Кейт Форсит - Relics, Wrecks and Ruins - Anthology of Speculative Fiction Short Works

“I remember,” said Flydd.

“No one could fault their work. They turned the crater into a garden…”

“But?”

“The Merdrun believe themselves superior to every other intelligent species. They refused to listen to guidance from their inferiors.”

“You’re saying…?”

“It became clear to us that they were incapable of change, and could never be freed.”

“You told them so?”

“Two years ago,” said Malien.

“How did they react?”

“They didn’t.”

“They see emotions and feelings as signs of weakness,” I said, “and crush them out of their children from an early age. Except for triumph after a military victory. That’s an allowable emotion.”

“And now?” said Flydd.

“Get on,” said Malien.

Mystified, I followed Flydd to the platform and climbed up. It was about five yards by three, the sides silver metal in sinuous curves. The flat deck was lined with swirls of small green and black tiles. A thick rod rose from the floor in front of Malien’s chair, which was made from some kind of black metal, twisted into a spiral. She sat, took hold of the rod, and the platform lifted with a nausea-inducing jerk and sailed out over the rim of the crater.

I had seen images of the place when I was nine, when it had been a stony, heat-baked wilderness. Now large areas of the crater floor, thousands of feet below us, were covered in dark blue and purple crops, strips of woodland and a patchwork of vegetable gardens.

As the hover platform angled across the crater and down towards the western slope, I began to sense pain, despair and overwhelming rage. With an effort, I blocked my gift. It was more often a curse.

Hundreds of long, low stone buildings, built from rubble, ran along the western slope of the crater. I saw no signs of life there, or in the fields.

“Those buildings look like barracks,” said Flydd.

“Living quarters,” said Malien. “Very cramped and basic. The Merdrun are prodigious workers, but they live in hovels, as if the conveniences of life are anathema to them.”

“It’s said they don’t want to become comfortable, in case they lose sight of their goals.”

“And now we come to why you’re here,” said Malien. “You picking anything up, Sulien?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” I lied.

“You’re an empath! ” Malien said irritably. “The most sensitive one I’ve ever met. And you have a great gift for the Secret Art.”

“I haven’t used either gift in years.”

“Well, start! That’s why I ordered you here.”

“You’re distant kin, Malien,” I said, choosing my words carefully, though I seethed inside, “and venerable, and deserving of respect—”

“Spit it out, girl! Don’t hold back on my account.”

“I don’t take kindly to being ordered about. I had too much of that as a kid—from enemies and friends.”

Malien was the best of her people, and she had been good to me when I was little, but the Aachim were ever lofty and arrogant, and dismissive of all other human species. Especially those who share part of their blood.

She snorted. “What are you picking up?”

The platform skimmed over a small hill, then hovered a couple of hundred feet above the ground.

“Despair,” I said. “And humiliation, rage and pain. But they’re fading.”

“They didn’t succeed in suppressing all their emotions, then,” said Flydd.

I went carefully towards the front of the platform, since there was no rail, and looked down. And my skin crawled.

The bodies were laid out in rows. Hundreds of rows, and hundreds of columns, in the partial shade of the purple-leaved, black-trunked trees that grew nowhere but Aachan.

“Two hundred and eight rows,” said Malien in a drear voice. “And four hundred and seven columns. More than a hundred thousand Merdrun. All of them, in fact.”

“What happened to them?” I’d seen a lot of dead people in my time, and it’s never been easy, but this was different. Why were the bodies arranged so neatly? And if they were all dead, who had laid them out?

“No idea. They were busy at their allotted tasks when the weekly identification parade was held, three days ago. They appear to have committed mass suicide overnight.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“But there must have been signs,” said Flydd, leaning over the side of the platform.

“Our sentries kept their distance,” said Malien. “We promised to guard them, and we did our duty faithfully, but we had no interest in the Merdrun or what motivated them.”

“Only a hundred thousand,” he mused. “In the beginning, three times that number were imprisoned here.”

“They did not take well to servitude. Mortality has been very high.”

“Also, I’m not seeing any children among the bodies.”

“They grew up.”

“But tens of thousands must have been born here.”

“In the sixteen years of their servitude, I’m not aware that a single Merdrun woman became pregnant. There were certainly no babies born.”

“That defies belief,” said Flydd. “It’s against human nature.”

The temperature was mild down here, but I shivered. This was bad. Really bad.

“To a people who believed themselves superior to all,” said Malien, “servitude must have been unbearable. Theirs was an utterly joyless society. Tormented.”

“Well, they’re gone,” said Flydd, “and I won’t pretend I’m sorry. What do you want from me?”

“Find out what happened here, and why. My health isn’t up to it, and none of my people are willing.”

“What else do you know?”

“Nothing. They left no written records, no notes, no explanation at all.”

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “Why would a nation so single-mindedly determined decide to end itself?”

“We tried to rehabilitate them,” Malien said defensively, “but it wasn’t in them. Perhaps they felt death was better than perpetual incarceration.”

Flydd’s bony jaw was set. “I don’t think so. We’ll have to inspect the bodies.”

“What, all of them?” I said. It was bound to bring memories to the surface that I would sooner have stayed buried.

“We’ll walk the rows. We may find something.”

Malien set the hover platform down on blue-black grass, some distance from the remains.

“There’s no need for you to come,” Flydd said to her.

“They were my responsibility. I have to account for them.”

I trailed behind, bracing myself for a ghastly scene, but the bodies, men and women, young and old, showed no sign of violence, or poison. There was no indication as to what had killed them, though some of the faces were twisted in terror. However they’d died, they had suffered.

I felt a throat here and there. All were cold, dead for quite a few hours. I was looking down at a muscular, black-haired young woman when I saw that she had a slightly withered look, as if the flesh under the skin had shrunk.

The little hairs on my arms stirred. Withering would not have happened within hours of death; not in this cool shade.

The next body was a middle-aged man, his beard shadow so black it might have been painted on with my printing ink, and he too was withered. Flydd and Malien had missed the signs, but I’d seen them before. Unfortunately.

“Flydd!” I yelled.

He came running. An odd, clumsy gait, but surprisingly fast for someone his age. I pointed out the subtle signs of withering. Most of the bodies had them.

All the blood withdrew from his face, leaving the ancient scars standing out, purple against grey. He swore under his breath.

“What are we looking at?” said Malien.

I swallowed, painfully. “Someone drank the life forces of a hundred thousand Merdrun.”