Venging Page 14

  The pools beyond were luminous with the upright glows of insect larvae. Some were a foot long and solitary; others were smaller and grouped in hazes of meager light. Always there was a soft sucking sound and thrash of feelers, claws, legs. Jeshua's skin crawled, and he shivered in disgust.

  "Sh," the boy warned. "Skyling here, sout' go, tro sound."

  Jeshua caught none of the explanation but stepped more lightly. Dirt and tiles dropped in the water, and a chitinous chorus complained.

  "Got dur here," the boy said, taking Jeshua's hand and putting it against a metal hatch. "Ope', den go. Compree?"

  The hatch slid open with a drawn-out squeal, and blinding glare filled the tunnel. Things behind hurried for shadows. Jeshua and the boy stepped from the tunnel into a collapsed anteroom open to the last light of day. Vegetation had swarmed into the wet depression, decorating hulks of pipe valves and electric boxes. As the boy closed the hatch, Jeshua scraped at a metal cube with one hand and drew off a layered clump of moss. Four numbers were engraved beneath: "2278."

  "Don' finga," the boy warned. He had wide grey eyes and a pinched, pale face. A grin spread between narcissus-white cheeks. He was tight-sewn, tense, with wide knees and elbows and little flesh to cover his long limbs. His hair was rusty orange and hung in strips across his forehead and ears. Beneath a ragged vest, his chest bore a tattoo. The boy rubbed his hand across it, seeing Jeshua's interest, and left a smear of mud behind.

  "My bran'," the boy said. The "brand" was a radiant circle in orange and black, with a central square divided by diagonals. Triangles diminished to points in each division, creating a vibrant skewedness. "Dat put dere, long 'go, by Mandala."

  "What's that?"

  "De gees run me, you drop skyling on, woodna dey lissen wen I say, say dis me, dat de polis, a dur go up inna." He laughed. "Dey say, 'Nobod eba go in polis, no mo' eba.'"

  "Mandala's a city, a polis?"

  "Ten, fi'teen lees fr' 'ere."

  "Lees?"

  "Kileemet'. Lee."

  "You speak anything else?" Jeshua asked, his face screwed up with the strain of turning instant linguist.

  "You, 'Ebra spek, bet. But no good dere. I got better Englise, tone up a bit?"

  "Hm?"

  "I can… try… this, if it betta." He shook his head. "Blow me ou' to keep up long, do."

  "Maybe silence is best," Jeshua said. "Or you just nod yes or no if you understand. You've found a way to get into a polis?"

  Nod.

  "Named Mandala. Can you get back there, take me with you?"

  Shake, no. Smile.

  "Secret?"

  "No secret. Dey big machee… machine dat tell dis me neba retourn. Put dis on my bod." He touched his chest. "Tro me out."

  "How did you find your way in?"

  "Dur? Dis big polis, it creep afta exhaus'—sorry, moob afta run outta soil das good to lib on, many lee fro' 'ere, an' squat on top ob place where tube ope' ri' middle ob undaside. I know dat way, so dis me go in, an' out soon afta… after. On my—" He slapped his butt. "Coupla bounce, too."

  The collapsed ceiling—or skyling, as the boy called it—of the anteroom formed a convenient staircase from the far wall to the surface. They climbed and stood on the edge, looking each other over uncertainly. Jeshua was covered with dark green mud. He picked at the caked rings with his hands, but the mud clung to his skin fiercely.

  "Maybe, come fine a bod ob wet to slosh in."

  A branch of the Hebron River, flowing out of the Arat range, showed itself by a clump of green reeds a half mile from the tunnel exit. Jeshua drew its muddy water up in handfuls and poured it over his head. The boy dipped and wallowed and spumed it from puffed cheeks, then grinned like a terrier at the Ibreemite, mud streaming down his face.

  "Comes off slow," Jeshua said, scraping at his skin with clumped silkreeds.

  "Why you interest' in place no man come?"

  Jeshua shook his head and didn't answer. He finished with his torso and kneeled to let his legs soak. The bottom of the stream was rocky and sandy and cool. He looked up and let his eyes follow the spine of a peak in Arat, outlined in sunset glow. "Where is Mandala?"

  "No," the boy said. "My polis."

