Palaces Of Light

This job was different from most others they’d taken on. The way the baron told it, some coldhearts had taken all the children in the ville. Why was a mystery; how was an even bigger one. Despite his best efforts, Ryan had been unable to understand what had occurred. All he knew was that the baron was willing to pay them a lot of jack to rescue the ville’s children.

While it was true that a ville was lost without kids—without the next generation a ville could do nothing but wither and buy the farm, at the mercy of an aging population and an outside world that grew progressively younger and stronger—still it was more than just altruism that had driven the baron’s desperate bargaining. The fact that one of the kids taken was his own had a greater bearing on his willingness to give ground than perhaps his people would have liked, had they been privy to the negotiations.

The thing was, with his own kid being involved, he was willing to pay a lot to get her back. Conversely, what information was he holding back that might make them decide not to take the job? Ryan wondered.

How had these coldhearts taken the kids so easily? What danger did they really present?

Perhaps that was part of the reason that he was trailing at a distance: caution for his people until they had a real chance to recce the situation.

But it had better come soon.

* * *

LIGHT BECAME DARK easily in the barren wasteland. Heads down, focused on keeping one foot in front of another at a steady pace that ate up the ground, ignoring the thirst that gnawed at their parched throats, the companions didn’t notice the passing of time. Suddenly the light around them became much dimmer, and the sands that reflected light and heat at them became much cooler.

“Dark night, how long have we been doing this?” J.B. asked in a voice that was barely above a croak. It was so quiet that it was hard to tell if he was talking to anyone in particular, or just to himself.

Nonetheless, Ryan opted to answer. Looking at his wrist chron, alarmed at how the heat and sweat in his eye made it hard to focus on its face, he said, “Too long, J.B. Hours. We should have taken a water break a couple of hours back.”

“Mebbe have plenty time do that,” Jak observed morosely, gesturing at the horizon.

Ryan followed the direction indicated by the albino teen. Although he could now see the group of people in the far distance much more clearly than a few hours previously, the horizon no longer blurred and obscured by the haze of the day’s heat, the group was greatly diminished from the one they had been following up to this point.

“What the fuck…” he whispered.

“Unless they’re walking off the edge of the world—and I wouldn’t blame them if it goes on like this—then I figure that the plains must be about to take a huge dip,” Krysty said with a wry twist to her tone.

“If that is so, then I would suggest we take advantage of the drop in temperature and step up the pace, lest we lose track of them,” Doc suggested. “It would, after all, be a great pity to come this far only to lose them in a hole in the ground.”

Mildred grinned. “Not like you to be understated,” she said hoarsely, the smile cracking her dry lips.

Ryan, however, was in no mood to take such humor at face value. “Shit,” he swore in frustration, “we’ll take in some water, then try to step it up. I know you want to rest, people, but mebbe we’ll get lucky and be able to take a break when we find where they’ve disappeared to.”

The other five all experienced a sinking feeling in the pits of their stomachs when they heard what the one-eyed man had to say. Yet each of them had already steeled him or herself for the difficult trek ahead, knowing that it was necessary, and that Ryan only spoke what they all knew to be true.

Without another word, they took great drinks of water to rehydrate and fortify themselves before setting off in grim silence for the target.

The way ahead was nothing but a hard slog. They had to focus on getting to the target, and not waste time and energy on anything else. Even the encroaching darkness and cold seemed to be peripheral to the goal that filled their minds. But before the blanket of night finally descended, and they had only the pale wan light of a cloudless moon to light their way, Ryan was able to see that the last of the group of people ahead of them had vanished from view. How far was the horizon from where they were? Apparently, always the same distance.

No, he thought, shaking his head a little to clear the muzziness that came with fatigue and the chill that crept into their bones. The question was, how much land lay between themselves and the horizon at any given time? That was how far ahead their prey was from where they stood now. And if he knew that, then he could work out how long it would take them to cover that distance and so find out where that prey had gone, and how long until they could even think about stopping.

The figures rushed around his head, producing a different answer with each thought, and making him question his own sanity. And yet that futile train of thought served a purpose: the longer and more complicated the train of thought, then the more distance it ate up without his noticing the effort it took to drag his body across the arid plain, gray in the moonlight.

In their own ways, and with their own trains of thought, the others did the same. It was a way of shutting out the cold, just as they had tried to shut out the heat.

So it was that they came upon the fissure before they truly had a chance to register what was up ahead. It had looked like nothing more than a patch of ground that was darker than the surrounding area. It was only that the land beneath their feet grew less smooth, rougher and more broken, that the presentiment of any danger became apparent. The pale light of the crescent moon had been little enough, but somehow the land around had seemed to soak up what little light prevailed.

Another time, perhaps, any of them would have noticed. But, tired and worn by their self-enforced march, they were receptive to the change before it was almost too late. Ryan, still in front, had registered that the ground was less certain beneath his boots, but had put this subconsciously down to a minor change in the terrain than anything that should take his attention.

Perhaps it was the night around them dulling his senses. Perhaps it was the dehydration and the introspection that had enabled him to counter this. Perhaps it was nothing more than the tiredness that came from a day’s march without any respite.

Whatever it was, it nearly cost him his life.

One moment the one-eyed man was wrapped up in thought, feeling and yet not registering the ground beneath his feet, the next, he was sliding forward as that ground gave way with an unexpected treachery.

