The Stars Askew (44 page)

Giselle had already mounted her griffin. She sat upright, the reins in one hand like an expert rider. “You should feel the power of them, Armand.”

Armand looked at Irik for guidance, but the oppositionist nodded at one of the beasts. “Up you go.”

Something broke within Armand, the last straw that was holding up all the softness inside him. The world was harsh, and he would need to become cruel to survive it.

And so Armand turned from Irik and approached the beast warily, aware of its talons, large as his forearms. Grasping the saddle, he pulled himself up, felt the beast move beneath him. He looked briefly down at Irik, who pursed his lips, waved them off.

As the griffin backed away toward the edge of the platform, Armand became aware of a second Augurer, this one with a single blue eye, standing behind Irik.

The griffin's powerful spring into empty space forced Armand down into his seat. He closed his eyes, held the saddle for dear life, and felt the beast drop toward the ground, his stomach lurching as they fell. Then, with a beat of its massive wings, they rushed upward again.

Armand turned back to the Eyrie, where the oppositionist stood beside the beast that would fly him to Caeli-Amur. Armand felt a crush of despair inside him. Would this be the last time he saw the man? He thought of the images from his future. What choice was he making? A choice not for himself, but for everyone else—for order.

As he watched the Eyrie fall away from him, he noticed a third Augurer, this one at a higher window. Then he saw a fourth, this one but a child. Then he realized there were a dozen or more, each looking from a window or ledge—watching him as he flew toward his future.

 

THIRTY-FIVE

A good-looking young man, his stride wide and confident, crossed the square below. As he swept back his dark shoulder-length hair, he looked a little like Kata for a moment, his dark eyes glittering with intelligence, his face smooth and unlined. Maximilian remembered him, vaguely, as one of Ejan's followers—Rikard. The young man had an air of certainty about him, as if the world were made for him.

Beside Max, Kata leaned against the gatehouse's palisade and called to the guards, “Let him in.”

They descended to the ground and watched as Rikard marched through the gateway, sized up Max for a moment before turning to Kata. “Surrender, and everyone will be saved. You killed vigilant guards under no authority but your own, but you're a legitimate part of the movement. Ejan feels terrible about Maximilian, but, you know, mistakes get made.”

Kata widened her stance, planted her feet against the solid ground. “Rikard, think it through. Ejan knew Max was in the Arbor dungeons. His friend Dumas wrote that letter to Armand. We thought they were plotting to fight us in the open, but we were wrong. They have corrupted the movement from within.”

“Ejan said you'd claim these kinds of things. But, Kata, really.”

Max wanted to speak, but he held himself back. The overthrow of the Houses had happened without him. It had unveiled all his follies. To think that a single individual could have an influence on history, just one water molecule in the surging sea.
It was a convenient delusion,
he thought. Delusions kept one going, as a seditionist. They all needed them back then, when there had seemed little hope of success. Now those delusions were scattered behind him like the ashes of old campfires.

No: it was not he, but Kata, who had become a seditionist leader. She had certainly shown, as she ran from crisis to crisis, that she had a strong enough will. Max found her all the more attractive now, and saw her as the partner she might have been. But they had both changed irrevocably, and he had Aya lodged in his head.

In recent days, Max had felt Aya recompose himself, his form becoming more solid. The ancient mage was finally coming to terms with Iria's betrayal, with the ruin of the world. Before the mage regained too much strength, Max needed to recover the Core of Sentinel Tower, return it to the Elo-Talern, and eject Aya from his body. Maybe Rikard would help in some way.

Kata led them toward the small Arena. The sound of guards training floated over the walls. Though philosopher Sarrat had returned to his home, his work done, a group of philosopher-assassins—gratificationists, matriarchists—had aligned themselves with the moderates and were now leading the practice sessions. Max smiled to himself: Kata was showing off her force to Rikard, certain the information would make it to Ejan.

“We could storm this complex if we wanted to,” said Rikard.

