Ruins (Pathfinder Trilogy) (17 page)

“He must have talked very candidly with you.”

“More like he forgot I was there, and talked to himself. He
wanted to do something great. Maybe he did—but then he died, so he didn’t get to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He passed through the Wall, and then drowned. Was there a moment there in which he said, ‘I did it!’ and savored his triumph? Or was it all just the hands of the monsters from the sea, dragging him down?”

“I thought you said he was unconscious.”

“That’s what the learned doctors declared, but I suspect it was only to console your mother. I think he was struggling. I think he was awake.”

“How awful.”

“Awful for a few moments, and then he was dead. The cruelest means of dying still ends the same. With release.”

“Release,” said Param. “It sounds pleasant.”

“And yet I don’t want to do it,” said Olivenko. “Not now, not ever. Miserable as I sometimes am in this life, I like being alive.” He held up his hands. “I’m used to having these fingers do my bidding. I don’t even have to ask them. Before I even think of what I want, before I could put my wishes into words, they’re already obeying me. My feet, too. My eyes open when I want to see, and close when I want to sleep. Such obedient servants. I’d miss them.”

“So you think some part of you will persist after death?”

“If not, I won’t know it,” said Olivenko. “And if so, then I’ll miss my hands and feet and eyes and also lunch. I’ll miss food. And sleep. And waking up.”

“Maybe death is better.”

“Not according to the advertisements.”

“What advertisements?”

“You see? If it were better, there’d be advertisements.”

“Why bother to advertise, since everyone’s going to do it anyway?”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Olivenko ruefully.

Param chuckled, and then realized she was amused. That, for a moment, she was something like happy. “Well, thank you for that,” said Param.

“The laugh was your own,” said Olivenko. “I was merely ridiculous.”

“It was kind of you to be ridiculous for me.”

They talked on, the easy conversation of new friends, each telling about experiences that illustrated some point they were making, spinning out the yarns of their lives and weaving them together haphazardly into a sort of homespun that wrapped them both and made them feel warm. Through it all, Olivenko only rarely looked at her; whether it was deference to her rank or sensitivity to her shyness or a kind of shyness of his own, she didn’t know. But it allowed her to look at him fully, frankly, deciding that as grown men went, he was not bad looking. Manly enough in the cut of his jaw and the strength of his neck, but still with the eyes of a scholar, a kind of distance, as if he could see things that ordinary people never saw.

And what did he see? He had seen Father, and liked him, and cared about him.

And he sees me. And likes me. And . . .

Param felt herself blush a little and she turned away. She felt herself coasting along the edge of slow time, but did not step over. She remained here with him.

“Thanks for not leaving,” said Olivenko.

“You knew?” Param said softly.

“I don’t know what you thought of,” said Olivenko, “or what you saw, but you turned away and froze. Like a deer, the moment before it leaps away. I was afraid you were going to leave.”

“I might have,” said Param. “But I decided not to fear you.”

“Yes, that’s what everyone decides,” said Olivenko. “I’m not much of a soldier, not much of a guard.”

“But you’re guarding
me
,” said Param. “I’m not supposed to fear you.”

“Well, that’s good then,” said Olivenko. And then he went off on a story about a time when he challenged a drunk who was trying to stray into the wrong part of the city, and the drunk showed his contempt by urinating on him.

“No!” cried Param.

“Oh, we arrested him, which means we knocked him down, and the sergeant didn’t understand why I didn’t kick him there on the ground. How could I explain that I agreed with the man’s assessment of me as a soldier? The sergeant was ready to believe I was a coward, and he taunted me, saying that I liked it, come on everyone and pee on Olivenko, it won’t make him mad.”

“How crude,” said Param.

“They didn’t do it,” said Olivenko. “I gave the drunk a couple of kicks. It didn’t hurt him much, there was so much wine in him, and it got the sergeant to shut up.”

“Oh,” said Param, vaguely disappointed.

“If I had principles,” said Olivenko, “I would never have helped a couple of fugitives like you and Rigg get away.”

“Then I supposed I’m glad you don’t.”