  "It kicked you out," Jeshua said. "Why not let somebody else try?"

  "Somebod alread' tried," the boy informed him with a narrowed glance. "Dat dey tried, and got in, but dey didna t'rough my dur go. Dey—shee—one gol, dat's all—got in widout de troub' we aw ekspek. Mandala didna sto' 'er."

  'I'd like to try that."

  "Dat gol, she special, she up an' down legen' now. Was a year ago she went and permissed to pass was. You t'ink special you might be?"

  "No," Jeshua admitted. "Mesa Canaan's city wouldn't let me in."

  "One it wander has, just early yes'day?"

  "Hm?"

  "Wander, moob. Dis Mase Cain' you mumbur 'bout."

  "I know."

  "So't don' let dis you in, why Mandala an' differs?"

  Jeshua climbed from the river, frowning. "Appel?" he asked.

  "Me, m'appel, not true appel or you got like hair by demon grab, m'appel for you is Thinner."

  "Thinner, where do you come from?"

  "Same as de gol, we follow the polis."

  "City chasers?" By Ibreem's estimation, that made Thinner a ruthless savage. "Thinner, you don't want to go back to Mandala, do you? You're afraid."

  "Cumsay, afraid? Like terrafy?"

  "Like tremble in your bare feet in the dirtafy."

  "No' possible for Thinner. Lead'er like, snake-skin, poke an' I bounce, no' go t'rough."

  "Thinner, you're a faker." Jeshua reached out and lifted him from the water. "Now stop with the nonsense and give me straight English. You speak it—out!"

  "No!" the boy protested.

  "Then why do you drop all 'thu's' but in your name and change the word order every other sentence? I'm no fool. You're a fake."

  "If Thinner lie, feet may curl up an' blow! Born to spek dis odd inflek, an' I spek differs by your ask! Dis me, no fake! Drop!" Thinner kicked Jeshua on the shin but only bent his toe. He squalled, and Jeshua threw him back like a fingerling. Then he turned to pick up his clothes and lumbered up the bank to leave.

  "Nobod dey neba treat Thinner dis way!" the boy howled.

  "You're lying to me," Jeshua said.

  "No! Stop." Thinner stood in the river and held up his hands. "You're right."

  "I know I am."

  "But not completely. I'm from Winston, and I'm speaking like a city chaser for a mason. And speaking accurately, mind you."

  Jeshua frowned. The boy no longer seemed a boy. "Why fool me, or try to?" he asked.

  "I'm a free-lance tracker. I'm trying to keep tabs on the chasers. They've been making raids on the farmlands outside of Winston. I was almost caught by a few of them, and I was trying to convince them I was part of a clan. When they were buried, I thought you might have been another, and after speaking to you like that—well, I have an instinct to keep a cover in a tight spot."

  "No Winstoner has a tattoo like yours."

  "That part's the truth, too. I did find a way into the city, and it did kick me out."

  "Do you still object to taking me there?"

  Thinner sighed and crawled out of the stream. "It's not part of my trip. I'm heading back for Winston."

  Jeshua watched him cautiously as he dried himself. "You don't think it's odd that you even got into a city at all?"

  "No. I did it by trick."

  "Men smarter than you or I tried for centuries before they all gave up. Now you've succeeded, and you don't even feel special?"

  Thinner put on his scrappy clothes. "Why do you want to go?"

  "I've got reasons."

  "Are you a criminal in Ibreem?"

  Jeshua shook his head. "I'm sick," he said. "Nothing contagious. But I was told a city might cure me, if I could find a way in."

  "I've met your kind before," Thinner said. "But they've never made it. A few years ag
o Winston sent a whole pilgrimage of sick and wounded to a city. Bristled its barbs like a fighting cat. No mercy there, you can believe."

  "But you have a way, now."

  "Okay," Thinner said. "We can go back. It's on the other side of Arat. You've got me a little curious now. And besides, I think I might like you. You look like you should be dumb as a creeper, but you're smart. Sharp. And besides, you've still got that club. Are you desperate enough to kill?"

  Jeshua thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.

  "It's almost dark," Thinner said. "Let's camp and start in the morning."

