The Beauty of Destruction (28 page)

‘Well, that’s sort of my point,’ Vic said.

‘You weren’t a bad person, assuming it’s you,’ the Monk said.

‘The Alexia you knew was uploaded into the ancient alien petrol station, if that’s what you mean,’ the Mother said. ‘Time has passed. I shouldn’t take anything for granted.’

‘But this place is a place of atrocity and you were …’ The Monk trailed away.

‘Shallow, a hedonist?’

‘I was going to say a musician,’ the Monk said.

‘Oh, I hear music, even here there is beauty,’ she said. Scab had to smile. They never understood that. ‘But I think you mean why is Cyst like it is?’

The Monk nodded. Scab frowned. He had always assumed that his home just
was
.

‘Cyst is a social experiment and a breeding programme.’

Vic, Talia and the Monk stared at the Dark Mother. Scab felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. He lit a cigarette.

‘One of ours?’ the Monk asked. She didn’t look like she really wanted to hear the answer.

‘Not exactly,’ the Mother told them. ‘It’s social modelling for the end of civilisation.’

‘We’ve seen this before,’ the Monk said sceptically.

‘I can open this chamber up and you can try and survive twenty-six hours out there,’ the Mother suggested. ‘It’s not the same.’

‘What were you trying to breed?’ Talia asked. Scab could smell her fear. The girl was looking at the walls like a trapped animal.

‘Not what, whom. Someone perfectly adapted for such times …’

‘Me,’ Scab found himself saying. Surprise was unusual. He tried not to have a facial expression. He mostly succeeded. It went very quiet in the ziggurat chamber.

It was Talia who broke the silence. ‘At least that goes some way towards explaining why he’s such an enormous bell-end.’

‘Talia,’ the Monk said. Warning in her voice. Her sister went quiet.

‘Not you specifically, Mr Scab, well perhaps not you, who can be sure, but your bloodline, certainly. You are a bad seed, from a long line of bad seeds. Others may condemn you killing your own offspring. I do not. I see that as an act of social responsibility.’

‘Then why make him?’ the Monk demanded. ‘Whose breeding programme is it?’

Scab could feel his heart speeding, starting to pound. He made physiological changes to slow it, to control his breathing. He wanted to hear this but he wanted to lash out as well. It was sounding too much like he had been manipulated, controlled, from birth.

‘Do you know who Patron is?’ the Mother asked.

‘We’ve met him,’ Vic said.

‘That surprises me.’

‘Why did he do this?’ the Monk asked.

Scab wasn’t sure how much more he could bear. He was gripping the chair’s armrests tightly, trying to dig his fingers into the smart matter, the tip of his cigarette glowing brightly as he inhaled hard. It seemed strange that nobody else could hear the screaming, flailing chaos inside him. And it kept on happening. And it kept on getting worse.

‘The Destruction?’ the Mother asked, turning to the Monk. ‘I know you know—’

‘We’ve seen it,’ Scab managed through gritted teeth. Now they were looking at him. He could feel veins bulging out of his forehead. He could smell Vic’s pheromonic concern, his fear. Talia shifted in the confines of her chair, trying to move away from him. The Monk tensed.

‘Scab … ?’ Vic said.

‘Control yourself,’ the Mother said quietly. He wanted to but it was a struggle. ‘It is something to do with Patron’s connection to the thing that is trying to consume everything. My … Churchman thought he was breeding a herald for it.’

‘What?’ Talia said, confused. ‘Why?’

‘Because things need heralds, apparently.’ Scab heard irritation in the Mother’s voice.

‘That’s why I was made Elite, after I had proved what I was capable of,’ Scab said. The Mother nodded. ‘But then why did they take that away?’ He could remember so little, but he’d seen a habitat burn, its matter infected as it fell towards the planet, the coldness of vacuum all around him. It had been the closest he had come to peace.

‘Because they found a flaw, and I think they have been trying to breed that out of you with each successive generation of clone.’

‘What flaw?’ Scab asked.

‘You know what you are,’ the Monk said.

‘That’s why you want to die,’ Vic added quietly.

‘You added this,’ Scab hissed at the Mother. He didn’t think he had felt this betrayed when Vic had turned on him.

The Mother looked down.
Was it shame?
Scab wondered.

