Survivors: Book 4 Circles of Light series, page 38
Orla knew the desert men were moving south, band after band, as those from further in the great desert followed the call to arms as they received it. It occurred to Orla that she hadn’t seen Kertiss for many days. She went briskly through to his section of the underground complex and couldn’t find him. She frowned, then her brow cleared. He may be in a regeneration tank. She palmed the door panel and went quietly into the room. Lights flashed and flickered in a steady rhythmic pattern monitoring the status of Kertiss’s body.
Orla walked round the tank slowly, watching the indicators. She turned to the control panel and studied it for a while. Then she smiled. She reached out and with one finger flicked a switch upwards. She depressed two buttons on the lower panel and moved back to the tank. Orla patted the lid.
‘Sleep long and deep, brother dear.’
She closed the door behind her and turned left to return to her quarters. She hesitated and swung back, striding down the corridor towards the Ship’s holding chamber. She was several paces into the chamber when she stopped in her tracks. Her gaze went at once to the roof: it was closed, so presumably the Ship was in the Dome. An equipment malfunction? Surely none of the Keepers knew how to activate the lift, even if they might know of the upper access point?
Her soft soled native shoes made little noise as Orla walked up the ramp. She stared. The Ship was not there. Slowly, Orla looked round the Dome, hairs prickling on the back of her neck. Empty plinths lined the circular walls, but there was no sign of a single statue. Who could have moved the huge figures without triggering any of the alarms Kertiss had put in place? Orla’s stunned mind began to click into action. It would have taken a lot of man power, a lot of time, to carry the great statues from the Dome. And the Ship – had he been towed out somehow? And when had this happened? Damn stupid Kertiss and his inefficiency! She ignored the inconvenient thought that maybe she should have checked his work herself.
She heard the sound of running feet, the slap of leather sandals against the stone floor, and she looked towards the Dome’s main entrance. Momentarily she wondered if she should stay, but her hand rested on the butt of her personal psionic disrupter which she’d taken to wearing constantly over the last days. Three figures appeared opposite Orla, three Keepers, who continued to run towards her. She waited until they arrived, breathless, to bow before her.
‘Monsters, Lady Survivor,’ one of the Keepers gasped, careful even in his distraught state to keep his eyes lowered.
‘Monsters?’ Orla allowed amusement to colour her tone.
All three Keepers nodded vigorously. Another glanced nervously at the empty plinth beside Orla.
‘The statues – they were alive. They have killed many in the Ring Complex, Lady Survivor.’
‘The statues were alive,’ Orla repeated, her disbelief plain to hear. ‘Even should that be true, why would they kill anyone?’
The third Keeper, who had remained bent over in an attempt to regain some breath, straightened. ‘They seemed to be hunting the gijan Lady.’
‘Gijan?’ Orla remembered some experiments she’d run on the strange little animals. They all died extremely quickly, so she’d abandoned them. But why would anyone want the gijan? She didn’t believe for one moment that the statues had come alive – such superstitious nonsense these primitives believed!
‘Never mind,’ she said to the three Keepers. ‘Go and see if any are still here – gijan I mean. Any you find, bring them to me.’
She lifted a hand in dismissal and the Keepers bowed again before turning to trudge back across the vast Dome. Orla waited until they disappeared and moved to the ramp to return below. She would consider this. It was evident to her that someone had planned and executed the theft of the Ship and the statues, arranging some sort of disturbance in the Ring Complex to distract any attention from what was happening in the Dome.
Something caught her eye as she began to descend the ramp. She retraced her steps and bent to pick up the object half hidden behind the plinth. It was a feather, sooty black and as long as her arm. She drew it between her fingers and smiled. Very clever. Whoever had stolen the Ship and the statues was indeed thorough in their planning, executing and laying of false clues. But they would be no match for her. Carrying the feather, she went swiftly down the ramp, closing it behind her. Without a glance at the space the Ship had occupied for so long, she went through the corridors to one of her laboratories and put the feather on the work surface. Orla switched on the power to various units and then sat at the work surface, giving the feather a close visual examination.
It looked like a normal feather but from what bird? The largest birds she had worked on here on Kel-Harat were the huge carrion birds of the desert. Some of the water birds in the valley had large wings, but as far as she could recall, none were black. She dropped a tiny spot of a solution onto a section of the feather and waited. The colour was natural: there was no reaction such as would indicate the use of a dye. Orla cut two small sections and placed them inside the units. She nodded to herself and placed the feather in a drawer. She would go through to the Dome of Knowledge and frighten the students while the units analysed and quantified the sections.
When the Lady Survivor appeared in the Dome of Knowledge the students working there froze in their places. The Survivors appeared once a year when students gathered in the Dome of Assembly, and they were regarded with terrified awe. To have one of them suddenly in their midst was frightening and shocking. Who knew what happened to some of the students who were called to work in the Survivors secret quarters under the Great Dome? A few returned to the Ring Complex, mindless and docile. Most were never seen again.
Hezwa glanced up as the usual low murmur ceased all through the Dome. Her eyes met Orla’s and her spine felt filled with ice. She refused to show her fear, rising from her chair beside a student and moving across the floor of the Dome to bow to the Lady Survivor.
