Ian Irvine - Tetrarch

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way. After all, it was your idea . Go at once!’

He did not move. He was still looking for a way to get Tiaan away. ‘But –’

‘Begone!’ roared the Matah, ‘or you shall feel real power.’ She swept her hands together and more of those golden bubbles quivered there.

Nish held his ground. He was brave enough, Tiaan thought grudgingly.

‘Take food from the lower storerooms, should you require it,’ said the Matah.

‘I –’

‘ Now! ’ She hurled the bubbles at him.

One struck his cheek and a yellow blister swelled there. Nish cried out, dashed the bubble away and bolted down the stairs.

‘And you?’ the Matah said to Ullii. ‘What will you do, little seeker?’

Ullii came to her. The Matah put her fingers around the small woman’s head. A golden nimbus shimmered like a halo, lifting her colourless hair into drifting tendrils.

‘Go, child,’ said the Matah. ‘Follow your mate, and beware.’

‘Nish will never hurt me,’ Ullii said serenely.

The Matah searched her face, then touched her on the shoulder. ‘I pray that you are right, though I fear otherwise.’

Ullii went after Nish. The Matah turned back to Tiaan. ‘What will you do with your life?’

‘I ought to end it, to make up for all the evil I have done.’

‘You know nothing about evil, Tiaan. I pray you never will.’ The Matah held her gaze until Tiaan looked down.

Pressing her palm to the wall, the Matah went outside to stand at the edge of the platform. Tiaan followed, shuddering in the cold. Her bare toes began to ache. The mountain towered above them, for they were barely a third of the way up it. Ahead and to either side stood peaks and glaciers as far as the eye could see, and that was very far in the crystalline air. Below lay a vast ice sheet, breaking away into glaciers all along one side.

‘It’s lovely,’ she sighed.

The Matah glanced at her. ‘I never tire of it. I come here every day that the weather permits. But you are cold.’ Taking the coat from her shoulders, she wrapped Tiaan in it.

Tiaan took it gratefully and shuffled to the edge, looking down on a sheer drop of at least a thousand spans. The great horn of Tirthrax hung directly above her. She had never been this high before, and her lungs strained at the thin air. ‘It would be so easy,’ she said aloud.

Tiaan expected the Matah to talk her out of it, but she sat on the stone seat, saying nothing. The eyes were penetrating, though Tiaan could read nothing in them.

‘Do you not care if I live or die?’ Tiaan asked, trying to provoke a reaction. Why had the Matah saved her from Nish, only to ignore her now?

‘I care,’ said the Matah, ‘for I see you have much to offer. But if you really did plan to take your life, and I convinced you not to, you would do it as soon as my back was turned.’ She stared at the ice cap. The wind whistled around the edge of the platform.

Tiaan regarded her blue, throbbing toes. Better get inside before she got frostbite. She was not going to end it after all.

‘I have a great deal to put right.’ Tiaan turned away from the edge.

‘I hoped you would think that way,’ said the Matah, ‘since I foresee that you have a part to play in the coming war. Come in out of the cold.’

Tiaan made no reply, but as the glass closed and they headed down the stair, she was thinking: I will have my revenge on Minis and all his kind. I will bring them down if it takes the rest of my life. Her gaze settled on the grey head below her. The Matah was also Aachim. Must she destroy her as well?

The Matah waited for her at the bottom. ‘Anything else you’d like to tell me, Tiaan?’

Tiaan flushed. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. Why do folk do the things they do?’

‘Because they must.’

‘I’ve never been able to understand people. Machines are so much easier, and more reliable.’

‘That would appear to be your problem.’

They went down, then up on the other side, to a small set of chambers simply furnished in metal and fabrics as smooth as silk. They ate together. It was plain fare – black grainy bread, preserved meat so hard that the Matah shaved curls from it with a knife, cheese layered with mustard seeds and something yellow that had the crispness and pungency of onion. The meal was settled with a glass each of a sublime green wine.

The Matah rose. ‘You must excuse me. Thanks to you I have urgent business to attend to.’

Tiaan quaffed her wine. The fumes went up her nose, her head spun, she had a vague memory of the Matah laying her on a pallet and drawing a cover over her, and that was all.

When she woke, the sun was streaming in through a glassed porthole high on the western wall. It was mid-afternoon. Tiaan stretched aching limbs and rose. Food had been set out on a stone table and a set of clothes laid over the end of the bed. Nearby was a bathing room. Pressing down the levers for water, she tore off her stained rags – clothes selected so she would look her best for Minis. Tiaan looked back on that morning, only two days ago but a lifetime away, contemptuous of the naïve trembling girl she had been. She had been a girl, though it had been her twenty-first birthday. That person, that life was over.

With a shudder of disgust, Tiaan hurled her rags into a refuse basket. Taking off the plaited leather bracelet Haani had made for her birthday, she laid it carefully on the bed. It was her most precious possession now. She stood under the warm water, brooding. She despised Minis for his fickleness, his treachery, but most of all because she had loved him with all her passionate heart and he had been too weak to stand up for her. Love was for fools! She would never love again.

On the way back, she caught sight of herself in a metal mirror mounted on the wall. Tiaan stopped to stare. Mirrors were rare in her part of the world and she had never seen a full-length one.

Neither tall nor short, Tiaan had a slender yet womanly figure which the matron of the breeding factory had rated well enough. Her skin was her best feature – it was silky smooth and the colour of honey dripping from a comb.

Pitch-dark hair, cut straight just below her ears, framed a neat oval face whose most striking feature was a pair of almond eyes, so deep-brown that they were almost purple. In better times they’d had a liquid sparkle; now they were fixed in a hard stare. Her mouth, full enough to be called sensuous, was compressed into a ridge that hid most of her remarkably coloured lips, the reddish-purple of blackberry juice.

Tiaan jerked away from the image. Neither face nor figure had moved Minis in the end. Dressing in the blouse and loose pants the Matah had left, she took enough food and drink to satisfy her. There was a kind of bread, or cake, stuffed to bursting with dried fruits, nuts, seeds and candied peel, then sliced so thin that she could see through it. There were roses and other flowers crystallised with solutions of honey. The flavours were so subtle and the creations so delicate that Tiaan could scarcely bear to touch them. There were exotic vegetables, none of which she recognised, preserved in oil as red as cedarwood.

Having eaten her fill, she was at a loss. Her dreams of revenge were foolish; futile. That armada of constructs must be twenty leagues away by now. Feeling her resolve fading, she went looking for the Matah and eventually found her on the frigid balcony.

‘Good afternoon, Tiaan,’ she said, without looking around.

Tiaan stood there, uncertainly. The Matah patted the stone seat. Tiaan perched uncomfortably on it, for the cold went right through her trousers.