Crystal Rain (19 page)
Authors: Tobias S. Buckell
Smells of saltfish stew and fresh bread filled the air. The sun hung dead over the market, beating down through the heavy, thick air and warming the skin. A vendor poured a bowl full of saltfish stew from an iron pot hanging over a small wood fire. John handed over too many coins and took the small wooden bowl from the vendor. He walked over to the nearest wall at the corner of the market and held the bowl up and sipped.
Salty, nasty fish in a watery broth.
The smell hit him.
Home.
Shanta.
Someone jostled him, and stew spilled down his fingers. John looked around the square. Hundreds of stalls and umbrellas, people with baskets or wheelbarrows pushing through each other to get from table to table. And packed with desperate city people trying to buy everything. Scraggly fruit, old meat, skinny live animals, patchy vegetables, all were for sale and over sagging wooden tables. Market seemed just as tense as the streets, if not more so. Azteca were coming, and the market knew it. Mothers pushed grandmothers aside to pick at canned meats, and occasional fights were broken apart by watchful ragamuffins.
It was overwhelming.
John dropped the bowl of saltfish, stomach churning. He
turned against the wall and threw up, spattering the lower part of the bright red paint.
turned against the wall and threw up, spattering the lower part of the bright red paint.
A few more heaves and he was finished. He stood with his head against the chipped wall, eyes closed. How could he go on? Everything that balanced him was gone. No memories. No nothing. What was a person without memories?
A child.
He’d been stillborn at Brungstun and, desperate for identity, had become a sailor, a fisherman, and adventurer in Capitol City, searching for something.
No one could even begin to explain how it felt to
be nothing
. It sent him into spirals of self-doubt, and fear.
be nothing
. It sent him into spirals of self-doubt, and fear.
Fear: Suppose he forgot all this?
He was gripped by fear that something would happen, and everyone he knew would become lost to him again. It could happen anytime, he felt on some gut level. He could just lose everything again.
There had been dark moments before his marriage. Moments when, unable to pierce the darkness obscuring what he was, John wondered how to continue.
He was there again.
Running had been action, action that kept one away from thinking too much. Now he had time to think. It made him feel as if he were being spun apart.
John smacked his head against the wall. The pain and jarring on his forehead felt good. How could he know what to do with himself next if he didn’t know what to do?
Suppose Shanta and Jerome
were
dead, as Oaxyctl claimed. What did he do with himself then?
were
dead, as Oaxyctl claimed. What did he do with himself then?
Fade away? Because he couldn’t start over again. No.
Were his new memories going too? He panicked. No. He remembered Haidan. He remembered the first time he’d met Shanta, Jerome’s birth. Everything from the moment he washed up.
He had that.
But didn’t have his family anymore, just their memories. And he could never trust memories, could he? John wiped his tears off with a sleeve, then punched the wall until his knuckles were bloody.
Action. Action. He had to
do
something soon, or he
wouldn’t be able to maintain a hold on anything. No one around him even gave him a second glance. There was an air in the market that John had never felt before, one where people seemed to be in their own space, not looking at each other. It wasn’t just him, John thought, the whole place was coming apart.
do
something soon, or he
wouldn’t be able to maintain a hold on anything. No one around him even gave him a second glance. There was an air in the market that John had never felt before, one where people seemed to be in their own space, not looking at each other. It wasn’t just him, John thought, the whole place was coming apart.
He took a deep breath and turned back around. Time to find some food that didn’t make him think of family and take it back to Oaxyctl.
Four muddy children and their uncle, a leathery-skinned man in rags and a straw hat, stood in Dihana’s office.
“They had round everyone up in town square.” The old man’s voice quavered, and he put a protective arm around the small girl. “Start in from the edges, yank ’em out, drag them to a stone. Then …”
“They take Mum first. Then Dad.” The girl had distant, wide eyes. Unflinching and calm, she stared straight at Dihana. “Cut they heart out.” They had seen a thing that made Dihana’s stomach churn just thinking about it. And to this little girl Dihana was nothing to fear.
The door opened, and another ragamuffin pushed in. “Papers, from General Haidan.” He set the sealed packet on her desk.
Dihana regarded the unexpected intrusion. “Sabotage map?” She was expecting a map of sabotage locations and a summary of damage.
“And something else.”
She looked up at the small girl, who still stared at her. “How did you all escape?” Dihana asked.
“We didn’t.” The oldest boy shivered. “They sent us ahead. We it.”
Dihana looked up at the ragamuffin who’d brought them into her office. “We don’t have much space, everyone trying
to make do, but that man behind you will get you some food, and a place to stay.”
to make do, but that man behind you will get you some food, and a place to stay.”
