The Chronicles of the Pale Books 1-3

Chapter 7

‘Ha! Just as my sire told,’ she said. ‘A severe aftershock disrupts all our communications. However,’ she went on, glancing over her shoulder to where Jaxon stood, his eyes narrowed with calculations, ‘tonight’s disruption appears more dire than that of my sire’s time.’ She looked at the faces around her, lit only by random flickerings from the emergency lights of the policosmos below. ‘I assume that the teshniks are already working to restore contact. Every wristscreen is dead, yes? What of the pillars?’

A teshnik at the rear of the group of servants, a team leader identified by the bright red hand patches on his shoulders, hurried into speech. ‘My lady, we cannot find an active one in the whole of the Acrocomplexa. We have sent personnel to search the wider policosmos. There have been no transmissions from any pillar or screen since the disturbance. Once the scale of damage is assessed, we will provide an estimate of restoration time.’

‘I see,’ said the Regent. Jaxon watched sidelong as she once more tapped her ruby fingernails on her jewel-encrusted forearm. ‘What of the data store? Is the Navel unharmed?’

A black-clad officer of the Wereguard stepped forward. ‘My lady, I am here to assure you of this. Every item has been checked and is safe and in working order. Every master data set is complete. The Navel stands intact.’

‘Ah,’ said the Regent. ‘Thank you, Guardsman. You may return to the Navel. Teshnik Leader, let me know the instant we have a restoration time. You may rejoin your staff now.’ Élin made a shooing motion with her long, red-tipped fingers, but the Wereguard and the teshnik were already on their way downstairs. Then the Regent pinned a young Recycler, abasing herself at the rear of the gathered servants, with a straight look. ‘The liveware?’ she asked.

‘All safe, my lady. Nothing lost.’

‘Good. See that it remains so. You may go, Recycler.’

Turning from the scurrying staff, Élin cast her gaze once more over the policosmos. She gestured Jaxon to her side. ‘It will be well if at least some of the pillars survive,’ she mused. ‘I trust the teshniks are capable of restoring function.’

‘Nonetheless, I imagine that our communications will be disturbed for some time,’ said Jaxon. ‘No matter. We are not a people easily overcome by misfortune. This is why we maintain our standards, so that physical communication is always at our disposal.’

The Regent nodded, and then clapped her hands together. ‘I will see the regimental leaders and the heads of every branch, in the Throne Room, in double quick time.’

The remaining servants darted to the stairs, racing to summon the required officers in person. Jaxon bowed to the Regent, his hands tucked within his robe. ‘We need not fear, my lady. We will ensure the safety and security of the Pale and its citizens. There is no question. No question.’

Élin put a hand to her head, as if it still hummed with the forewarning.

‘In the meantime,’ continued Jaxon, ‘the service will check every micron of the perimeter fence and ensure its integrity. Sanitariat crews will attend to the physical damage. Cultivators will check the status of the silos and the supply multiplexi. Recyclers will tend or dismember the injured. Victuallers will check the status of our provisions. All our systems will fall into place, my lady.’

The Regent looked at him. Her eyes, he noticed, were still bright and gleaming with the same unwonted vividness, but her shoulders were beginning to droop. Her extraordinary energy was fading. ‘Is there anything forgotten? Anything I should do?’

‘I think not, my lady,’ said Jaxon, scanning his data about the most recent aftershock; their recovery from that had been complete. ‘We will have a full report of damage soon, and that will assist in dictating any further actions. I suggest you retire to your Throne Room while the senior officers are gathered.’

‘Indeed, Senior,’ said Élin Patraena. ‘We have a sacred duty. We must save the Pale. We will save it.’

‘My lady, we will.’

‘And Senior?’

‘My lady?’

‘I know what else we can do! We can progress the development of the paramount embryos. The ones generated from my eggs, I mean. It is well to be prepared for all eventualities.’

That startled him. ‘Yes, my lady.’ Jaxon paused. ‘Ah, all of them, my lady?’ The progression of the paramount eggs was an undertaking he had theoretically scheduled for several decades into the future.

‘I wonder?’ said Élin. ‘Let us progress four, and let them contest their legacy. It is long since we had underlings in the Acrocomplexa. They may be amusing.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Jaxon dipped his head. His brain whirred with speculation, calculation, and the germination of a plan. The advent of prospective new regents was a time that always presented him with new opportunities.

Élin flipped her long fingers at him. ‘Go, Senior. You have your orders.’

Jaxon stood straight before executing a deep bow. ‘I do indeed, my lady.’

On Broad Plain, the new day ushered in an eerie quiet, unnerving after the long night of terrifying illumination, astonishing noise, and shocking movement. The canini packs gathered to assess the damage, blinking at each other in the pale yellow dawn. The scouts visited each of the dens, loping back to Broad Plain with reports of collapsed trenches, fallen rocks, flattened hills, emptied waterholes, and some dozen new gulches to be navigated.

