Alexander Kazantsev - The Destruction of Faena

Ave Mar gripped his arm and twisted it so that the weapon tore Yar Alt’s own tunic.

Yar Alt was an experienced fighter. Ave Mar was an experienced athlete. They locked in combat, rolling about the ancient oratory and leaving a trail of bloodstains on the carpet.

Mada stared transfixed and could not tell whose blood it was. Ave Mar’s face was smeared all over with it.

Yar Alt stabbed Ave several times, but could not draw his hand far back enough for the fatal blow. Ave Mar sprang to his feet, seized a heavy chair and hurled it at his opponent. The other tried to dodge it, but a leg caught him on the head and he fell onto the floor. He nevertheless managed to draw back the stiletto, taking aim for a throw at Mada.

Ave Mar struck Yar Alt on the temple. His enemy was flung backwards, but threw out his legs and locked them round Ave’s ankles. Turning with a jerk, he threw Ave to the floor, then, getting up onto his knees, raised the stiletto. Ave knocked the weapon out of his hand.

Two shots rang out in succession. Mother Lua crawled through the door, a pistol dancing in her hand. Yar Alt reached for his stiletto again to finish Ave off.

Mada rushed to Lua, snatched the weapon out of her failing hand and pressed the firing button. Yar Alt jerked convulsively, slumped, and lay still.

“He loaded it with poisoned bullets himself,” gasped Mother Lua. “My dear, what will become of you?…”

Ave Mar rose to his feet and, breathing heavily, looked in amazement at the body of his adversary and at the unperturbed Mada. But she suddenly threw the pistol aside with revulsion.

“Blood! Blood!” she said in despair. “Now there can only be death. They will tear you to pieces, my husband. No one will believe it was I who did this.”

Ave Mar himself couldn’t believe it as he stared in bewilderment at his bloodstained hands.

Mada Jupi was, of course, a pampered child. Her every wish was fulfilled, she was glorified and bowed down to. But she had nevertheless not become spoiled and capricious, or incapable of doing anything but give orders. Mother Lua, who preserved the wisdom of the people, had managed after the death of Mada’s mother to inspire the girl with the idea of equal rights for all Faetians, whatever their outward appearance. Restrained, always calm. Mother Lua had the rare talent of the story-teller and an innate gift of influencing the minds of others. In another country, at another time. Mother Lua would have been the pride of the people; but on the barbarian continent of Power-mania’s Superiors she was only a nanny-true, of the Dictator’s daughter. She had always held up the girl’s own mother as an example, convincing her that the daughter should follow suit.

Mada grew up resembling her mother, but she also took after her father to some extent. Perhaps in her ability to love and hate to extremes. Consequently, the meeting with Ave swept her right off her feet. She fell in love, and a soft tenderness was combined with ruthless determination, and bewilderment with irrepressible daring. She had shot Yar Alt as if he were a mad beast, yet she was dismayed at the sight of his body.

The nanny was dying. Mada kneeled in front of her, listening as she whispered something almost inaudible.

“Nanny is talking about her son. And she says that Yar Alt murdered Kutsi.”

“Where? How?”

But Mother Lua could not say any more. Her strength had ebbed away. No efforts on Mada’s part were of any avail, neither the kiss of life nor heart massage. The nanny’s eyes closed and her body stretched out The hand that Mada had been holding began to turn cold. There was no pulse any more.

“It’s the end,” said Mada, and she burst into tears.

Ave now saw his companion as a weak and helpless girl. Like a child, she shook her nurse, kissed her cold hands and tried to wake her up.

Finally she turned her tear-stained face to Ave.

“My nanny is dead. She was so kind and clever! And we are finished.” And she glanced at Yar Alt’s contorted body. “Just think! He was my cousin.”

“Maybe we should try and help him!”

Mada shuddered.

“The bullets were poisoned. I don’t know how my poor nanny came by his pistol.” She began sobbing again.

Ave decided that he must do something. He lifted up the dead Alt, who had stiffened in his last convulsions, and carried him into a corner of the room behind the curtains.

Mada stood up determinedly and threw her head back.

“It’s no use. The Guards will be here soon, and then my father.” She picked Alt’s pistol up off the floor. “Forgive me for taking charge of our last step. There is no need to fire a bullet. One scratch is enough. Death will be instant. We shall hold hands with a bullet in our palms. We shall leave this world in which there is no happiness for us.”

Ave looked into her face: determination in her was struggling with despair.

Mada took the last round out of the pistol. The bullet was silvery and its sharp prickles were brown where the poisonous coating had been applied.

Ave resolutely gripped Mada’s hand.

“No! Faetians don’t give in so easily. We can still renounce life, but happiness… No!”

“There is no happiness in this world,” replied Mada.

“Show me the way into the garden,” said Ave masterfully, “and then through the Blood Door.”

“You think we can flee somewhere? Dawn is near, the last in our life. Can you hear the birds singing? I shall follow you because you are my husband. But we shall take the prickly bullet with us. It will be a safe protection for us.”

“Lead the way,” urged Ave.

Mada looked at him curiously. Until now, she had thought herself the stronger.

They carried Lua’s body to a couch and Mada spread over it a pale blue coverlet from her bed. Then she showed Ave a low door leading into a narrow passage that ended in a steep ladder.

Just before dawn, the garden had changed completely. A silvery cloud had filled the avenues, hiding the bushes and tree-trunks from view. It seemed to Ave that he and Mada were walking into another world above the clouds. He clasped her slender hand more tightly.

The quivering mist at their feet seemed treacherous, weightless and yet dense. It was as if there might be water under it one moment and an abyss the next.

Mada stepped fearlessly into the swirling mist and took Ave with her. The obedient Blood Door opened in front of her.

A dense mist had enveloped the ruins of the old shrine under the Dread Wall. As they walked breast-high through the cloud that lay on the stones, Ave and Mada seemed to be fording a river of foam.

Mada knew the way. They came surprisingly soon to the black building of the Temple of Eternity. Ave thought that the unfortunate Kutsi must have led them the long way round. Poor wretch! It cost Ave an effort to restrain himself; he did not even allow himself a sigh, but he felt sorry for the man.

Ave despised his own habitual changes of mood. But now he was firm and knew what had to be done. That was why he was taking Mada to Um Sat.

The Elder was astounded when he saw the newly-weds on the threshold of his cell once again.

He gave Mada a seat in an armchair opposite the table at which he had spent the whole night. Ave stood beside Mada.

“What’s happened? Can I help you in any way?”

“There is no happiness in this world,” cried Ave. “But in your power there is another world!”

The Elder raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

“There is another world in space,” explained Ave, and he told the Elder all about what had happened.

Um Sat became thoughtful.

“So I must accept Yar Jupi’s conditions and, in my turn, demand that he send his daughter to Terr? Doesn’t that seem incredible? To take refuge in space?”