  In the far valley at the middle of Arat, the Mesa Canaan city—now probably to be called the Arat city—was warm and sunset-pretty, like a diadem. Jeshua made a bed from the reeds and watched Thinner as he hollowed out the ground and made his own nest. Jeshua slept lightly that evening and came awake with dawn. He opened his eyes to a small insect on his chest, inquiring its way with finger-long antennae. He flicked it off and cleared his throat.

  Thinner jack-in-the-boxed from his nest, rubbed his eyes and stood.

  "I'm amazed," he said. "You didn't cut my throat."

  "Wouldn't do me any good."

  "Work like this rubs down a man's trust."

  Jeshua returned to the river and soaked himself again, pouring the chill water on his face and back in double hand-loads. The pressure in his groin was lighter this morning than most, but it still made him grit his teeth. He wanted to roll in the reeds and groan, rut the earth, but it would do him no good. Only the impulse existed.

  They agreed on which pass to take through the Arat peaks and set out.

  Jeshua had spent most of his life within sight of the villages of the Expolis Ibreem and found himself increasingly nervous the farther he hiked. They crawled up the slope, and Thinner's statement about having tough soles proved itself. He walked barefoot over all manner of jagged rocks without complaining.

  At the crest of a ridge, Jeshua looked back and saw the plain of reeds and the jungle beyond. With some squinting and hand-shading, he could make out the major clusters of huts in two villages and the Temple Josiah on Mount Miriam. All else was hidden.

  In two days they crossed Arat and a rilled terrain of foothills beyond. They walked through fields of wild oats. "This used to be called Agripolis," Thinner said. "If you dig deep enough here, you'll come across irrigation systems, automatic fertilizing machines, harvesters, storage bins—the whole works. It's all useless now. For nine hundred years it wouldn't let any human cross these fields. It finally broke down, and those parts that could move, did. Most died."

  Jeshua knew a little concerning the history of the cities around Arat and told Thinner about the complex known as Tripolis. Three cities had been grouped on one side of Arat, about twenty miles north of where they were standing. After the Exiling, one had fragmented and died. Another had moved successfully and had left the area. The third had tried to cross the Arat range and failed. The major bulk of its wreckage lay in a disorganized mute clump not far from them.

  They found scattered pieces of it on the plain of Agripolis. As they walked, they saw bulkheads and buttresses, most hardy of a city's large members, still supported by desiccated legs. Some were fifty to sixty yards long and twenty feet across, mounted on organic wheel movements. Their metal parts had corroded badly. The organic parts had disappeared, except for an occasional span of silicate wall or internal skeleton of colloid.

  "They're not all dead, though," Thinner said. "I've been across here before. Some made the walk a little difficult."

  In the glare of afternoon they hid from a wheeled beast armored like a great translucent tank. "That's something from deep inside a city—a mover or loader," Thinner said. "I don't know anything about the temper of a feral city part, but I'm not going to aggravate it."

  When the tank thing passed, they continued. There were creatures less threatening, more shy, which they ignored. Most of them Jeshua couldn't fit into a picture of ancient city functions. They were queer, dreamy creatures: spinning tops, many-legged browsers, things with bushes on their backs, bowls built like dogs but carrying water—insane, confusing fragments.

  By day's end they stood on the outskirts of Mandala. Jeshua sat on a stone to look at the city. "It's different," he said. "It isn't as pretty." Mandala was more square, less free and fluid. It had an ungainly ziggurat-like pear shape. The colors that were scattered along its walls and light-banners—black and orange—didn't match well with the delicate blues and greens of the city substance.

  "It's older," Thinner said. "One of the first, I think. It's an old tree, a bit scabrous, not like a young sprout."

  Jeshua looped his belt more tightly about his club and shaded his eyes against the sun. The young of Ibreem had been taught enough about cities to identify their parts and functions. The sunlight-absorbing banners that rippled near Mandala's peak were like the leaves of a tree and also like flags. Designs on their surfaces formed a language conveying the city's purpose and attitude. Silvery reflectors cast shadows below the banners. By squinting, he could see the gardens and fountains and crystalline recreation buildings of the uppermost promenade, a mile above them. Sunlight illuminated the green walls and showed their mottled innards, pierced the dragonfly buttresses whose wings with slow in-out beats kept air moving, and crept back and forth through the halls, light wells, and living quarters, giving all of Mandala an interior luminosity. Despite the orange and black of the colored surfaces, the city had an innate glory that made Jeshua's chest ache with desire.