And so it went until Rigg and Loaf and Umbo came up the stairs, and Param saw the facemask on Loaf’s head and cried out in sympathy and horror, and she felt Olivenko’s arm around her, his hands on her arm and shoulder, steadying her. “Stay with us,” said Olivenko.

“Vadesh did it,” said Rigg. “He claims this is a different type of facemask, created to blend harmoniously with humans.”

“Loaf is still alive in there,” said Umbo.

“Can’t you take it off?” asked Param.

“It would kill him,” said Rigg. “Or he’d kill us. When you reach to try to pry it off, Loaf turns into a soldier in battle. He’d break us like twigs.”

“Olivenko’s a soldier, too,” said Umbo.

“Not like him,” said Olivenko. He wasn’t going to try to pry off the facemask.

“Then what are we going to do?” asked Param.

“I think now is a good time to get out of Vadeshfold,” said Rigg. “To a wallfold that doesn’t have Vadesh in it. Or facemasks.”

“Might have something worse,” said Umbo.

“Like what?” asked Rigg. “What is worse than this?” He indicated Loaf’s face.

“Death,” said Param.

“Let’s see how Loaf votes,” said Rigg, “on whether death is worse.”

“Where will we go?” asked Param.

“I don’t know,” said Rigg. “Not back to Ramfold. And we don’t know anything about any of the others.”

“We know that sea monsters in the wallfold to the north drowned your father,” said Olivenko.

“Is that a vote to go south?” asked Rigg. “Because I’m open to any suggestions.”

“East,” said a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. A woman’s voice, and yet Param had not spoken.

“Who was that?” demanded Umbo.

“The ship,” said Rigg. He raised his voice, addressing the invisible speaker. “Any particular reason?” he asked.

“No one will harm you there,” said the ship’s voice.

“I vote for that,” said Rigg.

“Can we trust it? Her?” asked Olivenko.

“It gave me control over Vadesh,” said Rigg. “It gave me control over the Wall.”

“Vadesh said you had the power to command
him
, too, and look how that turned out,” said Umbo.

“If we get to the Wall and it doesn’t let us through, we’ll know that the ship was lying.”

“How can a ship talk?” asked Param.

“Ancient machines,” said Olivenko. “Your father read about them. Machines that talk, but they have no soul.”

Param looked at the machines that brooded around them, wondering if any of them could talk.

“Can you show us the way to the eastern wallfold?” asked Rigg.

Umbo snorted. “Go east,” he said.

“There are very high mountains east of us,” said Rigg. “Wherever the starships crashed, there are now high mountains, like the Upsheer Cliffs.”

“There is no road to the eastern Wall,” said the voice of the starship. “Go around the mountains to the south. Then go east to the sea. If you pass through the Wall near the sea, you’ll enter Odinfold.”

“So presumably we’ll meet an expendable named Odin,” said Olivenko. “Is he a lying snake, too?”

“They all are,” said Rigg. “It’s how they were designed, these machines that talk.”

“Well then,” said Olivenko. “Let’s go look for food and then set out on our journey. The sooner we go, the sooner we find out just what trap this mechanical voice has in store for us.”

Neither Rigg nor the voice said anything to that.

“Can Loaf make a journey like that?” asked Umbo.

“I’m not leaving him behind,” said Rigg.

“I’d stay with him,” said Umbo.

“Let’s see what he decides to do,” said Rigg. “If he doesn’t follow us, then you stay with him.”

“But then we’d be trapped here,” said Umbo.

Rigg hesitated a moment, apparently making a decision. “Any two of you can go through the Wall, whether I’m there or not.”

“When did that happen?” asked Olivenko.

“I used the jewels and gave the command,” said Rigg.

“Any two of us,” said Umbo. “But not one of us alone.”

Param saw that Rigg was embarrassed, but then he stood straighter. “I didn’t want anyone going off alone. We’re safer together.”

“But if you want to go through alone?” asked Umbo.

Rigg sighed. “Then I can do it, yes.”

Umbo was clearly angry, and Param understood why. Rigg had made these rules, giving himself a degree of freedom the others did not have.

It was Olivenko who calmed them down. “The stones are his,” he said. “Not mine. And I’m not planning to go through any Walls by myself. Is anyone else? Then I’m not bothered by not having the power to do something I don’t want to do anyway. And I’m hungry.” He stood up.

