The horizon, p.35
The Horizon, page 35
He felt the Heartstone against his skin again. Mithila’s, from beyond the Wall.
The Dooma’s line broke, and the first of them began to turn and run.
‘Matriarch!’ came the shouts.
Alvar felt sick, as if a rock had settled in the base of his stomach. He hurried to the edge of the sewage chamber, where Lamon waited, past the single Select member who stood guard, seemingly unconcerned by the battle that raged a little distance away, or by anything they did.
‘Come,’ Lamon beckoned.
They hastened South-West, deeper into the Eighth. Behind them, the noise of the fight grew fainter. The paths were empty and dark, the buildings quiet.
‘The next bridge,’ said Lamon, ‘takes you to the Ninth, and it’s unguarded. From there—’
Before Lamon finished his sentence, there was a rustle behind them. The next moment, there was a gag around Alvar’s mouth, a sack descended on his head, and the world was plunged into blackness.
They waited at the edge of the barricade, gripping their two chariots, as the Rasa wound its way towards the Wall.
‘I cannot believe that at the end of all things,’ said Mithila ruefully, ‘we’re going to ask the Builders—the Builders—to save us.’
‘Rebels, Mithila,’ Mankala said. There was an unfamiliar lightness in her voice. ‘Rebels, just like us. Is that so hard?’
‘A little.’ Then, because they were alone, she went on: ‘are you actually sure about this?’
‘Mith. Worldfarer. The bravest fool I know.’ Mankala turned to her and grinned in the darkness, her teeth gleaming. ‘When have we been sure about anything? You bound your waist to the garudas and threw yourself into the sky.’
‘That was just my own life, no-one else’s.’
‘What is it that Ghada says to Samir? All my life I’ve only known doubt. You think we deserve more certainty than they had?’
‘I suppose,’ said Mithila, ‘we’ll find out together.’
A flaming arrow arched across the sky and plunged into the Rasa. The signal.
‘Time to meet the Builders,’ said Mankala softly. ‘We give them their lives. They give us the world. You ready, Worldfarer?’
‘Let’s go,’ breathed Mithila.
They sped down the Maliot.
Someone removed the sack from his head, and undid the gag.
Alvar gulped air. Piece by piece, the blurry world began to come into focus: a small round room, open windows, flickering lamplight.
Rama stood in front of him.
Alvar started and then winced as the ropes cut into his arms. They had bound him to a chair.
He turned his eyes up again, and met hers.
‘Hello, Alvar,’ Rama said. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Why the fuck have you tied me up?’ Alvar spat.
‘Easy. It’s just a precaution. You won’t be harmed.’
Alvar looked around. His chair was the only piece of furniture in the room, resting unevenly upon an earthen floor. The walls were chipped and cracked.
‘That was cleverly done, I’ll give you that,’ Rama’s voice washed over him. ‘The Worldfarer’s soul-friend, walking into enemy territory with the Heartstone. Anyone else, and they’d have smelled a trap—but you—you were believable. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why?
He stared straight ahead. ‘Where am I?’
‘Safe.’
‘From whom? All those dangerous rebels?’ When there was no answer, it struck him. ‘Rama, you’re not seriously going to keep me as a hostage!’
Rama looked at him. ‘What do you think she’d give me, to have you back?’
Alvar stiffened. ‘She’s smarter than that.’
‘Smarter? Is that what we’re calling it now?’ she said quietly.
There was something unbearable in her eyes. Alvar wrenched his gaze away. A grey Wallrise loomed before him, Minakshi running up to them, the garudas—and Mithila, who put her father’s life in the balance and then left anyway.
‘Welcome,’ said Rama, ‘to the Know Your Mithila class. I’ve spent a few days here already. The lessons are not always pleasant.’
Alvar exhaled, staring at a point on the wall before him.
‘And yet,’ he said, ‘only one of us is tied to a chair. Seems like the Know Your Rama classes aren’t a picnic either.’
Rama’s smile was tight.
‘How did I get here, my President?’ Alvar said.
‘Don’t you remember?’
He thought back. Lamon had called him from the South, and he’d followed him away from the fight, into the Eighth Mandala, turning into darkness, and then—
A horrible suspicion took root in Alvar’s mind.
