The Rosetta Codex (20 page)

When he reached the end of the dock he looked down through the clear water and saw Harlock on the bottom, his body upright, feet and hands and arms drifting like thick pale kelp. The water wasn't very deep, less than fifteen feet and illuminated by drifting underwater lamps. Cale kicked off his boots, took a long deep breath, and dove.

The water was warm, and so clear and well-lit it seemed he was looking through hazy air. A flat orange creature with two bulbous eyes swam toward him, only veering away at the last second so that Cale felt the tickle of its tails on his ankle.

Cale swam down at an angle to come around in front of Harlock, kicked and stroked twice more as he reached the big man, and drifted down to the bottom, looking into Harlock's open eyes.

Harlock's eyes widened briefly, then softened, remaining open. Cale was certain those eyes implored him to leave, to swim back to the surface alone and leave Harlock to his new-found peace.

For a moment Cale thought about granting Harlock's wish, but he just couldn't do it. He swam behind Harlock and wrapped one arm around his chest, crouched, then kicked off the sandy bottom. Harlock didn't resist, didn't struggle, but didn't help. Cale pulled with his one free arm, kicking fiercely, legs whipping the water again and again, thrusting them slowly but steadily upward.

They broke the surface and hands grabbed them, dragging
them up and onto the dock. Cale crouched on his knees, coughing, and watched as two med-techs carried Harlock away from the edge, laid him out on a pad, then bent over him as they pulled out their rescue equipment. Aliazar hopped from one foot to the other, gazing down at his brother and moaning.

A short time later Sidonie arrived, struggling with all the bags. She dropped them onto the wooden planks and sat beside Cale, putting her arm around him.

“You all right?”

He nodded. His thighs shook, even though he was warm, and his breath still came hard and fast. He felt incredibly tired; not all of it was physical. “I don't know about Harlock, though.”

“I heard one of the med-techs say he was going to be fine.”

Cale looked at her and said, “He might live, but Harlock will never be fine.”

 

Harlock slept inside the tent, snoring. Cale, Sidonie, and Aliazar sat at a table near the tent flap, drinking spiced wine from stone cups and listening to the snores and the hushed sounds of the beach at night.

“He wanted to die, didn't he?” Aliazar said. “He . . .” His voice trailed away. He looked out at the dark waters decorated with the shape-shifting jewelry of reflected lights.

After a while Cale answered. “I can't really know.”

“I think he's wanted to stop living for a long time.” He breathed in deeply, then released it with a quiet moan. “The visions . . . they're hard on him, they take everything from him, but they're all he has.”

“He has you,” Sidonie put in.

Aliazar looked at her. “I'm his brother, and I'm to take care of him, but I don't know what that means anymore.” He turned to Cale. “Maybe that means you should have let him die.”

“I couldn't,” Cale said.

Aliazar nodded. “And I can't, either.”

Cale hardly noticed the city moving silently past the hired air sedan's windows as they traversed Lagrima, and only a few specific images registered: a transparent fountain that floated thirty feet above the ground, two spouts of fluorescent green water arcing out and down and then flowing back into the central core of the fountain; the road's surface liquefying and bubbling as two conversing men sank into the street, then smoothing out as they disappeared; a building shaped like an upside-down teardrop with solid walls in which windows and doors materialized and dematerialized with astounding frequency. He was conscious only of a vague impression of traveling through a technological wonderland, a city and people of a distant future that existed
only in the imagination of some mad visionary like Harlock. None of it was familiar, nothing evoked even a fleeting pull or twist of emotion. Sidonie felt much the same.

“Lagrima is in constant flux,” she said. “Buildings and neighborhoods change, they grow and shrink, new ones sprout into existence while others disappear. Even the streets and walkways sometimes change direction or level. Only the port and the sea remain relatively constant.” She sighed heavily. “It's been more than twenty years, Cale.”

 

The sedan glided into view of the main entrance to the Alexandros Estates, though it remained some distance away. Those who had business with the Family, or hoped to, waited on floating platforms before metal and glass latticed gates. Crystalline walls rose and curved above the platforms toward a massive falcon's head that stared down at them with open beak and glowing black and red eyes.

