Incarceron (Incarceron, Book 1) (21 page)

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being tied in front of him. Fear was threading into his mind like a cold trickle.

"Not that we'll see the Key again," Gildas said bitterly. "Or that liar Keiro."

"I trust him," Finn said between gritted teeth.

"More fool you."

The men came back. They tugged their prisoners to one side, pushed them through an archway in a wall and up a broad dim staircase that curved to the left. At the top a great wooden door confronted them; by the light of the two lanterns that guarded it, Finn saw that an enormous eye had been carved deep in the black wood; the eye stared out at him and he thought for a moment that it was alive, that it watched him, that it was the Eye of Incarceron that had studied him curiously all his life.

Then the Crane-man rapped on the wood and the door opened. Finn and Gildas were led inside, a man on each side of them.

The room, if it was a room, was pitch-black.

Finn stopped instantly. He breathed hard, hearing echoes, a strange rustle. His senses warned him of a great emptiness, before him, or perhaps to the side; he was terrified of taking another step in case he plummeted into some unknown depths. A faint memory stirred in his mind, a whisper of someplace without light, without air. He pulled himself upright. He had to keep alert.

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The men stepped away, and he felt isolated, seeing nothing, touching no one.

Then, not very far in front of him, a voice spoke.

"We are all criminals here. Is that not so?"

It was a low, quiet question, modulated. He had no idea if the speaker was male or female.

Gildas said immediately, "Not so. I am not a criminal, nor were my forebears. I am Gildas Sapiens, son of Amos, son of Gildas, who entered Incarceron on the Day of Closure."

Silence. Then, "I did not think any of you were left." The same voice. Or was it? It came from slightly to the left now; Finn stared in that direction, but saw nothing.

"Neither I nor the boy have stolen from you," Gildas snapped. "Another of our companions killed the animal. It was a mistake but--"

"Be silent."

Finn gasped. The third voice, identical to the first two, came from the right. There must be three of them.

Gildas drew in a breath of annoyance. His very silence was angry.

The central voice said heavily, "We are all criminals here. We are all guilty. Even Sapphique, who Escaped, had to pay the debt to Incarceron. You too will pay the debt in your flesh and with your blood. Both of you."

Perhaps the light was growing, or perhaps Finn's eyes were adjusting. Because now he could make them out; three

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shadows seated before him, dressed in robes of black that covered their whole bodies, wearing strange headdresses of black that he realized all at once were wigs. Wigs of raven-dark, straight hair. The effect was grotesque because the speakers were ancient. He had never seen women so old.

Their skin was leathery with wrinkles, their eyes milky white. Each of them had her head lowered; as his foot scraped uneasily he saw how their faces turned to follow the sound, and he realized they were blind.

"Please ..." he muttered.

"There is no appeal. That is the sentence."

He glanced at Gildas. The Sapient was staring at some objects at the women's feet. On the steps in front of the first lay a rough wooden spindle, and from it a thread spilled, a fine silvery weave. It coiled and tangled around the feet of the second woman, as if she never moved from the stool where she sat, and hidden in its skein was a measuring stick. The thread, dirty by now and frayed, ran under the chair of the third, to where a sharp pair of shears leaned.

Gildas looked stricken. "I have heard of you," he whispered.

"Then you will know we are the Three Without Mercy, the Implacable Ones. Our justice is blind and deals only in facts. You have stolen from these men, the evidence is presented." The middle crone tipped her head. "You agree, my sisters?"

One each side, identical voices whispered, "We agree."

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"Then let the punishment for thieves be carried out."

The men came forward, grabbed Gildas, and forced him to his knees. In the dimness Finn saw the outline of a wooden block; the old man's arms were pulled down and held across it at the wrist. "No!" he gasped. "Listen to me ..."

"It wasn't us!" Finn tried to struggle. "This is wrong!"

The three identical faces seemed deaf as well as blind. The central one raised a thin finger; a knife blade glimmered in the darkness.

"I am a Sapient of the Academy." Gildas's voice was raw and terrified. Drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. "I will not be treated like a thief. You have no right..."

He was held in a rigid grip; one man at his back, another grasping his tied wrists. The knife blade was lifted. "Shut up, old fool," one of them muttered.

"We can pay. We have money. I can cure illnesses. The boy ... the boy is a seer. He speaks to Sapphique. He has seen the stars!"

It came out like a cry of desperation. At once the man with the knife paused; his gaze flashed to the crones.

Together they said, "The stars?" The words were an overlapping murmur, a wondering whisper. Gildas, gasping for breath, saw his chance. "The stars, Wise Women. The lights Sapphique speaks of. Ask him! He's a cell-born, a son of Incarceron."

They were silent now. Their blind faces turned toward Finn; the central one held out her hand, beckoning, and the

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Crane-man shoved him forward so that she touched his arm and grabbed it. Finn kept very still. The old woman's hands were bony and dried the fingernails long and broken. She groped down his arms, over his chest, reached up to his face. He wanted to break away, to shudder, but he kept still, enduring the cool, rough fingers on his forehead, over his eyes.

The other women faced him, as if one felt for them all. Then, both hands pressed against his chest, the central Justice murmured, "I feel his heart. It beats boldly, flesh of the Prison, bone of the Prison. I feel the emptiness in him, the torn skies of the mind."

"We feel the sorrow."

"We feel the loss."

"He serves me." Gildas heaved himself up and stood hastily. "Only me. But I give him to you, sisters, I offer him to you in reparation for our crime. A fair exchange."

Finn glared at him, astonished. "No! You can't do that!"

Gildas turned. He was a small shrunken shape in the darkness, but his eyes were hard and crafty with sudden inspiration, his breathing ragged. He looked meaningfully at the ring on Finn's finger. "I have no choice."