  "How do we get in?" he asked.

  "Through a tunnel, about a mile from here."

  "You mentioned a girl. Was that part of the cover?"

  "No. She's here. I met her. She has the liberty of the city. I don't think she has to worry about anything, except loneliness.'' He looked at Jeshua with an uncharacteristic wry grin. "At least she doesn't have to worry about where the next meal comes from."

  "How did she get in? Why does the city let her stay?"

  "Who can judge the ways of a city?"

  Jeshua nodded thoughtfully. "Let's go."

  Thinner's grin froze and he stiffened, staring over Jeshua's shoulder. Jeshua looked around and surreptitiously loosened his club in his belt. "Who are they?" he asked.

  "The city chasers. They usually stay in the shadow. Something must be upsetting them today."

  At a run through the grass, twenty men dressed in rough orange-and-black rags advanced on them. Jeshua saw another group coming from the other side of the city perimeter. "We'll have to take a stand," he said. "We can't outrun them."

  Thinner looked distressed. "Friend," he said. "It's time I dropped another ruse. We can get into the city here, but they can't."

  Jeshua ignored the non sequitur. "Stand to my rear," he said. Jeshua swung his club up and took a stance, baring his teeth and hunkering low as his father had taught him to do when facing wild beasts. The bluff was the thing, especially when backed by his bulk. Thinner pranced on his bandy legs, panic tightening his face. "Follow me, or they'll kill us," he said.

  He broke for the glassy gardens within the perimeter. Jeshua mined and saw the polis chasers were forming a circle, concentrating on him, aiming spears for a throw. He ducked and lay flat as the metal-tipped shafts flew over, thunking into the grass. He rose, and a second flight shot by, one grazing him painfully on the shoulder. He heard Thinner rasp and curse. A chaser held him at arm's length, repeatedly slashing his chest with a knife. Jeshua stood tall and ran for the circle, club held out before him. Swords came up and out, dull grey steel spotted with blood-rust. He blocked a thrust and cut it aside with the club, then killed the man with a downward swing.

  "Stop it, you goddamn idiots!" someone shouted. One of the chasers shrieked, and the others backed away from Jeshua. Thinner's attacker held a head, severed from the boy's body. It trailed green. Though decapitated, Thinner shouted invective in several languages, including Hebrew and Chaser English. The attack
ers abandoned their weapons before the oracular monster and ran pale and stumbling. The petrified man who held the head dropped it and fell over.

  Jeshua stood his ground, bloody club trembling in his loosening hand.

  "Hey," said the muffled voice in the grass. "Come here and help!"

  Jeshua spotted six points on his forehead and drew two meshed triangles between. He walked slowly through the grass.

  "El and hell," Thinner's head cried out. "I'm chewing grass. Pick me up."

  He found the boy's body first. He bent over and saw the red, bleeding skin on the chest, pulpy green below that, and the pale colloid ribs that supported. Deeper still, glassy machinery and pale blue fluids in filigree tubes surrounded glints of organic circuit and metal. The chaser nearby had fainted from shock.

  He found Thinner's head facedown, jaw working and hair standing on end. "Lift me out," the head said. "By the hair, if you're squeamish, but lift me out."

  Jeshua reached down and picked the head up by the hair. Thinner stared at him above green-leaking nose and frothing mouth. The eyes blinked. "Wipe my mouth with something." Jeshua picked up a clump of grass and did so, leaving bits of dirt behind, but getting most of the face clean. His stomach squirmed, but Thinner was obviously no mammal, nor a natural beast of any form, so he kept his reactions in check.

  "I wish you'd listen to me," the head said.

  "You're from the city," Jeshua said, twisting it this way and that.

  "Stop that—I'm getting dizzy. Take me inside Mandala."

  "Will it let me in?"

  "Yes, dammit, I'll be your passkey."

  "If you' re from the city, why would you want me or anyone else to go inside?"

  "Take me in, and you'll discover."

  Jeshua held the head at arm's length and inspected it with half-closed eyes. Then, slowly, he lowered it, looked at the tiled gardens within the perimeter, and took his first step. He stopped, shaking.

  "Hurry," the head said. "I'm dripping."