“Hear that?” said Kata. “That's the sound of trained militia. Even if you did defeat us, you'd pay too high a price, both in death and loss of face. The citizens would turn against you. The textile factories, the machinists, the builders—they're all on our side.”

“Who has the thaumaturgists?” countered Rikard.

“No one,” said Kata. “The Authority is split. The thaumaturgists won't follow any faction. You won't be able to command them even if you tried.”

Max was still struggling to gain a sense of the vast changes in the city. Those who controlled the thaumaturgists had always controlled Caeli-Amur. There were surely those who had become seditionists, but others would continue to be troops for hire, mercenaries—especially those used to the privileges accorded to them by the Houses. Much depended on which way they fell.

Rikard grasped Kata's hands tightly. “Kata. As your friend, I beg you.”

“A friend wouldn't ask this of me,” said Kata.

“You know politics, Kata. Sometimes you agree with people you don't like. Sometimes you care for those you disagree with.” Rikard dropped Kata's hands and looked down at his feet. “You've changed me. You've made me see subtleties where there were none. Please.”

“Sometimes there is no room for subtleties. Sometimes things are fundamental,” said Kata. “Ejan sent you because he knew you would have a greater chance of changing my mind.”

“He wanted to come himself,” said Rikard. “I begged him to let me go in his stead.”

That silenced Kata for a moment.

“The assault will be in the next few days.” Rikard stood before them, his arms hanging hopelessly at his sides.

Kata nodded. “Tell Dexion not to come here for me. Tell him to stay at home.”

Rikard looked around the trees in the complex, the outbuildings, the mechanical attempts to reproduce the beauty of the Arbor Palace. He then walked back toward the gate.

Leaving Kata behind, Max hurried beside him. “When I was captured, I was carrying an object—a cylinder. Have you heard anything about it or where it might be?”

Rikard shook his head. “Georges has a room of captured goods in the Arbor Palace. But you won't have any luck getting it from him—not unless Ejan orders it.”

“I must see Ejan, then.”

“Now,
that
I wouldn't recommend.”

As Rikard walked on, Max called to him, “So that's your new order, then? A gathering of thieves?”

Rikard seemed bereft, perhaps hurt. He took two steps back toward Max. “The room is on the third floor of the wing of the Palace that hangs over the lake. If Georges does have your cylinder, that's where you'll find it.”

*   *   *

Moderates packed into a theater in the northern wing of Technis Palace. Open on one side, it afforded a view of the city, and the cool night air swept in from the sea. Older moderates anxiously argued for surrender. Against them, the factory delegates—hard men and women who had lived their lives in smoke and soot—argued both against capitulation and against conflict with the vigilants. It was an impossible position, but one which seemed to be winning. The only option they were left with was to hole up in the complex and wait for events to develop.

Max loved these citizens, silent and under the sway of the Houses for so long. Now they had found their own voices: rough, unsophisticated, but honest. He swore he could dedicate himself to them, once he had rid himself of Aya.

Still, Max's new modesty eventually drove him from the theater and back to the Director's offices. He slumped into the seat behind the desk, examined the memory-catcher. He had known at first glance what the thing was, for a fragment of Aya's memories had integrated with his. The bolts were fixed in a belt circling the machine. Max glanced beneath the desk, and there found the little bolt-thrower, aimed to fire at someone standing before it: an indication that the machine still operated.

He began to think again of the Core, lying in Georges's storeroom in Arbor Palace. There was no getting around it. He would have to retrieve it himself, under cover of night and illusion. He was preparing himself for the journey when Kata entered the room.

“I'm going to the Arbor Palace to retrieve the Core,” said Max.

Kata took a deep breath. “I know I shouldn't, but I'll come with you.”

Max's surprise showed on his face. Already she had rescued him from the Bolt. Moved though he was, he couldn't let her take this chance. She was needed here. “Look, if this is about us … You don't owe me anything, you know. And you're not my keeper.”