The three crones turned to one another. They did not speak, bur some knowledge seemed to pass between them. One cackled a sudden laugh that made Finn sweat and the man behind him mutter with terror.

"Shall we?"

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"Should we?"

"Could we?"

"We accept." They spoke it in unison. Then the crone on the left bent and picked up the spindle. Her cracked fingers spun it; she took the thread and pulled it out between finger and thumb. "He will be the One. He will be the Tribute."

Finn swallowed. He felt weak, his back sheened with cold sweat. "What tribute?"

The second sister measured the thread, a short span. The third crone took the shears. Carefully she cut the thread and it fell silently in the dust.

"The Tribute we owe," she whispered, "to the Beast."

***

KEIRO AND Attia reached the City just before Lightsout, the last league on the back of a wagon whose driver never even noticed them. Outside the gate they jumped off.

"Now what?" she whispered.

"We go straight in. Everyone else is."

He strode off and she glared at his back, then ran after him.

There was a smaller gate, and to the left a narrow slit in the wall. She wondered what it was for, then she saw that the guards were making everyone walk through it.

She looked back. The road was empty. Far out in the silent plain the defenses waited; high above, what might have been a bird circled like a silver spark in the dim mists.

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Keiro pushed her forward. "You first."

As they walked up, the guard ran a practiced eye over them, then jerked his head toward the slit. Attia walked through. It was a dim, smelly passageway, and she emerged in the cobbled street of the City.

Keiro took one step after her.

Instantly, an alarm rang. Keiro turned. A soft, urgent bleep in the wall. Just above, Incarceron opened an Eye and stared.

The guard, who had been closing the gate, stopped. He spun around, drawing his sword. "Well, you don't look like ..."

With one blow to the stomach Keiro doubled him up; another sent him crashing against the wall. He lay crumpled. Keiro took a breath, then crossed to the panel and flicked the alarm off. When he turned Attia was staring at him. "Why you? Why not me?"

"Who cares?" He strode quickly past her. "It probably sensed the Key."

She stared at his back, at the rich jerkin and the mane of hair he pushed so carelessly back. Quietly, so he couldn't hear her, she said, "So why are you so scared?"

***

WHEN THE carriage dipped as he climbed in, Claudia sighed with relief. "I thought you'd never come."

She turned from the window and the words died in her mouth.

"I'm touched," her father said dryly.

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He pulled off one glove and flicked dust from the seat. Then he laid his stick and a book beside him, and called, "Drive on.

The carriage creaked as the horses were whipped up. In a moment of jangling harness and the swaying turn in the inn-yard Claudia tried to stop herself falling into his trap. But the anxiety was too much. "Where's Jared? I thought..."

"I asked him to travel with Alys in the third coach this morning. I felt we should talk."

It was an insult, of course, though Jared wouldn't care and Alys would be thrilled to have him to herself. But to treat a Sapient like a servant... She was rigid with fury.

Her father watched her a moment, then gazed out of the window, and she saw that he had allowed a little more gray into his beard, so that his look of grave distinction was stronger than ever.

He said, "Claudia, a few days ago you asked me about your mother."

If he had struck her, she couldn't have been more astonished. Then, instantly, she was on the alert. It was just like him to take the initiative, to turn the game around, to attack. He was a master chess player at the Court. She was a pawn on his board, a pawn he would make a queen, despite everything.

Outside, a soft summer rain was drenching the fields. It smelled sweet and fresh. She said, "Yes I did."

He gazed out at the countryside, his fingers playing with

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the black gloves. "It is very hard for me to speak about her, but today, on this journey toward everything I have always worked for, perhaps the time has come." Claudia bit her lip.

All she felt was fear. And for a moment, just a fragment of time, something she had never felt before. She felt sorry for him.

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18

***

We have paid the tribute of the dearest and best and now we await the outcome. If it takes

centuries, we will not forget. Like wolves we will stand guard. If revenge must be taken we

will take it.

--The Steel Wolves

***

"I married in middle age." John Arlex watched the heavy foliage of summer shadow the interior of the coach with glints of sunlight. "I was a wealthy man--our family has always been part of the Court--and the post of Warden had been mine from youth. A great responsibility, Claudia. You have no idea how great."

He sighed briefly.

The coach jolted over stones. In the pocket of her traveling coat, she felt the crystal Key tap against her knee, remembered Finns fear, his starved face. Were they all like that, the Prisoners her father watched over?

"Helena was a beautiful and elegant woman. Ours was not an arranged marriage, but a chance meeting at a winter ball at the Court. She was a Lady of the Chamber to the last Queen, Giles's mother, an orphan, the last of her line."

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He paused, as if he wanted her to say something, but she didn't. She felt that if she spoke it would break the spell, that he might stop. He didn't look at her. Softly he said, "I was very much in love with her."

Her hands were clenched together. She made them relax.

"After a short courtship we were married at Court. A quiet wedding, not like yours will be, but there was a discreet banquet later, and Helena sat at the head of my table and laughed. She looked very much like you, Claudia, if a little shorter. Her hair was fair and smooth. She always wore a black velvet ribbon around her neck, with a portrait of us both inside it."

He smoothed his knee absently.

"When she told me she was pregnant I was more happy than I can say. Perhaps I had thought the time was gone, that I would never have an heir. That the care of Incarceron would pass from the family, that the line of the Arlexi would die out with me. In any case, I took even greater care of her. She was strong, but the constraints of Protocol had to be observed."

He looked up. "We had so little time together."

Claudia took a breath. "She died."

"When the child was born." He looked away, out of the window. Leaf shadows flashed over his face. "We had a midwife and one of the most renowned of the Sapienti in attendance, but nothing could be done."

She had no idea what to say. Nothing had prepared her for this. He had never talked to her like this before. Her fingers