Now the darkness around him made more sense. This was what the people they had been trailing had disappeared into: a fissure in the earth, running deep and almost sheer beneath them. Somehow they had wandered into a small ledge that jutted into space. Those who had gone ahead had known it was there, and had benefited from the light of day. For Ryan and his people there was no prior warning, and as his foot had come down on loose earth and started a slide, the momentum and weight of his body not only threatened to carry him over the edge and into the unknown dark below, but it also carried the risk of making the ledge crumble.

Krysty and Jak were nearest as Ryan’s leg skidded from under him and he toppled back toward the ground. He would have yelled, if not for the fact that his throat was so cracked that little more than a startled croak would emerge. His arms flew out in an attempt to balance himself and spread his weight, to stop the ground beneath him giving way any more than it already had. Without his realizing it, this gave Jak and Krysty the help they needed. As his arms flew back, they were both able to reach out and grab hold of him.

Yet even as they did, both were aware of the earth beneath them trembling and starting to crumble. An ominous groan came from deep within the ground beneath their feet.

Mildred, J.B. and Doc were lagging behind a little. Although it gave them more ground to make up before they could be of assistance, it also gave them the split second they each needed to snap out of their respective reveries and take instant stock of the situation.

To be too close would be to risk their combined weight causing the unstable ground to break up even more. To stay away would be to leave Jak and Krysty to try to haul Ryan back while the rock splintered beneath their feet. They had to move in and lend support while staying back enough to stop the ledge turning to dust beneath them, and dropping all of them into the abyss below.

Ryan had no idea of what was happening behind him. He knew only that the ground was falling away beneath him even as he scrabbled with his boot heels to gain some kind of grip. Each frantic attempt to gain a foothold had only the opposite effect. At the same time, he could feel his legs start to slip and his calves cramp as the jagged edge of rock cut into them. At the other end of his body he could feel an ironlike grip around each wrist, and his shoulders strained in their sockets as he was grabbed and hauled back while his momentum sought to carry him in the opposite direction.

He stopped kicking, realizing that his efforts were counterproductive.

At his back, Jak and Krysty could feel the movement beneath them slow as Ryan ceased to fight. Now more confident, but still cautious in case they started a slide of their own, they began to move back slowly, one step at a time. They staggered their steps so that first Krysty, and then Jak, moved, causing the minimum of disturbance and impact to the fragile earth beneath them. Within a few steps, each felt another hand reach out and grab them in the darkness. Mildred took hold of Jak, and Doc assisted Krysty. Each allowed the others to lean a little of their weight into them, so that it took some strain off the ground beneath, and allowed the stress to be carried over a greater area of ground. At the rear, J.B. planted his feet firmly on solid ground and took hold of arms that were stretched out behind Doc and Mildred. Bearing their weight, he began to slowly shuffle back, taking the strain and helping them to haul back Jak and Krysty.

It was a slow and painful process. Sweating with the effort, despite the chill of the night, J.B. could only relax when he could see, under the wan moon, that Ryan was several yards from the edge, and was able to dig in his own heels and push back.

When they were all back level with the line of the crevasse, they collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard.

Ryan raised himself up on one elbow. In the moonlight he could see the inky blackness that was delineated only by the jagged line of collapsing rock. They had hauled him back only just in time. He could still hear the faint sounds of falling dirt and stone where small sections of the lip continued to fall away.

Just in time. Timing was everything. A few seconds and he would have been gone before they could reach him.

Timing was everything. A day either way and they might not even have been out here on this cold, dark night.

Chapter Two

“Tell me where they are, Morgan. Tell me what they’re doing.”

Baron K leaned into the fire, so that his face was reflected in the upward glow. Shiny, bright and expectant, there was almost something childlike about him as he asked.

The old man sucked his teeth, then spit to one side. “Wish it was that simple, Baron. But if it was, I would have seen them coming, known who they were when they arrived and been able to do something about it.”

The baron shook his head. “When I look back, I should have seen it, too. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious that they were bad news. No, Morgan, they had a magic about them that was strong, and could mask a lot.”

The old man cocked his head to one side as he considered the man who was nominally his superior. Not at present. Right now it seemed that the baron was looking up to him as a superior because of powers he appeared to possess. His faith was touching, if a little misplaced. Morgan mused that if he had been the kind of man who wished to gain and use power, he would have been able to use the baron’s belief against him. For a man who had used a very physical and worldly grasp of power to gain his position, he had a vulnerable point that was unexpected.

But Morgan wasn’t that kind of man. He considered that running his own life was enough of a struggle, let alone taking on the task of telling others how they should live. He also had what he considered to be a sense of perspective. And from that he knew that the baron had overestimated what he could do. The baron believed in magic and power that was beyond the physical and human. Morgan didn’t. All those old stories were crap. It was true that he had a certain ability. He was a doomie, as he had heard others like himself be called. He could see things that weren’t there, or that were happening some way distant. But he didn’t call it magic. He came from a long line of those who carried the history of the time before the nukecaust. This role as a person who could recall the stories of the past gave him a kind of protection. He was treated with a kind of awe akin to those who could cure the sick. Doctors, as they called them once. With a wry twist of humor, he realized that he was one of the few who would know that word around these parts. Just as he was the only one who knew that doomies weren’t some kind of supernatural beings.

But let the baron believe what he wanted. It kept Morgan alive and relatively safe.

It was true, though, that he did possess that kind of doomie gift that enabled him to see from a distance. If he concentrated, then he could see what it was that he concentrated his attention upon. Viewing remotely, as some had once called it. Or second sight, which seemed a stupe name to him, as he could barely see now that he was getting on and his eyes ailed him.