A panel in one of the gates became transparent, and an armored and helmeted figure stood in the opening, behind the faint shimmer of an active Metzen Field. A floating platform with two women drifted toward the open panel, and the women bowed.

Sidonie tapped codes onto the guide screen and the sedan veered away from the entrance and dipped toward ground level. They skirted the perimeter of the Estate: the lower walls formed of featureless black stone, the upper walls a dense network of beautiful figures carved in dark red woods, shining webs of coppery cable, and waterfalls emerging from unseen sources and pouring over massive clumps of giant ferns.

The boundary of the Estate stretched on and on, and it was hard for Cale to imagine that the Estate had once been two or three times larger. As they came around to the rear of the Estate several miles from the main entrance, the black stone gave way to stretches of rough-hewn dark wood and light brown rock broken by black metal gates, the walls thirty feet high and all giving off the pale yellow glow of Metzen Fields.

The air sedan set down in a clearing surrounded by bronze trees, and Cale and Sidonie disembarked. The vehicle rose into the air behind them and flared away, headed back to its station.

The heat was oppressive, without a breath or hint of a breeze. Sidonie led the way through the bronze trees, the metal leaves chiming gently when touched, across a stretch of broken ground, then along a gravel path to one of the metal gates. Stone falcon heads with open beaks flanked the gate. Sidonie approached the one on their right, leaned forward, and whispered into its beak. A few moments later the Metzen Field faded and the gate swung open.

They entered and walked along a winding, high-walled passage that took them deeper into the Estate. Eventually they reached another gate, another set of falcon heads, and once more Sidonie whispered into an open beak. A heavy contented sigh whispered around them, Sidonie pushed the gate and went through, and Cale followed.

They entered a courtyard overgrown with flowering stalks and shrubs and dense hedges choked with creepers awash in beautiful pale violet and white blossoms. A sweet, cool perfume hung in the air. Grasses hid the legs of three benches and a wooden table. Pieces of flagstones were visible,
enough to hint at a meandering path that eventually led to a massive wooden door that glowed with its own Metzen Field. The door led into an immense building that rose in terraced fashion and extended as far as he could see to both sides.

“We'll wait here,” Sidonie said. “After all this time, the House won't let us inside. Into my courtyard, yes, but no farther. It can't be sure we're actually still alive. Meyta will come if she's here.”

“Meyta?”

“The Keeper of the House.”

They sat on one of the benches, the rotting wood giving under their weight. Sidonie turned her head slowly, surveying the courtyard.

“This was my place,” she said. “I loved it here, when it was cared for. It was my place to be alone, even from you. I only brought you here once, when you were a tiny baby.”

Nothing was familiar. He felt strangely empty. . . numb.

A long time passed, an hour, maybe more, the heat growing. The city noises did not penetrate here, but the courtyard had its own quiet sounds: the rustling and clicks and whirring of unseen creatures moving through the dense foliage, and the dripping of water from several different directions, the water as hidden as the creatures.

The large wooden door slowly and haltingly opened with cracking sounds and a brief squeal. The aroma of sweet cooking spices emerged from the doorway along with two armed soldiers, weapons held at ready. The soldiers were followed by a bent old woman leaning on a cane as she stepped into the deep grasses, her head tipped to one side as she
stared at Sidonie. She stopped a few feet away from the bench, but remained silent.

“Meyta,” Sidonie said.

The old woman closed one eye and her cheek twitched. “Is it really you?”

Sidonie nodded, and Cale could see tears forming in her eyes. “Yes, Meyta.”

Meyta's lips trembled and she straightened slightly, then came forward and brushed a dark and gnarled finger lightly along Sidonie's ruined face. When she spoke, her voice was choked and quiet. “Yes, Sidonie, it
is
you.” She turned to Cale. “And . . .” She halted, swallowed visibly. “And who is this?”

“Cale,” Sidonie said.

“I thought you might say that.” She appeared to shiver. “Let's go inside.” She gestured dismissively at the two soldiers, then turned back to Cale. “Welcome home.”