‘Not exactly, Woodbine. I did something worse.’ She looked up at her son. ‘I gave you a choice. I made you self-aware.’ A black tear leaked out of the corner of one eye and made it halfway down her cheek before it was reabsorbed into the oil-like surface. ‘The rest you worked out yourself.’ Nobody seemed to know where to look. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Scab’s skin burned as tears ran through his make-up.

‘On the eve of the war we had managed to work out enough about this place. It was simply a fuelling station, we suspect for a mega engineering project that never happened. Any Lloigor AI had long since departed. Patron knew that the abundance of energy and the smart matter could support a population, of a certain type, up to a point. What he didn’t know was the Church had worked out how to upload human consciousness into L-tech.’

‘It was you who weaponised this place?’ Vic said. ‘Destroyed the fleets?’ She nodded.

‘But to reign over this atrocity …’ the Monk started. Scab couldn’t understand what difference it made.

‘Oh, there was a cost. I spent more than one millennium beyond insane.’

‘Then why?’ Talia asked; there were tears in her eye.

The Mother looked up at her. ‘I always wanted to be a mother.’

Talia turned to him. ‘Look, Scab, please don’t freak out and kill me.’ He was aware of the Monk shifting slightly. She looked as though she was about to tell her younger sister to be quiet. Talia turned back to the Dark Mother. ‘I get that he’s a hard case and unpleasant, but he’s not that hard. Churchman beat him up and he’s as nothing compared to the Elite, those guys are like gods.’

It took everything he had to not kill her right there and then. Break her down to red, wet constituent parts with his bare hands. The Mother turned to look at him, concern on her face. It was if she could hear the black screaming thing in his head.

‘That’s not the point,’ the Monk said quietly. ‘He’s poisonous, corrupting.’

‘He destroys everything he touches,’ Vic said. ‘Because he can’t destroy himself on his own terms.’

‘Patron wanted him to destroy,’ the Mother said.

Would that have been enough?

‘We wanted him to think. That was the conclusion he came to. He is a suicidal thought.’

‘You want to upload my consciousness into that thing, don’t you?’ he asked quietly.
Would
that be enough?

‘That’s sick,’ Talia said through the tears. It was the look of pity she gave him that broke him. He started to move. He found he was adhered to the seat.

‘Please don’t,’ the Mother ’faced him.

Vic and the Monk were both looking at him. He tried to relax his muscles. He couldn’t relax his screaming mind.

‘It is your choice,’ she told him out loud. ‘To be honest, I wouldn’t know how to do it anyway. The Destruction exists in a different physical state. I think uploading you into it was Churchman’s idea.’

‘Can’t this place … ?’ the Monk asked.

‘Petrol station,’ the Mother said peevishly. Scab had no idea what petrol was. ‘There was a place on Earth that perhaps had the tech but it’s long gone.’

‘We can’t just—’ Talia started to object but he could see that the Monk was more than capable of doing just that if she had the resources. He glanced at Vic. The ’sect smelled of guilt, he was thinking the same thing.

‘The Ubh Blaosc?’ the Monk asked. Scab looked back at her, frowning. He searched the data in his neunonics. Nothing. ‘Churchman had mentioned it in the past. He told me to find it. Do you know where it is?’

The Mother concentrated for a moment. ‘No. I have only heard it spoken of once or twice before. It was supposed to have been a third faction who knew of the tech. They were said to understand how the stones worked.’

‘The stones?’ Talia asked.

‘An ancient network of bridge portals,’ the Mother explained. ‘But I have never met anyone who has claimed to have met anyone from the Ubh Blaosc, although in all honesty I haven’t been getting out much.’

‘This doesn’t make sense to me,’ Talia said. ‘And again I mean no offence to Scab, largely because I’m frightened he’ll hurt me, but who hinges a plan like this on somebody like him?’

‘Things have gone about as badly wrong as they could have,’ the Mother said. ‘The Church was set up to oppose Patron and to try and limit the Monarchists and the Consortium from abusing S- and L-tech. As soon as we became aware of the level of threat posed by the Destruction, the focus shifted to finding a solution to that. Woodbine was a contingency plan.’

‘This is pretty much as fucking contingency as it gets,’ Vic muttered. ‘No offence,’ he told his partner. Scab wondered if they thought that was a magical phrase of some kind that would protect them. ‘It’s too big, it’s too much. It’s just us now. The forces arrayed against us …’

‘That is a trick, and it has been played on humans at least since way before the Loss,’ the Mother said. Even on his insectile face Vic looked mystified. ‘I understand things were probably different in the hives, but then humanity dominated Known Space. Unless they are board members, or the top of the food chain in the Monarchist systems, all the humans you have ever met are the result of genetically engineered embryos taken from Earth. They were bred to be easy to control, either through apathy, or greed in the pseudo-capitalism of the Consortium systems, or just programmed to serve the aristos as slaves, serfs, courtiers and playthings in the Monarchist systems.