They shuffled out. The ragamuffin who’d delivered the map waited for the door to close. “Brewer’s Village?”
“The last from it, yes.”
“They say the Azteca sacrifice over half the village.”
“Yes.” Dihana waved him quiet. She’d suffered hearing it from the actual survivors coming into the city, and all she could think about was seeing everyone in Capitol City die before her eyes. She unrolled the package, setting aside a clutch of letters to look at the map she wanted. “So it’s not just weapons they’re after,” she murmured. “It’s the grain.” The Azteca must know that Capitol City would be a long, long siege. They were doing their best to soften it ahead of time with their spies.
“Trying to starve we from the inside,” the ragamuffin said.
“Here.” Dihana looked up from the map. “Take as many ragamuffins as you can, and tell the mongoose-men in Tolteca-town that this is one of their tasks from now on: block off Tolteca-town from everyone else street by street. Any Tolteca outside Tolteca-town will be picked up and returned, or jailed if they do it again.”
“They go revolt.”
“Haidan has the mongoose-men tearing up track, looking to destroy the couple bridges between Harford and here. But when the Azteca hit the Triangle Tracks, it won’t be long before they come here. In that time the spies in Tolteca-town can do much damage. We can’t afford it.” On her side Dihana had gotten silos filled, helped the fishermen build new boats with armor and cannon on them to sustain them with fresh fish during the attack. She’d shut down banks, seized businesses, and declared emergency conditions. Every night handbills and criers circulated, explaining what she was trying to do, how they must all stand together.
“Okay.” The ragamuffin stared straight at her.
“Someone inform Xippilli before the command goes out, though. Give him an escort to come straight here if he wants. He’ll be angry.”
The ragamuffin nodded and withdrew.
Dihana turned to look at the letters. The top was just a scribbled note from Haidan:
This is my little secret, and why I think the trip north is so important.
This is my little secret, and why I think the trip north is so important.
Underneath was an older slip of paper. “Dear Stucky,” Dihana read.
She almost changed her mind when she finished, wondering what was hidden away in the cold north of the world. A machine, a weapon … but what was the use of an archaeological expedition right now? They would either shatter the Azteca at the foot of their walls or fall to their knives. Trying to study the past now would take too long.
And they needed all the airships to defend the city. Haidan, of all people, should have realized that.
Oaxyctl navigated the warrenlike streets of Capitol City in a daze. He kept to the shadows, away from people, and followed a street-by-street pattern from memorized instructions a year old until he passed into a dingy collection of buildings.
Tolteca-town.
He relaxed a bit. It was like home away from home: signs in Nahuatl, occasional snatches of familiar-sounding conversation.
It hadn’t occurred to him until this moment, but he’d been the only brown-skinned person among all the darker Nanagadans. Now he didn’t stand out as much with his straight fringe of black hair.
Oaxyctl stopped a woman with a laundry basket balanced on her head.
“Could you give me directions to Xippilli’s house,” he asked. Xippilli, he’d been told, was the most respected of the Tolteca in Capitol City and would be easy to ask for by name. The woman gave him instructions that took Oaxyctl
straight to a two-story brownstone, where a number of Tolteca lounged around the front.
straight to a two-story brownstone, where a number of Tolteca lounged around the front.
“I am looking for Cipactli,” Oaxyctl said. “Do you know of him?”
They looked him over. “We’ll take you to him.”
Cipactli worked for Xippilli as an adviser, Oaxyctl determined by looking over the parchment on Cipactli’s desk. Cipactli himself came into the room, dressed in a black suit with a silver tie.
He walked over and fiddled with the desk drawer, then looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said with an even face, “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I am Iccauhtli,” Oaxyctl said. “New to the city. I presume to ask if you would be generous enough to show kindness to a stranger.”
“I am sorry, my brother.” Cipactli stopped moving papers around. “I can not … offer you help. But let me give you some money.”
He handed Oaxyctl a few coins, and something else, feathery, to Oaxyctl’s palm.
“You are generous, my lord.” Oaxyctl snapped his hand shut. “I will not forget this.”
Cipactli ushered him out the door.
Only farther down the road did Oaxyctl unclench his fist and look at the coins. A tiny piece of paper lay between them, giving him Cipactli’s home address. Be here in thirty minutes, it said.
Oaxyctl ate the paper and put the coins in his pocket.
Oaxyctl lit a match and watched Cipactli flinch. The dim yellow light danced off the rocky walls and sturdy wooden beams. Dust patterns swirled in front of the match, disturbed by the movement.
“Greetings, fellow
quimichtin,”
Oaxyctl said.
quimichtin,”
Oaxyctl said.
“What is your need?” Cipactli walked farther into his own basement. “I have to be careful now. Mongoose-men are everywhere. It is tense.”