‘Lady, this is an unexpected honour. How may I serve?’
Orla merely glanced at the Keeper of Lore. She had no idea of her name; she rarely bothered with such trivialities.
‘I would like to see any texts concerning the statues in the Great Dome,’ she replied calmly.
Hezwa bowed again and called across to a senior student to fetch several volumes she named for him. He hurried to do her bidding and she turned back to find Orla studying her more closely.
‘I heard there was a disturbance in the Ring Complex last night.’ Orla watched Hezwa’s reaction as clinically as she would observe one of her laboratory specimens.
Hezwa struggled, and succeeded, in maintaining a calm relaxed composure. ‘Indeed there was Lady. I heard that some drunken tribesmen ran amok. There were several deaths I understand, including Keepers. No students were involved; the tribesmen were unable to penetrate the Ring as far as their dormitories.’
‘And you witnessed this – drunken brawl?’
‘No Lady. I was visiting a friend in the city. I returned here at dawn and it was only then that I heard what had happened.’
Orla strolled to one of the desks and stared absently over a student’s shoulder. Hezwa could see the boy trembling even from where she stood. Orla wandered back.
‘I would see the bodies of the dead,’ she announced. ‘Tell one of your students to escort me to where they are.’
The students within hearing lost even more colour. Hezwa bowed.
‘I will take you Lady. The dead are in the mortuary, the wounded in the infirmary.’
‘Wounded?’ Orla asked sharply. Hezwa spread her hands. ‘I heard there were two still living Lady, but that there was little hope of their recovering.’
‘You will take me to the infirmary at once.’
Hezwa nodded, exchanged a quick glance with another Keeper who had prudently stayed half hidden by a book stack, and led the Lady Survivor down to the tunnel leading beneath the Sanctuary. Orla was mildly intrigued: she hadn’t been this far from the Great Dome in centuries she realised, not since this system had been excavated in fact. The two women, one native to Kel-Harat and in her fifties, the other from a planet galaxies distant and, thanks to regeneration treatment allied with genetic modification, near the end of her second millennium, were of similar height and build, and now they matched strides along the passages.
Hezwa had seen some examples of Survivor technology and had a healthy respect for their system of spying throughout the Sanctuary. But she was also fully aware that neither Orla nor Kertiss had the slightest talent for, or belief in the mental powers known to exist in this world. Her father had told her there was once a tradition of men and women strong in such gifts, and held in high regard by the Valley people and the surrounding nomadic tribes. Since a time before the appearance of the strange Ship and the two Survivors, such talents were hidden though, and taught secretly within families. Hezwa had been born to such a family and she had recognised instantly that of the party of visitors shown round the Domes a while back, three of them at least were also strong in mental powers.
They reached a junction where three other tunnels met in a circular space and Hezwa chose the one on the right. The floor rose and they emerged into a corridor busy with younger students moving to different classes who paused, staring at the woman with Keeper Hezwa. One whispered to another and word quickly spread that a Survivor was within the Ring Complex. Hezwa strode on, ignoring the way the whispers swept around them and students pressed away from her and her companion. She was glad to leave the students behind as they reached a quieter section where the infirmary was situated. Hezwa led Orla up a wide flight of stairs and into an airy sick room. Many tall narrow windows opened onto the Sanctuary and the three Domes in its centre.
Three of the twelve beds were occupied by apparently sleeping patients but a healer rose from a table and came towards the visitors. Hezwa touched his mind, warning him to remain as calm and impassive as he could. He bowed to Orla.
‘I wish to see those injured in last night’s troubles,’ she said coldly.
He bowed again and led her away from the large room to a smaller one along the landing. The door opened as they approached and two young men came out, carrying a stretcher with a shrouded figure upon it. They passed Orla without a glance and she followed the healer and Hezwa into the room. Several healers were bent over a body on a high bed. The scene resembled a butcher’s stall rather than a place of healing. As Orla drew near, a man shook his head and stepped away.
‘No good,’ he said. ‘He’s gone.’
He saw Orla standing at the foot of the bed and could only stare. Hezwa introduced Shiro, the most senior healer in the City, to the Lady Survivor. Shiro didn’t look at Hezwa, simply waited for the Survivor to speak.
‘I would see what injuries your patient received,’ she said.
Shiro gestured to a young woman to remove the sheet that had been drawn up over the body. Orla flinched inwardly although outwardly she was like stone. A very young man lay naked on the bed. Four lines ran down from his shoulders to his groin. Orla could see his lungs through the smashed ribs, coils of intestines on his thighs. Her mind went back to the gijan: four digits on hands and feet, with talons for nails. But gijan were scarcely as tall as her waist – they could not have inflicted this damage. She lifted her gaze from the corpse to Shiro’s face.
‘What did this?’ she asked. ‘I have yet to see weapons cause injuries like this.’
Shiro regarded her steadily. ‘I didn’t see the attack. All those who did claim to witness it, describe giant humans with wings, like to the statues within the Dome of the Singer.’ He did not add that many had also seen a great shape rising from the courtyard partly enclosed by the Domes, rising and then moving silently to the south east, blotting out stars as it passed.