‘Some people can be hacked free of this conditioning, sometimes psychosis can free you of it,’ she glanced at Scab, ‘and I guess religion can help distract you from it in as much as it distracts you from being pissed on and told it’s raining. Or at least that it’s a different flavour of piss.’

The Monk looked like she was about to object but thought the better of it.

‘This is just a slightly more sophisticated version of
my idea is
better than yours
, isn’t it?’ Scab said, sounding calmer than he felt.

‘I wondered if, when we started downloading and storing consciousness, when we became electronic, we left something behind. Maybe not a soul but some vital, ephemeral part of us, a connection of some kind.’

‘The trick played on us?’ Talia asked, mystified.

‘That it’s too big, that there is nothing we can do,’ the Mother told her.

‘Not all of us are massive, fleet-killing fuel stations with an army of killer children,’ Vic said. ‘You go face-to-face with something like Ludwig, or the Innocent, and tell me you’re not helpless!’ Vic was getting angry now. Scab knew it was because he was frightened.

‘And yet you’re still here, Mr Matto, and yet you’re still here.’ Her oil-like features frowned and she turned to look at Scab. ‘A bridge has just opened in-system,’ the Mother said. ‘What did you do?’

‘The transmission you sent,’ the Monk said.

‘I exercised my free will,’ Scab explained. ‘I told the
Templar
where I was.’

Benedict/Scab was on his way here.

19

Ancient Britain

The second day of their stay a low winter sun had chased the freezing mist away and revealed a landscape of white contrasted with the black of gnarled, leafless trees. Among the groves were various cromlechs, dolmens and several barrows that Britha assumed were for previous high-ranking
dryw
. Across the narrow strait were stark, snow-covered hills running up into mountains that reminded her of the more northerly parts of her homeland. In places the snow was stained red and the cut-open corpses of birds and other small animals could be seen.

Morning brought the normal bustle of any settlement. Animals had to be seen to, food had to be prepared, and because they were in the south, the gods had to be appeased. They had been well-treated, given food and drink. They had slept in the smoke-filled longhouse with everyone else, the smell of people mingling with last night’s meal and the odour of the animals brought in to protect them from the cold.

Long after the rest of them had turned in, Britha had seen Guidgen and Nils, the arch
dryw
, talking late into the night. At first she had heard much laughter, and she had assumed they were reminiscing. Later their conversation turned low and serious. She could have listened to them but she chose not to. Just before she went to sleep she noticed that Moren was awake and watching Guidgen and the old arch
dryw
.

They were waiting for the arch
dryw
to summon them. One of the silent black-clad women had been assigned as their escort as they had looked around the groves. It was rude to discuss things in private. If you had something to say to one person then you shouldn’t fear it being said to all. On the other hand, all knew that the
dryw
had to have their secrets. Eventually Britha tired of the black-clad woman being closer than her shadow and demanded to know if they were prisoners or guests. The woman looked less than pleased but she bowed and backed away from the
ban
draoi
.

‘So?’ Britha asked when she felt they had a little privacy. Guidgen had looked troubled since he had awoken.

‘Nils has seen his own death. He will not see another summer. He has the support of the majority of the council at the moment, but only just,’ Guidgen said grimly.

‘And Moren is manoeuvring himself to be Nils’ successor?’ Britha asked. ‘He seems very young.’

‘He is. Part of the problem is that Nils has the support of the older members of the Circle, but many of them are standing at the gates of Annwn as well, as I should be were it not for your blood coursing through my body. Nils says that the younger
dryw
support Moren because he … I don’t know, offers them things.’

Britha frowned. ‘That is not right.’

‘Nils wonders if they even believe in our ways at all, or just wish to honour themselves. He still thinks he can sway the council while he yet lives, but once Arawn has taken him …’

Britha could see where this was going.

‘He needs to appoint a successor while he is still alive?’ Britha said.

‘Yes, but all he would suggest are almost as near death as he is.’

‘Except you,’ she finished.