“A god has charged me with a mission.”
Cipactli’s mouth dropped. “I apologize. You have anything you need.” He swallowed, eyes wide. “Do you know which god?” The match went out, leaving them in the dusky dark of the basement. Cipactli fumbled around to turn on a weak electric light near the stair door.
“I was afraid to ask.” Oaxyctl didn’t want to think back about the rainy forest encounter. Just get it done, he thought. Get it over as soon as possible, and get out of the city before the invasion. “The invasion is close?” Oaxyctl tried to figure out how much time he had.
“They are over halfway to the Triangle Tracks,” Cipactli said. “There are delays. The mongoose-men slow them down some. But the gods prevail. Anandale will fall in a handful of days yet.”
“The gods prevail,” Oaxyctl echoed. He’d found paper and pen when he’d snuck in. He handed a list to Cipactli. “I need all these.”
“You are honored to be charged by a god.” Cipactli held the list up to the small light and read it. “Who will you be torturing?”
Oaxyctl wondered if he should tell Cipactli it was not an honor. He wasn’t even sure it was safe. The fact that other gods might disagree with his god’s need to get these “
Ma Wi Jung
codes” out of John, whatever those were, meant all this might end with Oaxyctl dead anyway.
Ma Wi Jung
codes” out of John, whatever those were, meant all this might end with Oaxyctl dead anyway.
He sighed. The gods, an invasion army, and who knew what else were destined to destroy the Nanagadan’s last enclave within two weeks anyway.
What could he do against that?
Nothing.
The smart man played as best he could. That was all Oaxyctl ever did. Even though the luck had never come to him, he’d survived longer than anyone had thought he would. There was only one way to survive.
Oaxyctl cleared his throat. “Just get these items, please.”
“I will. Stay here, and I will return.” Cipactli turned off the light and walked up the stairs, leaving Oaxyctl to brood in the dark.
Oaxyctl’s eyes adjusted to the dark. A small, painted-over window in the far corner yielded a tiny stream of light. In between small naps Oaxyctl watched it go from pure white to orange to nonexistent by the time Cipactli returned and flicked on the electric light.
The canvas bag he carried clinked when he set it on the ground.
“Everything?” Oaxyctl asked.
“Everything.”
Oaxyctl smiled. The end was in sight. “I will need help. A few people to subdue this man and maybe bring him back somewhere like this. I act tonight. I can’t risk any more waits, it is stressful as it is making these sorts of gambles.”
“There is a problem.” Cipactli looked far more solemn than he had earlier. “There is a curfew. It started now, with this sunset.”
“Okay. We wait for the sun to rise—”
“No one of Azteca origin can be out without an escort. Anytime.”
“Then I leave now.” Oaxyctl picked up his atlatl and spears and walked forward to pick up the canvas bag.
“There are other ways to help you, they will just take some time to put in place.”
“No, no waiting,” Oaxyctl said. “I leave now.”
He brushed past Cipactli and up the stairs. The Capitol City
quimichtin
followed him up and let him out a side door.
quimichtin
followed him up and let him out a side door.
Oaxyctl did not look back, but melted into the shadows.
It wasn’t jungle, but Oaxyctl was still good at keeping out of sight. He only made a few wrong turns that left him drymouthed until he regained his bearings. He was almost back before someone spotted him.
A mongoose-man yelled at him to stop, and Oaxyctl froze against the wall. He’d had to get out of the alleys to cross toward a street.
Oaxyctl waited until the mongoose-man was just behind him and pushed his sleeve up to show the tattoo. It hadn’t worked before, but it was still worth getting the mongoose-man to come within range.
“I am a mongoose-man.”
“Right,” the man said. “But Tolteca mongoose are in Tolteca-town to help patrol, which is where you should be.” Oaxyctl tensed as the man looked at the tattoo. “Look good. Not many Tolteca there. I respect that. Now, if you hold on, me partner pissing just around the corner. We can escort you back to Tolteca-town.”
“Why don’t you just let me continue on my own?” Oaxyctl asked, smiling. He turned to look the mongoose-man in the eye and faced a young man. He kept his hip turned, put his left arm into his pocket, and gripped the handle of a knife.
“I can’t do that.” The mongoose-man smiled back. “And why you alone? Where is
you
partner?”
you
partner?”
“Oh.” Oaxyctl leaned forward. “He’s just—” He grabbed the young man by the shirt, twisted him around, and slit his throat.
The mongoose-man burbled blood and clutched his throat. Oaxyctl guided the mongoose-man gently to the street, rolling him over onto his back, and looked into the glazed eyes.
Then he glanced up and down the street, wiped his knife and hands clean on the mongoose-man’s shirt, and ran off before the other mongoose-man could walk around the corner.
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