Rama saw his face change. ‘He didn’t do it to hurt you,’ she said quickly. ‘I promised him you wouldn’t be harmed.’
He could have screamed. But Alvar only clenched his teeth. ‘Oh. I see.’
Rama walked to the window, and stared out into the night.
‘Don’t blame Lamon,’ she said after a while, still looking out of the window. ‘I gave him—well, I’m sure Mithila didn’t mean to make him sacrifice his chance at a life with the person he loved, just so she could go beyond the Wall?’ She laughed softly. ‘Who’d do such a thing?’
‘But he—he—’ Alvar began, and found he had nothing to say.
‘He saw his future bound up with ours,’ Rama finished, ‘because I repealed the Marriage License Laws. Because this is what it’s about, isn’t it?’ She turned back to him. ‘Whose future matters? The people here, now—or the people who might be, beyond?’
‘Don’t even try,’ said Alvar, ‘to turn me.’
‘I wouldn’t insult you by doing that,’ Rama said. She walked up to him.
‘In fact,’ she said, ‘I’m not even going to waste time interrogating you.’
She was standing by him now, so that Alvar had to crane his neck to look up at her.
She reached out a hand and withdrew the Heartstone from Alvar’s pocket.
‘But I will borrow this.’
He jerked forward—and grimaced, as the ropes pulled him up short.
The Heartstone was throbbing in Rama’s palms.
‘That’s Mithila’s,’ he said, furiously.
‘I know.’
‘You can’t.’
‘I have to, Alvar.’
‘Then you’re just a—a little thief.’
Rama’s eyes flashed. ‘The last time I let her keep it, she used it to set this City on fire. Enough. This has to end now.’
‘We were companions,’ Alvar shook his head. ‘Friends. We were going to bring down the Wall together. And now, you—’
‘And now this, Alvar,’ she said, looking straight at him. ‘Either you watch me win—and the hope that one day, we can still bring down the Wall, stays alive. Or I lose, they bring me down—and then you can watch the dream die, this time for good.’
‘You know what?’ said Alvar. ‘You’re just like her sister. Got some power, betrayed your beliefs to keep it, and now you tell yourself it’s for the greater good so you can sleep at night. You don’t deserve her.’
Rama pulled back. For a while she only stood there, in silence, looking at him.
‘We’re done here,’ she said at last, quietly.
She slipped her hand into the pockets of her robe, and pulled out a knife. Alvar flinched as she came close to him, but then the blood rushed back into his hands, as his ropes were cut away.
‘You’re free to go,’ said Rama.
Alvar rubbed his wrists and looked up, scowled, ‘Go back and tell Mithila that Rama stole her Heartstone?’
‘She’ll know soon enough,’ Rama said. ‘But you can decide which of us gets to tell her. Goodbye, Alvar.’
He watched her leave the room.
He’d walked out of the Eleventh that night with the Heartstone, to draw the Shoortans into a trap. The trap had failed. He had failed. And the Heartstone was gone, lost to Rama, who would destroy the Revolution.
He slumped back in the chair, and let himself cry at last.
Mithila and Mankala raced up the Maliot, heads down, pushing off the ground with their feet, feeling the frame shudder beneath them. As they crossed the Middle Circles, they heard cries from the South, but Maji had done her job for the night. The Maliot was clear.
They passed into the Upper Circles, and into silence. The Council was nowhere to be seen. They flew up the Five, past the dark hulks of the stone mansions. Then they were in the Forum.
Mithila had never seen the Forum Plaza like this before: plunged in darkness, not a single lamp on the paths that connected the towers. The towers themselves seemed abandoned to the night—other than the Citadel, where a single high window held candlelight.
Mankala looked up and sighed in relief. ‘She’s in.’
They wheeled their chariots to the door of the Citadel. Mankala rapped on it.
There was no response.
‘Leader Marwana?’ Mankala called out. She rapped again. ‘It’s me, Mankala. We need your help.’
A long silence fell. Marwana rapped a third time, louder. ‘Marwana, we need you now!’
And then Mithila remembered.