It fell to Mashtuk to put the damage into words: ‘We have no comfort to offer,’ he told the assembled packs. ‘Our news is bad: all our former living spaces are ruined beyond repair.’

The canini, not given to useless lamentation, looked at each other. Mashtuk turned to the pack leaders. ‘We scouts propose to range further, to seek and assess new denning sites. We may be some time.’

Tinashe c****d her head sideways at her fellows, then nodded. ‘Go. We will await you.’ The scouts turned tail, their racing paws raising red dust from the rippled surface of the plain.

The gathered canini settled down, anxious and fretful in the open.

It had been many generations since they were together in one group. Tinashe lifted her hind paw and scratched the back of her ear. They were quite a clan. Not one had been lost to the rolling waves of earth, rock, and water. The problem would be how to shelter and feed such a crowd in the remade land around them. She voiced an invitation to the senior elders. The four of them crouched together to decide the best course of action, while the youngsters kept a wary eye out and the feeding mothers pulled their cubs in close.

The adults could wait a day or two for sustenance, but their endurance had limits. Food and haven were urgent requirements. Tinashe and her group hatched plans, keeping a fraction of their attention for any communication from the scouts.

The tribesfolk had no hope of repairing the damage to their camps and belongings. They usually lodged beside rivers, but the turbulent earth had disrupted the riverbeds. Displaced river-water, mudslides, and rockfalls had wrought havoc among the tents.

As soon as there was light, Feather joined a group of the younger huntsfolk to reckon the extent of the damage. When it was clear nothing could be saved from their former homes, they began to put makeshift huts together.

Feeding the survivors was another matter. Most of the stores were lost. The hunting grounds were unrecognisable. No prey appeared on the buckled land, and food plants were uprooted and scattered. The children were crying, and the ancients trundling hopelessly in the dirt.

Kilimanjara, huntmistress of the Storm, instructed others on how to mix water-damaged grain into flatbread. Children searched for tubers unearthed by the ructions to the land, and these were shared and gratefully chewed. The hunters found and carried clean water. A group of elders sought the missing, but although they discovered a few bodies, most who had been swept away were never seen again.

Long, hungry days of mourning and healing followed. Then, with no other alternative, the tribal families began to move west where the hunters had seen evidence of game. Feather fretted for leave to visit the Settlement to check on Jana and her family, but submitted to the more urgent claims of his tribe in the meantime.

Once they realised their losses and made the decision to travel, it was clear the tribes would have to approach the Settlement, not to offer but to beg for help.

Feather volunteered for the task.

Within the Settlement, the scale of damage was less than it might have been, considering that every settler was inside the walls at the time. A score died; another dozen were injured. Some livestock perished and some stored food was damaged.

It took days to complete an inventory of the losses, and even longer to decide a plan of action. First, the settlers judged their fitness to manage supplies and work until trade time arrived. As long as the Assessed in the High City could be kept from want, the situation was not dire. The working castes of the Lower Town could well do with a little less for a few weeks. Still, the Assembly decided, once all was secure, they would send an embassy across the plains to find the tribes and ask them for an early trade meeting. The Settlement could do with an additional shipment of hung meat, fermented grain, and preserved fruits.

In the first week of winter, when no more tremors or startling light displays had been seen for days, Valkirra Adelriksdottir, Chief of the Settlement, walked down through the High City and descended the steep hill to the Lower Town. Here the elders, labourers, beadsmen, villeins, and helots resided in robust sufficiency. Her officials trailed after her, the wardens of the Temple and the civic officers cross-checking every damaged home and business place. They noted all the lost stock, stores, tools, and goods. Black-robed notaries updated their meticulous records of the dead, the injured, the homeless, and those afflicted by the sickness that had coursed through the Settlement just days after the night of fire and upheaval.

Chief Valkirra, at two metres—almost too tall for Settlement standards—walked rapidly, her spouse Talis Jarisson at her right hand. Behind them Maya, the Head of the Temple, had difficulty keeping up with both the pace and the conversation. Valkirra thought it was time the old woman appointed a successor. Or time the Temple did it for her. However, that could not be considered while the Settlement remained in an uproar.

‘Reverend Maya, do we have sufficient medicines?’

‘Medicine, yes there is much needed,’ said Maya. ‘But we have enough, we have stores, yes.’

‘Have all the deaths been recorded, do you know?’

‘The notaries,’ said Maya. ‘The notaries know. They record everything, you know. This one here is writing what we say even now.’

‘I meant, can you tell me who has died?’

‘There have been deaths, my lady. Death has walked this way.’ Maya shook her head from side to side. ‘We are mortal, we must prepare.’

Valkirra pursed her lips. Talis interrupted. ‘If you will allow me,’ he said, stepping back beside Maya and the notary who appeared to be acting more as a crutch than a secretary. ‘Notary, can you tell me the names of the dead?’

‘My lord.’ The young man stood still and listed nineteen persons, mostly elders. The worst was the three children. ‘My lord, we will sing these names onto the screens so the records are complete.’

‘Thank you,’ said Talis.

