Still Falling: Book 1: Solstice 31 Saga (22 page)

It was a full ten meters down to the ground level. He was inside the portcullis room but could get through because Ash had lifted the portcullis up and propped a stone pier in the center to hold it up.

Two huge iron-bound doors stood closed here. There was a smaller man-sized door in the center of each side. Barcus unbolted one, and it swung out easily. He stepped out.

He walked out onto the bridge. It was still shaded and covered with wet leaves. It looked haunted. Everything looked haunted to Barcus at times.

“Em, would the STU fit through these doors?” Barcus asked.

“Yes, he would. With a spare meter,” Em replied.

“If we eventually restored the roofline, could he park in there?”

“Yes. He would fit,” Em sounded excited.

“Hmmm mm...,” he mumbled, thinking.

He walked back in and bolted the door behind himself. He walked under the portcullis and toward the ruins of the cathedral.

He stood at the wide center of the opening, looking up and marveling at the craftsmanship of the stonework in the ceiling vaults. Looking across toward the crater, he could see that the bridge came into the keep a story higher than ground level. The crater was more obvious from here. From this point, he could not see the opening to the Redoubt. Sun shined in from the low sun of the south-east. It felt good.

He turned and went down the spiral stairs this time. After the first bend, it was completely dark. His tool light gave him lots of illumination. The steps were wet, and then he was at the water line. It was just below the foamcrete ceiling that a three-centimeter gap showed. There wasn't much more to see, so he went back up.

Soon he found himself in a rhythm, moving up and up. Four steps at a time was all he could manage because of the curve of the stairs, but he flashed by the gate level, then the portcullis room level, then a second room above that, and then he was on the roof, in the sun.

Looking over the edge, the area below the crater was very well defined. He could see the southern edge of the opening to the Redoubt. He could envision the way the blast crushed and expanded. He could imagine how the rest of the heavy slate roof fell in and smashed down tons of rubble, only to collapse the floors below all the way down to the foamcrete.

Killing hundreds of people.

“Ash, as you have been clearing rubble, have you ever found any human remains?” Barcus asked.

“Yes, many,” Ash replied.

“How many?” Barcus asked.

“It is difficult to be sure, as they have all been heavily damaged skeletal remains. No forensic examinations have been done to provide an accurate estimate.”

“How...many?”

“Best estimate, 63,” Ash said.

Those bastards, Barcus thought.

“Please note, all the found remains were buried in rubble. I believe that other bodies had been removed.”

Barcus burned with anger again. He could hear his pulse in his ears.

You fuckers are going to pay. You have gotten away with this long enough, he thought.

He walked all the way around the tower’s edge. He saw Po, fresh clothes in hand, going into the bath suite. Beyond, to the east, towards the quarry, he saw the road that Ash had been restoring. Systematic tracks were still visible going back and forth in the snow. To the north, the land climbed to the foothills and then mountains, the source of water for the keep and even Foxden and the STU. To the east lay Greenwarren and Whitlock and the long dead stone cutters’ village.

“Em, how long do you think we will be stranded here?” Barcus asked.

“If you get a real-time comm channel, presuming there is one, as little as five years. If we have to send the STU, thirty or thirty-five years. Maybe more, depending on the social and political climates. A lot can change in thirty-five years. We will have to decide what to tell whomever Stu encounters. It would mean a lot of cost and risk to send a ship here to rescue one man.”

He stared to the north. He could see cold mountains in the distance. He thought about Chen, buried there. He thought about Rand and Jimbo and Joe and all the rest of his murdered shipmates.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The Frames

“Our AI forensics team had never before seen this level of targeted surveillance. Barcus had no idea. It changes everything.”

--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Emergency Module Digital Forensics Report. Independent Tech Analysis Team.

<<<>>>

Barcus spent several hours inspecting barracks. There were dorms with rooms of various sizes and workrooms of all kinds. All were very empty. He even found what could be easily described as cells. They were below ground level and had black iron lattice doors. He found three other bath suites, but none with the flow of the single working one. There were two large communal baths, but neither was functioning fully. There was lots of roof damage all around, making bird messes a problem. Despite all this, they were set for now.