Orla’s mind raced: how could the statues have done such a thing – were they mechanical, from some long lost technological past of this world? She gave Shiro a brusque nod and turned on her heel. Hezwa hastened to escort the Lady Survivor back beneath the Sanctuary. Waiting nervously near the entrance to the Dome of Knowledge stood the student Hezwa had directed to fetch the books Orla required. Hezwa took them from his arms and continued walking to the restricted area which ended at the Survivors’ quarters. The student fled, grateful not to have been expected to attend the Lady Survivor any further.
Hezwa had never been this far into the Survivors’ territory and when they turned a corner to see a solid door blocking the way, she slowed to a halt. She had no more desire than her students to go further, the glowing lights on a panel beside the door made her very afraid. Her people, the Vintavoy, who had lived within the Valley since before the desert was made, had seen the Survivors use their little flashing boxes and their oddly shaped machines to wreak havoc on human bodies. They had no understanding of what they were or how they functioned, only in what they could do. Hezwa held out the pile of books and Orla, taken by surprise, automatically accepted them. Hezwa bowed and turned away, striding back round the corner before Orla could order her to stay.
Orla was well aware of the fear she inspired in the natives and rather enjoyed the sensation. She smiled as she palmed the side panel and the door swung silently open. Orla spent most of the day studying the books Hezwa had given her and had to admit to a faint sense of unease. The books told the history of the final battle of the Elder Races and the description of the gijan Elders undoubtedly matched the statues that had stood in the Great Dome.
But she could not comprehend such a thing as a statue suddenly coming to life. She understood the practice of cryogenics, but that was accomplished only with the use of complicated technology: these statues had been free standing, nothing connecting them to any form of life support systems. She picked at some food left ready for her by one of the students who had become vacant minded menials and worked for her and Kertiss as domestic droids would have done at home.
She lay down, her thoughts circling round and round, and as she’d expected, and hoped, she dreamed. To begin with, her sleeping body trembled: he was so angry! The man she dreamed of was the most handsome creature, male or female, that she’d ever seen. His skin was darker than her own and his eyes usually shone with loving kindness when he gazed at her. But he saw the thoughts in her mind, of the Elder statues, and how she was trying to understand the meaning of their disappearance. The loss of the Ship was insignificant – he had never seemed to appreciate exactly of what importance the Ship might be. His rage tore at her mind and she sobbed in her sleep. When his fury became more controlled he spoke less harshly to Orla, suggesting what she might do. In her relief and gratitude she promised to follow his every wish.
During the next days Hadjay returned, reporting a setback in the invasion of Malesh. He told Orla of the very ground shivering just beyond the desert, in places strong enough to cause buildings to fall. He’d heard the earthquakes had been far worse further south. But he also told of strange fighters coming from the direction of the coast, who had inflicted considerable losses on his men. Their skins were golden, not as dark as that of the desert men, and they fought together in a way such as Hadjay had no experience of. They were led by giants, he reported, who wore black shiny armour and tall purple plumes in their helmets. Orla suggested they were armsmen from Harbour City but Hadjay doubted this: they did not resemble Maleshan people any more than they were like the Qwah.
‘Can you defeat these new armsmen?’ Orla asked bluntly when Hadjay fell silent.
His eyes were fierce. ‘We will die to the last man Lady, but I think they will beat us. More and more of them come from the east. As well as the leaders in black armour there are men among them in plain dress, without weapons or armour. They are always protected by the ones with plumed helmets. I think they are wise men who give commands to the warriors.’
Orla, who had never given any importance to mental powers, was inclined to agree with Hadjay’s reasoning, although she felt a tiny pang of unease at the back of her mind.
‘The desert men can continue south or withdraw,’ she decided. ‘I have a mind to travel north.’
Hadjay’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘You will pick your best men – at least twenty five of them, and in two days I will go with you. Northwards.’
She hadn’t really known what she would say until the words were spoken. Having made her announcement she would follow it through. While Hadjay arranged horses, supplies and men, Orla chose the weapons she would take, putting them into an old survey pack while keeping her personal disruptor at her belt. She recorded her intentions in one of the units in her bedchamber, then summoned the empty headed menial staff. Clearly and simply she ordered them to continue maintaining the Survivors’ quarters, feeding the specimens in her laboratory and collecting food as usual from the main entrance near the junction with the Dome of Knowledge.
She emerged above ground in the great expanse of the Sanctuary as the moon rose, carrying two packs. Hadjay would have taken them but she insisted they remain with her. Accordingly, he strapped them behind the saddle of the horse a tribesman held ready for her. In a double column with Orla and Hadjay at its head, the riders moved out of the Sanctuary, through the Ring Complex and past each circle gate of the City.
Orla glanced back once, a sudden nervousness making her hands tighten in her horse’s mane. She had never been this far outside the Domes since her arrival here and she looked up at the rounded shapes still visible in the light of the half moon. Resolutely she faced forward again and imagined the man in her dreams applauded her courage.