‘This is bad news indeed,’ responded Valkirra slowly. ‘Our children! How difficult it is to bear them, to rear them. Truly we live in dark times.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said the notary.

‘And those still recovering from injury—are we to expect any more losses?’

‘No, my lady. We expect those few to recover.’

‘Thank you, Notary.’

They walked on. Valkirra wished to visit each of the four great gates of the Settlement. While Talis had assured her of their wholeness, she liked to confirm for herself that all was well with their barriers against the Outside. The latest aftershock had filled her with fear. She slept better when she knew the walls were safe. Not until the event had been sung onto the screens as history would she be able to put it behind her.

As ever, Talis’s reports were accurate. No section of the rock and timber wall and none of the gates had suffered more than minor damage that had been swiftly repaired. The fires had not touched the wall or the gates. It was good fortune that, on such a bright night in autumn, no cressets had been lit. The settlers tended to be cautious with fuel as with every other resource. Only the needs of the Assessed were always met, and that was essential to ensure the survival of the whole community. Valkirra’s fear abated. She became more confident that any shortfalls could be righted through having the tribes’ trade day brought forward. However, all her certainty fell away when she reached the North Gate.

The guards were speaking with a young fellow, a ragged chap even for a tribesman. He wanted entry. The guard, gesturing at the singing screen by the gate, explained that it was not a trading day and that he had no right to entry.

‘I tell you, this is not about trade,’ the young Outsider stated. ‘I come on an errand from the tribes. I wish to speak with your Assembly. The wise ones entrusted me with this mission. You must let me pass.’

‘Now then young fellow—’ began the guard, only to be silenced when Chief Valkirra stepped forward. She gestured to the guard, who said gruffly, ‘Show reverence. Here is our Chief.’

The tribesman stared at her a long moment before ducking his head. Valkirra waited in silence. In another moment, he looked up.

‘Lady,’ he said. ‘I know this is not trade time. I come from the tribes with messages. We would know how you fare after the shock, and we wish to ask your aid. And, for myself, I come to see if a friend lives.’

Valkirra took her time perusing the motifs on the youngster’s face and the braiding of his hair. She lifted her brows and glanced at Talis, who nodded. Despite his dirty, torn clothing, the signs marked their visitor a noble, as the tribes figured it.

‘Your name?’ she asked.

‘I am Feather, son of Helm, of the Storm.’

‘Ah. And of Kilimanjara’s line?’

‘Kilimanjara is our huntmistress, yes, lady, and my father’s mother.’

‘So.’ Valkirra motioned; Feather stepped closer. ‘We will walk and talk a little. You say the tribes do not fare well?’ Talis, Maya, the notary, and Valkirra’s guard of four locked into step behind them, listening and watching.

Valkirra saw that Feather, too, was looking around him, apparently reassuring himself that the Settlement was secure, that the mighty Founders River still ran in its wonted course under the Lower Town bridge. She saw him relax a little, his shoulders lowering a fraction. He came to a standstill, and started as Valkirra touched his arm.

‘Lady,’ he said. ‘Your pardon. I am glad to see so little damage here.’

Valkirra lifted her brows again and put her hands on her hips. ‘Little? You’re mistaken, young man. We are badly struck.’

‘No, lady,’ said Feather. ‘You have walls about you. You have water and shelter. Out on the plains, we have nothing.’

Valkirra blinked. ‘I do not understand, Feather of the Storm.’

‘It was worst in the north. Our camps are destroyed. We lost scores of people, and have many dozens injured. Our rivers were wrested from their beds and the game has fled. In fact,’ he continued with some embarrassment, ‘our wise ones permitted this journey only because the tribes wish me to seek your aid. We hope, lady, that you will be able to share some supplies with us.’ The look on the young man’s face expressed his regret at bringing this sorry message. Nonetheless, he lifted his chin and met Valkirra’s assessing gaze.

She folded her arms and shook her head. ‘Feather of the Storm, we planned to ask the same of you. We have a score dead, and great losses of stock and grain.’

Feather frowned at her. ‘I am most sorry to hear this. There will be much hardship on the lowlands.’ She watched a tremor of emotion cross his face before he spoke again. ‘Perhaps, lady, you can tell me something? Jana Danesdottir, does she live?’

Valkirra nodded. ‘She lives, Feather. She is not listed dead or injured. She is something to you?’

‘A great deal, lady,’ answered Feather. ‘We have plans to handfast, next trading season. Her family are clothiers here. We have spent many a trading week together, Jana and I, lady.’

‘I see.’ Valkirra kept her face carefully neutral. Handfasting between the tribes and the settlers was discouraged by the Temple. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘I will have the Assembly prepare messages for your wise ones. You will stay in the High City tonight, as my guest. In the meantime, I give you leave to seek Jana. Until this evening, Feather.’

Feather, evidently well trained in the etiquette due between the castes of settlers and tribes, ducked his head in civil reverence. ‘Thank you, lady.’ He stood aside while the high party passed him, but Valkirra could see that his mind was already turned towards the Lower Town.