from doorways, from under debris, from beneath sheltering vegetation, and yet others came running from the north of the city. Tad’s wristscreen surged hot in his flesh and he tried to waken it with a half-handed slap. There was no response. Hefting the child again in his arms, he stood and waded into the crowd. A wiry janitor stepped into his path.

‘What’s happening? Serviceman, what is it?’

The question rebounded, echoed, repeated. Tad realised he was expected to provide answers and reassurance. Service personnel must at all times manage the policosmos for the good of the population. He was surrounded by fellow citizens shaking their wrists, slapping their screens, knocking on the street corner pillars, and calling on him to enlighten them. Tad gestured for quiet while he checked his screen again. His device, like every other, gave no answer.

‘Citizens of the Pale, be calm.’ Tad looked at them over the child’s head. There was a distressing reek of body fluids, fuel and gases, an unknown phenomenon in the rigidly cleansed policosmos. An overlay of charged ions, like the prelude to a storm, crackled in the air, and the wind gusted a strange, earthy smell, as if every bit of arable ground in the policosmos had been turned at once. In the face of an unprecedented situation, Tad could only fall back on his training, raising his voice a little to give them the all-purpose mantra: ‘The service will investigate. Rest assured of your safety.’

A murmuring started. ‘But what is it, Serviceman?’ ‘What do we do?’ ‘Where do we go?’ Tad again gestured serenely, raising his left hand. Near his ear, the human immature gave a deep sigh, and he found himself tucking both arms around the little fellow. Then a tottering citizen emerged from the direction of the isolation oikos, holding his hand aloft in a parody of the service reassurance. Tad saw he was an oldster, one with no upgrades owing by the look of his unsteady steps and the way he peered around him. His out-of-date memory, though, provided an answer that Tad never expected. Half shouted, half muttered though lips stiffened by nerve death, the oldster proclaimed his message.

‘An aftershock! Another aftershock! Run, run, save yourselves, save the policosmos! Save the Pale, save the Pale, save the Pale. To the perimeter, lads, to the perimeter! Ferals! Humans! Canini! Save the Pale—’

A trainee Recycler ran towards them and stopped the oldster’s cracked shouts, taking him by the arm and away from the press of people, back towards the walled isolation oikos. Once they had gone, Tad looked about for a senior officer and was relieved to see three squads approaching from the service amenities.

‘All will be well,’ he said aloud to the citizens around him. ‘The Pale is safe and the service will keep it so.’ But from the look on the faces of the squad leaders, he knew there was a great deal of work ahead.

Tad set the boy on his feet. ‘There, youngster. Stay with me, all right? We’ll see about having you assessed later.’

In answer, the human boy simply took a handhold of Tad’s tunic, his little fingers attaching more firmly than triptrap wire.

From her high terrace the Regent looked down, leaning over the abyss that had opened right to the footings of her tower. Jaxon, his footsteps loud as he caught up with her at last, noted again how impervious she seemed to danger. The Senior Forecaster stepped up beside her and cast his glance down. Once more he envied not only her first class hardware but also the dedication that saw her maintain a unique standard of physical fitness as well as of beauty. She was not even breathing hard, and though her balance was delicately shaken by the last tremors of the shock, there was not a single atom of fear in her whole body as she hung over the void.

‘Damnation,’ said Élin. ‘And every other useless curse word! I have never felt such a warning before. Of course, when the last shock occurred, I was scarcely formed,’ she mused. ‘I remember my sire telling me of it—the shock, and the warning he felt in his bones beforehand. I thought it fanciful. It appears to be true.’ She turned to face Jaxon. ‘I am seriously displeased.’

‘My lady,’ said Jaxon with care. ‘It is true there are scant data on this phenomenon. Your sire also indicated that he may have been mistaken in his memory of his own sensations.’

‘Phenomenon,’ repeated the Regent, mocking him. ‘The Patraena bane, you mean.’ Jaxon noticed a brightness to her eyes that owed nothing to the diamonds in her brows and the gleaming jet of her lashes. She was, for once, in a state of animation. The warning, or the release afforded it by the shock, had rocked her to the core. Jaxon stepped back to a more polite, or safe, distance, and spoke evenly.

‘My lady, think how rare an event this is. Think how little scientific study can have been devoted to it. If ever, I mean, whenever a ruler experiences the warning, it is, that is to say, it has always been followed by a disaster. Scarcely the time to undertake arcane research.’

‘As has happened in this case,’ said Élin. ‘I perceive a massive cleft in the very fabric of the policosmos, so studying me is the least of your worries. Still, you must send me an annalist. I can dictate the data while it is still fresh. Now, to work.’ Élin flung away from the railed parapet and clapped her hands. Servants ran from the stairwell to her summons. As they clustered around her, all discreetly out of arm’s reach, she slapped her bejewelled wristscreen forcefully. A tiny spark, yellowy-green, flared and then died. Élin ground her teeth.