‘Oh fuck,’ she spoke into the night. ‘That door’s not going to open.’
Mankala turned to her. ‘What?’
‘Select’s Protocol. Absolute neutrality. The door will not open until the Revolution is over, one way or another. She’s not coming.’
Denial—and then terror—chased each other across Mankala’s face, an expression Mithila had never seen before. ‘But she has to—we can’t—’
Mithila grimaced. ‘You know, there is one other way.’
‘What?’
‘But it’s the Council Hall, for one. And we’ll need help. I’m not so sure we’ll get it.’
‘Well, we’re not getting it here,’ said Mankala.
She turned and led the way across the Forum, to the Council Hall. Mithila hurried to catch her up.
They came to the Elders’ stronghold. For a few moments, they stood still at the threshold, listening. From inside, there was no sound.
‘Alright then,’ said Mankala. ‘This or nothing.’
She pushed the door. It creaked open, echoing under her hands.
The passage was pitch-dark, but for a thin line of light beneath a door ahead on their right.
‘That’s the Great Hall,’ Mankala whispered. ‘Who’s in there?’
‘The Elders are all at the Maliot House—can’t be them,’ Mithila murmured. ‘Come on.’
She crept forward along the left side of the passage, feeling her way past each door. Mankala kept inside her shadow. They reached the door of the Great Hall. It was half-open. Light spilt in a dim half-circle into the corridor.
Mithila stopped. Voices came from inside. She felt Mankala’s hand on her shoulder. She turned, and put a finger to her lips. Mankala nodded. Mithila crossed to the other side of the corridor and darted past the spill of light. Mankala came behind her. Inside, the voices continued, uninterrupted.
They walked on in darkness, until they reached the doorway on their left. Mithila led the way into the Hall of a Thousand Pillars. The pillars were glowing softly, with their strange, almost imperceptible, blue light.
‘Alright,’ said Mithila. ‘There’s a way down from here. But the only people who know it are these two sightless guides.’
‘What?’
‘That’s how I found the Builders last time. I—I found them, and I followed them.’
‘Where are these guides?’ said Mankala, uncertainly.
Mithila pointed. ‘Up the stairs. I saw them when I escaped from here three days ago. I’ll go get them. You stay here and watch? In case whoever’s in that Hall …’
Mankala nodded. Mithila jogged to the stairway, and began to climb. The lamps were lit, but far apart, leaving the stairs dim. She counted the steps as she climbed, remembering her last time here, squeezing herself into the side of the stairway as they came up, talking to each other—
From behind her, a scream cut through the night.
Mithila stopped dead.
‘Mankala?’ she whispered.
From the Hall, she heard a thump.
‘Mankala!’ Mithila turned, and rushed back down the steps, taking two at a time, running back into the Hall. It was silent and empty.
Carefully, she stepped between the pillars, looking around her. The hall stayed quiet.
But halfway across she heard it: a faint sound to her right.
Mithila stopped. She turned and crept towards the sound, suddenly aware of her own footsteps. And then there was something else, an indistinct noise, like a groan—
She came upon her just behind a pillar.
Mankala was lying on her back, her legs crumpled beneath her, unmoving. Her eyes were closed.
Seventeen
Ghada
Mithila rushed forward. She dropped to one knee and grasped Mankala’s shoulder, shaking her. Someone had stuffed a rag into her mouth, and tied a strip of cloth over it, tight between her teeth. Her arms were limp, bound.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Mithila whispered. Hands shaking, she touched the cord behind Mankala’s head. Just as she began to fumble at the knot, Mankala’s eyes flickered open, caught Mithila’s—and widened at something beyond.
Running footsteps. Mithila twisted and snatched at her sword, raising it to protect her side. She felt a shock that nearly wrenched her arm from its socket, and threw her back upon the ground. A shadow flew past her.
Mithila rolled away and staggered to her feet, blade out in front. She pushed hair out of her eyes.
Before her stood Minakshi.
For a long moment, Mithila stared at her.
‘Clean parry, sister,’ Minakshi said. ‘I see Ba kept your sword sharp.’
‘Don’t you mean Savarian?’ said Mithila, a glint in her eye.