They stopped walking. On a nearby tree stump a raven pecked at the cut-open and peeled-back gizzard of a rabbit. The waste disgusted Britha. Guidgen followed her gaze.

‘Moren seems to have little time for the people, the land, and the gods, except when it comes to killing beasts …’

‘And people?’ Britha asked. Guidgen nodded.

‘Nils hadn’t heard from me in years. He thought I was dead. He was so happy to see me.’ Guidgen had gone from sounding troubled to sounding miserable.

‘Do you wish my counsel?’ Britha asked. He nodded. ‘You already know the right thing to do. If you do not accept then Nils will lead until he dies. Then Moren will demand the Red Chalice for himself. We have all seen what happens when
dryw
rot from the inside, when they abuse their power. Does Nils have enough to cast Moren out?’

Guidgen shook his head. ‘No, he is sly, clever. Nils says that Moren understands people’s weaknesses and uses it to manipulate them.’ He shook his head. ‘I wish I had never heard of this chalice!’

‘Things would be worse if you hadn’t. The sad thing is I do not think that Bladud is an evil man. I think he is doing what he thinks is right. Unfortunately, that is at odds with what we think is right.’

‘Think? What we were
taught
was right, what we
know
is right,’ Guidgen said, as though he was trying to convince himself.

Britha was suddenly reminded of Bladud’s words outside the
bwthyn
:
And
you are so sure that I am wrong? Why, because
of what we have always been told? All that means
is that the knowledge is old.
‘We need to be sure.’ She saw him shake his head.

‘Gods, Crom,’ he said, spat and made the sign against evil.

‘We can fight him without you,’ Britha assured him. He would be missed but Britha was convinced that he would do them more good here than in the shadow of the Mother Hill. ‘There are others who can stand up to Bladud.’

‘My people,’ he said, and sat down hard on a flat stone sticking out of the snow.

‘They are not children,’ Britha said gently. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

‘I have no family. They are children to me.’

‘There was nobody else to lead the Brigante!’ Bladud shouted at Nils, sitting on his litter. They were back in the clearing. Logs crackled in the fire but the cold air seemed to suck the warmth from the flames. All were wrapped up warm but had clearly been out in the cold for too long.

Moren stood on Nils’ right. There were a number of
dryw
, most in brown robes, standing around the circle, or sitting on fallen tree trunks that looked to have been dragged to the clearing for that purpose. Those sitting on Nils’ left all looked to be quite old, many of them leaning heavily on their staffs. Those standing on his right looked younger. All the black-robed
dryw
were sitting on the right. There looked to be many more black robes than a grove of this size would require. Madawg was standing a little distance behind Bladud in the tree line. The Corpse People champion had his hood up and a hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘Nobody?’ Nils asked. ‘So you are
rhi
of a tribe of only one, are you? Well, that I can perhaps accept.’

‘We were being pressed by the Corieltavi from the south, and the Parisi from the east.’

‘You could have advised them.’

‘They needed a leader!’ Bladud had the look of a man desperately trying to explain something that seemed obvious to him.

‘Which should not have been you because of the oaths you swore,’ Nils said more quietly. ‘And we have had this discussion too many times. If the Parisi or the Corieltavi had conquered parts of your territory it would have been because they were the stronger. It would have been their right. The same justification you have for bullying the other tribes into serving you. But we can never know if they were the stronger …’

‘Of course they weren’t, we defeated them!’ Bladud cried.

Britha raised an eyebrow. You didn’t speak to a
dryw
like that, let alone an arch
dryw
. She didn’t think she had ever seen Bladud so exasperated, not even with Guidgen, whom he had once punched.

Nils sat back in his litter. ‘But they were subject to their oaths, they adhered to our laws, you did not. For all we know your leadership could have weakened us all.’

Britha understood the arch
dryw’s
point, but she did not think it was so in this case.

‘Sometimes I think you like to see us fight each other to stop any one tribe becoming too strong!’ Bladud spat. Nils stared at the Witch King, a dangerous expression on his aged features.

‘Bladud!’ Moren snapped. Bladud struggled to control himself but finally he lowered his eyes in contrition.

‘I apologise. I should not have spoken so,’ Bladud said.

‘Arch
dryw
, we have outsiders here. I know you wish to speak to them next, but perhaps they should leave until we have resolved this matter,’ Moren said.

Nicely distracted,
Britha thought.

‘Be quiet, Moren,’ Nils said, the contempt in his voice obvious.

Nicely handled
, Britha thought,
if not very subtle
.