 

They moved through a series of windowless corridors, ceiling lights brightening as they approached and dimming as they passed, then entered a long wide hall with glass walls that echoed their footsteps and looked out onto more gardens.

“Do you remember me?” Meyta asked.

“No,” Cale answered. “I'm sorry.”

Meyta coughed out a harsh laugh. “Don't apologize, young man. You'll have plenty of other things to be sorry for.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You'll want to see your mother.” When Cale didn't reply, Meyta turned to him and said, “Yes?”

Unnerved, he glanced at Sidonie, but there was no help from her. He breathed deeply and said, “Yes.”

She nodded once. “I don't blame you for being unsure.”

“Should we wait?” Sidonie asked. “Should we prepare Elizabeth?”

“No,” Meyta replied firmly, turning back and continuing. “You'll see, it doesn't matter. The shock might even be good for her.”

Sometime later they passed through a wide doorway and a vast atrium opened before them, bright with sunlight and awash in brightly colored plants. Birds flew high above, moving among the upper branches of trees that pressed against the glass panels. Water flowed over rocks in a dozen small brooks and pools, dripped from wide-leafed plants and down slopes of stone and moss. Paths of white crushed shell wound among the plants and waterways, leading to a kind of island near the center of the atrium.

Atop a rise on the island, a white-robed woman sat in a wide-backed wicker chair, looking out onto the largest of the atrium's pools where two bright green serpents carved their way across the surface of the water in complicated patterns around one another. The woman's hair was quite long and straight and very dark but for several wide streaks of silver. On the table beside her was a black teapot and cup, and a plate with pastries. As Cale and Sidonie and Meyta approached on one of the paths, the woman turned and faced them.

Cale's breath and forward motion ceased abruptly and all sound became a rushing in his ears. He knew that face. It was the first truly familiar sight on this world and it made him dizzy and weak, and he wondered if he could remain
standing. Breath returned and he tried to take a step forward, but his legs wouldn't move.

He hadn't expected this. He didn't know what he
had
expected . . . perhaps nothing.

Meyta and Sidonie had stopped a few feet ahead and looked back at him. Meyta's expression had softened. “Cale,” she said quietly yet firmly. Hearing his name, he was able to move again and they resumed walking toward the island and his mother.

They crossed a thick wooden plank that spanned a tiny stream, then continued up a set of shallow stone steps.

“Good morning, Meyta,” Cale's mother said as they approached.

“Elizabeth.”

“Who have you brought to me today?” She glanced briefly at Sidonie, then regarded Cale with a steady gaze. “Who is this person?”

“Your son, Elizabeth.”

She smiled. “Which son is it this time?”

“Cale.”

His mother's smile faltered for a moment, then returned. She sipped from her cup, then gestured to him with her hand. “Come closer.”

Cale came forward until she could have touched him had she chosen. She stared at his face, into his eyes, and nodded once.

“Yes, you could be Cale grown into a young man. But you're still dead.”

“No, Elizabeth,” Meyta said. “Not dead. This
is
Cale. He's survived.”

She turned to Meyta. “I appreciate your efforts, Meyta, but it's no use. All of my children are dead.”

“No, Elizabeth,” Sidonie repeated, stepping forward. “We escaped from the
Exile Prince.
We survived. He's your son, and he's alive.”

Elizabeth looked at her with disdain. “Who are you?”

“Sidonie.”

“Sidonie.” She tipped her head from one side to the other. “What happened to your face? You should get it reconstructed. Yes, I can see it could be you. It's a shame you're dead, too.”

“Elizabeth!” Meyta's voice was sharp and loud. “They are not dead. Elizabeth, listen to me. This is your son Cale, and he's alive!”

Elizabeth's face tightened, she glared at Meyta, then violently swept the pot and cup and plate from the table and across the rocks, where they shattered. She stood abruptly. “Never do this to me again, Meyta.” Without looking at either Cale or Sidonie, she turned and walked off the island, striding quickly along one of the paths, not slowing until she reached the far end of the atrium and disappeared through a doorway.

Cale stared after her, at the empty doorway, once again unable to move, unable to speak. To his great surprise, he felt his heart breaking.