Param stood up too. Only after she was standing did she realize that by doing so, she had lent her support to Olivenko’s decision.

And what was that decision? To look for food, yes. And to go along with Rigg and the rules he had set out.

What Param didn’t know was whether that made Rigg the leader of their expedition, or Olivenko.

CHAPTER 9

Responsibility

To Rigg, it was a relief to strike out over untracked country. For one thing, it was familiar—he and Father had done it so often before, and though he half expected to hear Father asking him questions, he also didn’t mind the silence as the others trudged along behind him.

It was also a relief to have no one seeking them, to have no particular hurry. There were dangers, of course—who knew which waters might contain facemasks? But it had not been hard to attach thin branches to tin cups, dip them in a stream, and then boil the water before replenishing their waterskins. It was time-consuming, but they had time. There were no predators large enough to pose a danger to them, for if there had been, Rigg would have seen their paths. As for danger from poisonous plants or insects, all they could do to protect themselves was look before they stepped or leaned or touched.

What was strange, though, was the lack of human paths. The farther they got from the city of Vadesh, the fewer the ten-thousand-year-old paths, and soon enough even those were gone. From then on there were no human paths, except now and then the trace of some ancient hunter from the days before the facemask people and the unadorned humans went to war and wiped each other out.

In all his life, Rigg had never seen a place so empty of a human past. He had heard other people say, “It felt as if we were the first people ever to walk there,” speaking of some wild patch of wood or meadow, but of course Rigg knew that there was hardly a place in Ramfold where no human had ever been, or which no human had seen.

Here, though, it was literally true: No human eyes had seen this view, no human feet had walked this hill, descended into this glen, found toeholds in this rock. Rigg couldn’t decide whether to be proud of bringing the first human paths into the land, or to regret spoiling its pristine clarity. For wherever they went, five bright and recent paths glowed behind them.

It was not all silence. Olivenko spoke from time to time, conversing with Param or Umbo, or asking Rigg a question. And Param, though she tried not to complain, had to speak up now and then to ask for a rest. She was truly unused to such traveling, hour after hour on their feet, moving forward, up and down, sometimes climbing with hands and feet.

The rests were not wasted. Rigg used the time to find water. He was learning that the native animals knew which water was infested with facemasks, and avoided it; where many animals had
drunk over a long period of time, and recently, Rigg felt safe to take water without boiling it. He drank it himself first as a test. That was only right. And when they stopped longer, or for the evening, Rigg would find animal paths and set snares, so that by morning there would be meat. He would string the small animal carcasses over his back, letting them drain as they walked, then let Olivenko or Umbo cook them that night as he set snares for more. Rigg also found nuts, berries, edible roots—enough variety that the meat did not become tedious. Providing for five took more work than providing for himself and Father, but not much, and Rigg felt more than a little pride that no one went hungry while in his care.

Rigg felt bad for Param, who had obviously never climbed so much as a tree in her childhood; and he could see that her shoes would not last the journey. He would have to make her some moccasins, and he saved several pelts for that purpose. He also knew that Param did not like walking directly behind him—he supposed the sight and perhaps smell of the dead animals he wore across his shoulders bothered her. She had not seen the animals she ate being killed before, had not seen their carcasses still shaped like the living animal, but headless and skinless. If she didn’t like seeing them now, there was no reason to insist that she look. She would get used to the cycle of life soon enough.

What oppressed Rigg, what weighed on him with every step, was the silence from Loaf, and the way Umbo stayed near the man with the mask, holding his hand as if to guide him, as if he were blind. Loaf’s eyes were covered but they were not blind; he saw more unerringly than anyone, his hands finding every hold when they had to climb, ducking under every branch or
pushing it out of the way. Without seeming alert, Loaf saw and heard everything. But he said nothing. Umbo mumbled things to him from time to time, but Rigg did not try to hear what passed between them. They had spent a long time together, apart from Rigg, and Rigg would not insert himself between them. How could he? It was Rigg who had allowed this terrible thing to happen to Loaf. Umbo did not accuse, but he didn’t have to. Rigg accused himself.