‘Well, Ananta was a better father than a revolutionary—won’t you agree?’
‘Take that name out of your mouth,’ Mithila said. ‘You want to burn down everything he ever believed in.’
‘Somebody needed to be grown up in this family.’
‘You Ostracized me.’
‘And I’ve finished saying sorry for that,’ Minakshi said. ‘But you know what? I’m not sorry anymore. I’d forgotten that you’re willing to see the City fall to have your way. You want to wake Ghada? And Alora?’
Behind her, there was a violent movement, as Mankala struggled against her bonds, trying to speak, choking through the gag. Neither Minakshi nor Mithila took their eyes off each other.
‘Ah yes,’ Minakshi said. ‘Your little Tarafian is bad at keeping secrets with a knife at her throat.’
‘Why are you here, Minakshi?’ said Mithila.
‘To stop you.’
‘Like you did so brilliantly by the Wall, when you tried to lie about Ba?’
‘Back when I still believed you might have a heart.’
‘Ha.’ Mithila bared her teeth. ‘Nice try—but you forget I’ve always known when you’re lying.
Minakshi blinked. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Time to finish this.’
‘Don’t make me hurt you,’ said Mithila. ‘These blades are—’
Minakshi lunged.
She exploded off her back leg, sword-point aimed at Mithila’s chest, covering the distance between them like a streak. Mithila barely got her own blade up in time. The impact jolted into her arm again. Mithila cried out as her wrist twisted. She staggered back.
Minakshi came at her once more. Mithila saw the blade angling towards her throat. Still backing away, she raised her sword to cover her neck, seeing—moments too late—that it was a feint, as Minakshi’s blade dropped towards her unprotected chest.
Her backward stumble saved her, a second’s worth of distance that allowed her to swipe away the blade with an ugly downward parry, just a hair’s-breadth from her chest. Mithila retreated, gasping, disoriented.
Before she could recover, Minakshi lunged a third time, all speed, going straight for her throat. Mithila’s own blade was somewhere far away, leaving her defenceless. She threw herself to the side, landing on her knee and rolling away, as Minakshi passed through where she had been. Her sister’s blade struck a pillar with an ugly, ringing sound.
They faced each other once more. Mithila felt a shooting pain up her right knee. She grimaced.
‘I don’t think you can hurt me,’ Minakshi said, not a beat out of breath.
‘You know I always preferred defence,’ Mithila said. She could hear her heart throbbing against her chest.
‘Defence? Or running away?’ Minakshi taunted. ‘Ba wouldn’t like this.’
Mithila laughed, a bitter sound. ‘Ba? Oh, wouldn’t he be proud if he could see us now! His daughters, fighting each other.’
Minakshi returned a smile that glinted in the blue light. ‘Ba, who wanted to win this City upon the point of a sword? He would not have it any other way.’ She advanced on Mithila again, slower this time, more deliberate. ‘We are the Malorans, after all.’
Mithila retreated. Minakshi’s blade-point, in line with her chest, was tracing little circles in the air, mocking her, asking her to come for it. It sent bolts of tension stabbing through her veins, driving her almost to the edge of panic. She felt her knee throb, but it bore her still. Still backing, Mithila kept Minakshi two blades’ length away, watching for that lunge, faster than anything she remembered.
‘By the way,’ she said, to grasp at something, anything, ‘your back foot’s rolling again. I thought we’d sorted it out before you left us for your Shoortans.’
Minakshi snorted. ‘Nice try,’ she said, ‘but it turns out Ba was as wrong about that bit of advice as he was about his Revolution.’
And with her words, Mithila remembered something else that Ananta had failed to convince his younger daughter of during their lessons, another point in his map of failures with Minakshi. As her sister continued to advance at her, she kept an eye on her front leg.
Twice Minakshi feinted, teasing a lunge, inviting Mithila to react, to follow Minakshi’s blade and leave her side exposed—but each time Mithila saw the planted front leg and did nothing at all, holding her defence, smiling back. And then—the third time—she saw it, the quick half-step forward, predictable, the prelude to the real thing. When Minakshi lunged this time, Mithila was ready, jumping backwards, out of range.