Kata shook her head. “I'm not, but I do owe you something. You were the first person to show me there was more to life than seeking personal advantage. You showed me there was meaning in working for others. You're my … you're my … friend.”

The word
friend
smacked him hard: to hear himself defined that way hurt. Was there no future for them, after all? He was to blame in the first place and it would take time to win her back. Still he held out hope. The truth was, her offer was too good to refuse. As a former philosopher-assassin—a fact she'd admitted to him before the overthrow—she would be invaluable in facing the dangers of House Arbor.

“Yes, of course. I need your help,” he said.

“We have to retrieve the Core safely, though,” said Kata. “Neither of us is allowed to die.”

“You might have noticed, but I'm not always the best at keeping promises,” said Max.

*   *   *

Later that night Max dropped to the ground beside Kata, inside the gardens of the Arbor Palace. They scuttled away from the
Toxicodendron didion
, which was beginning to rouse itself from Max's sleeping conjuration. After the charm, Max felt the nausea rise within him; his legs weakened. The Other Side leaked into him, but he would have to continue on.

Extraordinarily primitive,
Aya's voice was again strong.
You call that a science?

—Show me how. Show me the prime language.

Aya did not respond, but Max felt the god's restlessness once more.

Tear-flowers started to wail their beautiful, mesmeric cry, and Max thoughtlessly started to walk toward them.

Kata pulled him away. “Come on.”

They crept silently past lush jungle plants, smelled thick jungle smells. Above them curled beautiful walkways and aqueducts. If they could reach them, they would be safe from the dangerous flora. He gestured to Kata.

She shook her head. “Too open. Too vulnerable.”

They slunk on through the undergrowth, passing a bed of blood-orchids, which stirred at the scent of them. Leaving the deadly flowers behind, they pushed through a thick exotic bush. Max found himself quickly scooting over a floor of bloodred mold, which moved unnervingly beneath his feet. Tendrils rose up to reach him, like little hands of a desperate lover.

A moment later they were beside a pond. Unseen things moved beneath its dark surface, breaking its stillness. Kata dashed along the water's edge. Max followed her straight into a bank of razor reeds, which shook savagely. Kata leaped back, blood flowing from her right arm. She checked the long thin wounds with a disgusted eye. “Damn it.”

They came through the thickest part of the garden, to where many beds of tear-flowers and exquisitely crafted trees had been hacked and destroyed. They froze for a moment, for a carriage raced along the entranceway, past the great fountain and toward the palace. A heavy figure, face obscured by a hood, stepped from the carriage and entered the palace, accompanied by a bodyguard.

“We're not the only late visitors, I see,” said Kata.

The carriage might have belonged to an officiate once. Those who had escaped to the Dyrian coast were safe for the moment. Many had been dragged back from the villas to the dungeons beneath the palace. Yet others had met the Bolt, their last dark friend. Yet Max knew there were still a few free House agents in the city, hiding in their mansions.

Putting such thoughts aside, they dashed to the palace wall. Kata tossed up a hook, which promptly fell back to the ground beside them. Her second throw was powerful and accurate. The hook lodged in the iron balcony on the third floor.

“You first,” she said.

Max grabbed the rope and hauled himself up, up, winding his legs around the rope to steady himself. His arms began to burn from the strain by the time he reached the first floor. By the time he dragged himself to the second, they were shaking. He looked down, realized how high up he was. A tumble would mean a shattered leg, capture, the dungeon, and the Bolt.

Don't fall now.
Aya laughed.

—You still want me to die along with you? Max built a little shield within himself, in case Aya decided to strike at him.

Aya laughed again.
You think I hate you that much?

—You intend to drain my mind from my body. But I'm warning you, once we're back with the Elo-Talern, you'll be the one deposited into some inanimate world, like the one in Caeli-Enis's Library, where I found you. I have the strength. I am the whole personality here. You are but a fragment.

It's war, then. War to the end. And you might like to ask yourself quite how whole you are.

Max struggled to pull himself past the second floor. A groan came unbidden from his lips. He clung to the rope silently for a moment.