He found it odd that Olias had furnished several dry rooms with furniture salvaged from the manor. He had even laid in firewood.

Are we expecting guests? He wondered.

Po brought him lunch midday. She actually asked the Plate to locate him and was excited it had worked. He was in one of the communal baths that didn't function. They sat on the edge of a large sunken pool that was completely dry and ate bread and cheese with boiled eggs and an apple each.

Barcus found he was nervous at first after what happened at breakfast. But Po was not awkward at all.

She smelled so good.

“Why do you always wear your hair in a braid?” he asked before biting into a piece of sliced apple.

“It is unseemly for a woman to wear her hair down. It is either braided or completely covered. Older women or women that are mothers typically cover their hair and bodies. You really don't know any of this?”

She took a deep breath. The look on her face was one that she knew she was talking out of turn. “The Keepers like the braid on younger women because they...can grab them.” She bit her apple looking down.

“I was always punished for being too bold. Speaking or just looking up.” She could see he was listening close. “It is considered vanity for women to have more than one button on her dress. Or to wear pants or underthings. Even in winter.” She looked in his eyes. “I believe it's so the Keepers can take us easier. They keep us cold so we will willingly come to their warm beds. Some Keepers even cripple their difficult women after they have a Keeper’s son so they can never run away.”

“Cripple them?”

“They place their foot on an anvil and crush their toes with a hammer. They can barely walk, much less ever run again. Sometimes they made us watch as punishment.”

“And they mark us.” Slowly she timidly slid her tunic off her shoulder and lowered it reveal a brand scar just above her left breast.

“Barcus, it's worse in some places than others. Here above the gorge, they don't keep the faith strict. In the south, it's not just the Keepers. All men are taught to treat women this way. Women are in the lowest frame.”

“Frame?”

“The lowest gamut. The lowest...caste.”

“Women, then men, then Keepers. These are the frames. Each frame has several gamuts.” Po said.

“It is forbidden for women to talk of these things. Not only can they kill you for it, you risk the hereafter. I don't want to teach you this. I believe it can spoil the spirit of good men. I have seen it.”

“But, Po. I need to know it. There will come a day when we must go among other men. I need to know what to expect.” He took her hand in his and knelt before her. “I promise, I will never be like them.

“What else is forbidden?” Barcus asked.

She blushed. Barcus wondered what she was thinking.

“Most forbidden? No women can...use magic.”

She paused, looking for his reaction.

“Homosexuality usually means death. But I have seen...some Keepers.”

“It's all right Po. Tell me.”

“If men are found out, they are usually executed. Hood and anvil. Keepers quietly tolerate women...some even encourage it...at times. It's hypocrisy, though. Many Keepers and their friends like...boys.”

“Hood and anvil?” Barcus asked.

Her eyes widened at this question. She accepted his ignorance and explained.

“Do you know what a loricart looks like?” she asked. He shook his head. “It’s a small garden cart about this high.”

“Hood and anvil...it's a type of execution. First someone is cruelly bound to a loricart, and a heavy hood is put over their heads and tied around their necks. Their head is rested on an anvil and smashed with a sledge,” she said.

“The heavy hood limits...the mess. The cart makes it easy to take the body away. Every village has an anvil, a sledge and a loricart that can be used for this purpose. It is grim.” Po grimaced.

“Have you ever heard the saying, 'lucky as a country blacksmith'?” she asked.

“No,” came his simple reply.

“A country blacksmith has a chance of going his entire life never having to take a sledge to anyone’s head,” she said flatly.

“What else is forbidden?” Barcus asked.

“Weapons possession by anyone other than a Keeper or their designated men is a death offense. It includes daggers, swords, crossbows or any kind of weapon.”

“What about hunting bows and knives?” Barcus asked.

“They are fine in remote areas like this, but not inside city walls. They are considered tools here. Oh, armor and defensive castles or keeps are not allowed either, for anyone other than the High Keeper or the members of the High Council. There are only eleven citadels. It is forbidden to defend yourself against the High Keepers.”