‘You would have me weaken my tribe?’ Bladud asked, calmer now.

‘I would have you hold true to our oaths. I would have you do the right thing, the just thing. You were trained here. You, more than any warrior, any landsfolk, understand the reason for our laws, for the oaths. Strength is in oaths, not in feats of arms, not in military strategy. Without oaths, and the behaviour that such ties in the eyes of the gods engender, there is only tyranny and chaos.’

‘Where were your oaths when the spawn of Andraste laid waste to the land, when the Lochlannach raided?’ Bladud demanded.

‘And what of after you have defeated them? When you try to rule more than you can see from the highest point in your land? When all the tribes fall to fighting among themselves, fighting you?’

‘And when the next invaders come?’ Bladud asked bitterly.

‘Then a
brenin
uchel
will be elected, and hopefully you will be able to advise him.’

‘It is not enough. You are here. You have not seen what we face.’

‘Enough. This is my judgement and we will not be having this discussion ever again. Do you intend to stay in southern Pretani?’

Britha was surprised to find that Nils was speaking to her. ‘I do not know, it seems unlikely,’ Britha said. She had not thought much beyond the battle with Crom, the rod, and the daughter the
dryw
from the Ubh Blaosc had taken from her.

‘If you stay beyond the battle with this Crom Dhubh, then you will either join our Circle, which means honouring the gods, or you will remove your robe and claim that you are a
dryw
no more. You will not be entitled to the benefits and protections that such a station holds, nor may you offer judgements or advice in such a capacity,’ Nils told her. Britha saw Moren smile but she had to admit it was a fair judgement. She nodded. ‘If, however, you stay and join us then you may stay as one of the guardians of this Red Chalice.’

‘Arch
dryw
,’ Moren started, ‘we discussed this …’

‘Furthermore, the warrior called Tangwen of the Pobl Neidr, and the foreigner known as Germelqart the Carthaginian, will also remain in guardianship of this Red Chalice, on the provision that they bring it here after battle is done with Crom Dhubh. Along with Britha, the Pecht, they, and only they, may decide how and when it is to be used until such a time as this Circle has had a chance to examine the accursed thing.’

‘No!’ Bladud shouted. Nils silenced him with a furious look.

‘Bladud, once of Ynys Dywyll, who styles himself Witch King, we understand that your leadership of the army in the valley of Cuda is such that it would be difficult to remove you without working in favour of this Crom Dhubh. Bladud, you are to lead this battle and either die during it, or afterward renounce your position as both
brenin uchel
and
rhi
of the Brigante and return to Ynys Dywyll. I do not think you should have ever been a
dryw
, but it must be seen that there are serious consequences for oath-breaking. Better you are subject to them in this world than the next. Cythrawl is not so merciful as we are. Fail to either die in battle or return here, and all men, women and beasts will turn from you, and you will be hunted like a moonstruck wolf and your body burned. You will not be given to the land, instead you will wander it, blown by the winter winds, never to know your place in the Annwn.’

Britha could see Bladud struggling to control himself. The veins on his bald forehead stood out against his furious red skin. It was no thanks for all that Bladud had done for the people of Ynys Prydain, regardless of his motivations, but it could have been a lot harsher. She wasn’t really sure what more Bladud could have expected.

‘I will die in battle, and look for wisdom in the next world,’ he spat.

‘So be it,’ Nils said.

‘Arch
dryw
, this is not what we discussed,’ Moren said, urgency in his voice. Bladud was staring at the younger
dryw
furiously.

‘It is not what you discussed, that I was forced to listen to,’ Nils said.

‘The Circle should vote.’ Moren sounded frantic now.

‘Oh yes, I forgot that we have to do this every time you don’t get your way, how tiresome. It’s a wonder the Greeks ever get anything done. I mean, surely the point of having an arch
dryw
is because you trust them to make judgements? Would you see the position done away with? Perhaps I should be the last one?’ There was uncomfortable shifting around the circle. Britha found herself smiling despite herself. Moren didn’t seem quite sure what to say. ‘No?’ Moren didn’t answer. ‘Tell me, Moren, how are you going to win this vote if you can’t insinuate that you are going to have old Gowin’s niece sacrificed?’ Nils nodded towards an elderly
ban draoi
sat to his left. The
dryw
was plump and looked as though she was normally quite a gentle and motherly woman, but she had a face like thunder now, and was staring at Moren with undisguised disgust.