Кэролин Гилмэн - Exile's End

As the ladders were taken away, some musicians started playing a song on reed pipes and drums, and the crowd gathered round, singing. When the song ended, the musicians threw their instruments onto the pile and drew back. Five men came forward with cans of kerosene and started splashing it on the lowest tier of the pile. The square was so quiet, a child’s voice asking a question echoed loudly, and laughter rippled through the crowd.

The five men soaked long-handled torches in the kerosene and lit them, then looked to Traversed Bridge for a signal.

Rue could no longer hold her peace. She pushed through the crowd to where Traversed Bridge was standing. “Traversed,” she said, and he turned. “For pity’s sake, stop this madness.”

His face looked set, like concrete. “You don’t have to stay.” Then, as she refused to move or back down, the emotion he had been holding back broke through his control. “You didn’t have to come at all. Why are you even here?”

“I did have to come,” she said. “I do have to witness, for my people. So you will know the pain you are causing us.”

“What about our pain?” His voice broke on the words. “Your people never cared about that.”

“Is that what this is really about? Revenge for wrongs we did to you?”

He drew a breath, gathering control. “This isn’t about you at all. It’s about us. Our chance to reclaim who we are.”

“By destroying everything you have achieved, everything you have to be proud of?”

He looked up at Aldry. “Even Glancing will live in our songs,” he said. “She will still be radiant in our memories. But she will be free. And so will we.”

Rue realized that the men with the torches were still standing by, waiting for Traversed to give them the signal. The entire crowd was watching silently.

He nodded for them to go ahead. The men turned and thrust the torches deep into the pile. The fire kindled right away, blue kerosene flames licking upward. The crowded square was utterly silent as they watched the fire climb higher and higher. Rue wanted to flinch away, not to see, but she forced her eyes to stay on Aldry as smoke billowed around her.

She felt Traversed Bridge take her hand, and she gripped tightly as she saw the portrait start to scorch, then blacken, then kindle. The flames were now roaring skyward, and they engulfed Aldry, hid her. Finally, the whole wicker contraption collapsed, and everything fell into one flaming pile.

There were tears on her face, though she didn’t know how they had gotten there. She wiped them away and turned to look at Traversed Bridge. His face was also wet.

“We have to leave now,” he said.

The whole crowd was moving, exiting the square. Traversed Bridge walked back to help Vigilant Aspire to her feet, and Garrioch came to Rue’s side. “Do you want me to bring the car?” he asked.

“No, I can walk to it.”

They found themselves caught in a tide of people, cars, and animals leaving the village. The narrow road was clogged, and Garrioch’s car could move no faster than the general pace. Several times they stopped to pick up elders whose legs had given out, or mothers carrying babies, until the car was full and people were riding on the hood and bumper.

When they came to the wide spot on the mountain where they had paused the day before to look out over the village, the crowd stopped moving. Everyone gathered to look out over their homes, and the bonfire still smoking in the center. Rue and Garrioch got out to see what was going on.

Traversed Bridge’s rental car brought up the last stragglers, and he got out to survey the scene. Then he took out his phone and made a call. Everyone was looking west to where the sun hung low on the shoulder of the mountain.

A puff of smoke bloomed from the midpoint of the dam, and seconds later came the sound of the explosion. A gap appeared in the concrete wall; then, slowly, the top started to collapse and water poured out. As the whole midsection of the dam crumbled, a massive brown gusher erupted. Gathering speed as it passed down the valley, it took boulders and trees before it, foaming as it washed toward the village.

At Rue’s side, Garrioch was groaning. “I can’t watch,” he said. She couldn’t take her eyes away. The water swept into the village, smashing buildings, engulfing the bridge, and spreading out to wash over the fields.

So much effort, so much progress, and now the Manhu were back to the poverty where they had started.

The reservoir continued to drain as the sun set, and the drowned valley fell into shadow. Everyone seemed to be preparing to spend the night where they were—lighting campfires, spreading blankets, gathering in family groups. Garrioch turned to Rue for guidance. “Should we leave?”

Rue looked around her. She didn’t want to abandon them all like this and go back to the city’s comforts. “If they can sleep on the mountain, I can sleep in the car,” she said.

He looked relieved—partly not to have to drive the mountain roads all night, but more so not to have to make a decision, she thought.

They dined on some nut bars and fruit chips that Garrioch had in the car; it was more than some of the Manhu had. Then, as night fell, people started singing around the campfires—lilting, happy songs that the children could join, and that masked the sadness.

Rue woke before dawn. The scenes of the day before kept running through her head. When the sky started to lighten, she left the car with Garrioch still sleeping in it. The mountain air was chilly, but the sky was clear.

She was not the only one awake. Out on the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley, Traversed Bridge was sitting, his back to the camp, looking out into the void. She walked over to join him.

Below, the place where the village had been was a sea of mud and debris, a brown wasteland. Nothing had survived. Upstream stood the breached dam like an ancient ruin.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He paused a long time. “No,” he said. “It’s hard to give it all up. But anything worth doing is hard.”

It didn’t follow that anything hard was worth doing, she thought, but left it unsaid. He already looked broken.

“What will you do now?”

“Start over,” he said heavily. “Or at least, my kids will.”

She was silent then, wondering how anyone could bequeath such devastation to their children.

As if hearing her thoughts, or thinking them himself, he said, “I did it for them. So they would never have to wonder if they were truly Manhu.” He looked up at her. “We don’t want to be like you people of Sarona, you Hoarders. We don’t want to drag our past behind us. It’s too heavy for us to bear.”

They fell silent again. The sun peeked over a gap in the mountains, lighting the valley below them.

“Look,” he said, pointing upstream. Above the dam, a large flock of birds was circling. They shifted course, then came down the valley, till they settled in a cloud on the flats where the village had been.

“Maybe they’re replanting our fields,” Traversed said, smiling.

Rue could almost see the flash of silver wings.

CAROLYN IVES GILMANis a Nebula and Hugo Award-nominated writer of science fiction and fantasy. Her novels include Halfway Human and the two-volume novel Isles of the Forsaken and Ison of the Isles. Her short fiction appears in many Best of the Year collections and has been translated into seven languages. She lives in Washington, D.C., and works for the National Museum of the American Indian. You can sign up for email updates here.