She continued, “This keep is probably forbidden. That's why Olias is collecting daggers, swords and crossbows. He says if we are found out, we are fooked anyway.”

She blushed then.

He thought,
did she just curse in common tongue?

“I know he already has two caches set up at the abandoned Lislehill estate to the east, and in the honey house to the west. It's a good idea,” Barcus said.

Po's eyes went wide.

“What else?” he asked.

“Women cannot say 'no' to any command. That, too, is a death offense - hood and anvil.

“Women cannot lie. Or read. Or bite. Hood and anvil.

“Women are worth less than the dogs in the kennel,” Po said.

“Not to me,” Barcus said.

“It is death for a woman to kill a kenneled dog, even if it attacks her.”

“I grew up in a place called Langforest Manor. The Keeper’s name is Volk. He is Keeper and a Manor Lord, and he is a cruel man. When he could not get a child with me, he began throwing me at his friends. One night, I was less than satisfactory for one of his fat, drunken gambling partners named Gresham. So he beat me unconscious.” She had turned pale, her throat working like she couldn't speak or was trying not to throw up. “I woke up tied to a loricart, a hood on my head and resting on an anvil. A rope around my neck held me there.”

“The stable boy found me in the morning and untied me. When I went to begin my work in the kitchens, I heard them. Volk and his friends were laughing. Recounting how they took turns on me, while bound on the cart, at the anvil.” Her voice was flat.

“Those...sick...fuckers,” Barcus whispered.

She was suddenly in his lap. Her arms and legs were around him, her face buried in his chest. She was trembling. She seemed so thin.

He just held her for a long time before speaking. “When I was a boy, I fell through the ice into a pond. I was stupid. I had been alone. I managed to get out, but I was freezing. It was brutally cold. The wind was blowing. It took me over an hour to get back to my home, but I made it. My clothes had frozen so stiff, I could barely take them off. The cold had left frostbite burns on my back. I almost died, they told me.”

He moved his hands to either side of her face. He was gazing into her eyes. “I never thought I would ever be warm again. But a strange thing happened. After that day, I was never cold again. But I never truly felt warm, either. Until...now.” He tucked a loose hair behind her ear, noticing a scar there.

She held his eyes for a minute, looking deep into him. He could see hers welling up, but before they spilled over, she squeezed them shut tight.

Suddenly, she reared back and hammered both of her fists on his chest, growling, “Damn you.” The momentum helped launch her off his lap and onto her feet.

The strike didn't hurt Barcus, only shocked him into silence as she began to pace back and forth like a caged animal. “Damn you,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Damn you.”

Now Barcus wasn't sure if she was cursing him or not.

“I don't know how you're doing this.” She risked a glance at him.

“Doing what?” Barcus returned quietly.

“This magic you are using on me.” Still pacing, she said “You say I am free, but I seem to be binding
myself
to you...with chains I am making myself.” She was about to cry.

She stopped in front of him. Even sitting, he was as tall as her. Suddenly, she pounded his chest again. He let her. Again and again. “I have always hated the Keepers!” she screamed at him. She slowed until the pounding stopped. “How can you MAKE me want you?” came out in a coarse, gasping whisper. Tears finally spilled in a torrent.

Wisps of hair had come loose. They clung to her face where the tears still spilled.

She kept looking at him and at her own feet. She started collecting the remains of lunch, collecting herself by visible force of will. When she was ready, she looked straight at him and said, “It's forbidden to strike a Keeper. A death offense.”

“Remind me after breakfast. Perhaps it's the anvil for you,” he said, straight-faced.

Her eyes went wide that he would say such a thing, but before she could reply, she saw his face go from playful, to serious again.

“Po, I lied to you.” He was the one to look away this time.

“Tell me.” She said.

“I don't think I could ever let you go.”

It was her turn to stare at him. He didn't know if it was the right thing to say.

“Thank you, my Lord.” She smiled.

She collected the lunch things and walked out.