The Soterion Mission (15 page)

Cyrus had no words to reply. Through the pain of his wretchedness, he found but one consolation. It did not have to be like this. Somewhere, beyond the black mountain that loomed over them, lay a cave, and in that cave lay hope, the hope that had inspired Roxanne and that now made him determined to fulfil this mission, though every Zed in the world barred his path. Nothing would stop him. It would be his memorial, his everlasting tribute to the woman he loved.

For much of the night, the four Constants followed the route given to them by Yash. It wound up and up, passing through tangled woods and across rocky slopes till it levelled out on a small plateau overlooking distant hills. Before them, scarcely ten paces away, the Tallins saw a pair of shadowy figures. Good, thought Cyrus, only two. That means Taja’s plan has worked and Timur is unaware what’s going on. Now for the guards.

Cyrus and Navid had spent some time working out how best to neutralise the upper lookouts. The safest tactic, Navid had suggested, was simply to sneak up on them and cut their throats. Bearing in mind Yash’s request, Cyrus overruled him. The men were Constants, he said, not Zeds. Violence should be a last resort.

Leaving Roxanne and Sammy in the shadow of the trees, the Defenders spread out left and right on either side of the lookouts. Then, drawing on years of experience, they crept as close as possible without being seen.

“Hey, Asal!” hissed Cyrus from behind a boulder, hoping that the silhouette nearest to him really was that of a woman. “It’s Yash!”

The figure instinctively reached for her horn.

“No! Whatever you do, don’t blow that thing!”

The second figure came up to see what was happening. “What’s going on, Asal?” he muttered. “Want me to blow?”

“It’s Yash,” said Asal uncertainly, peering into the darkness. “Or someone saying he is.”

“Can’t be,” grunted Shyad, lifting his horn. “Yash’s lot are patrolling the slopes overlooking the desert. They’re watching for that lot Abhay said were coming.”

“Yes, I was there,” said Cyrus in a loud whisper, rising up enough for part of him to be visible. “I’ve found the Constants. That’s why I’ve come to talk to you. I’ve got some news – really important – and you’re the only ones I can trust. Asal…Shyad…Please!”

The two guards looked at each other and shrugged. “Alright, Yash,” said Asal cautiously, raising her sword. “Come out so we can see you. And no funny business, OK? One hint of anything tricky and Shyad will blow, got it?”

Cyrus stood up and moved a few steps closer.

“Closer!” called Shyad, lowering his horn. “I want to see your face. You don’t sound like – ”

“It’s not!” cried Asal. “Quick! Blow that horn, Shy!”

The warning came too late. As Shyad went to lift the instrument to his lips, it was dashed from his hand and fell with a clatter to the ground. He spun round to confront his assailant.

Navid had crept up behind the lookouts as they were concentrating on Cyrus and now stood, axe raised, half a pace from their unprotected chests. “If you as much as flinch,” he commanded quietly, “I’ll cut you in half. Throw down your weapons!”

The rest of the operation fell into place as Cyrus had hoped. It did not take long to explain to Asal and Shyad what was going on. When they heard that Yash, a good and trusted friend, had joined with the Tallins, they had no hesitation in following suit. Like the patrol leader, they admitted that they had had their doubts about Abhay and had accepted him only out of loyalty to the Emir and Padmar. After sharing their rations with their new friends, who had not eaten properly since that morning, they led them down the slope towards the entrance of the cave.

“This is it, Roxy!” whispered Cyrus, taking her hand. “We’ve made it!”

It certainly seemed so. Although one of the lower guards refused to go along with the “conspirators” as he called them and had to be bound and gagged, the other willingly joined the growing band of rebels.

The first streaks of dawn glimmered through the canopy of leaves as Cyrus and Roxanne, side by side, walked slowly into the dark opening. It was smaller than they had anticipated, perhaps only two-and-a-half paces square. A few steps in, they found their way blocked by a massive, moss-encrusted wall of rusty steel into which, on the left, a small door had been set.

Roxanne’s hands trembled with excitement as she knelt in front of the door. “Look what it says, Cyrus,” she whispered her voice breaking with sobs. “The Soterion! I don’t believe it! We’ve done it! We’ve done it!”

Cyrus knelt and put his arm round her. He couldn’t help noticing that she already felt different. She was more angular and her bones were nearer the surface. “You brilliant, wonderful woman!” he said. “Come on! Let’s get inside!”

“THE SOTERION,” Roxanne read, running her fingers over the rust-encrusted steel to make sure she understood the letters correctly. “CONSTRUCTED IN HOPE FOR THE FUTURE OF ALL HUMANITY. 2019.”

She stopped. “That’s all there is, Cy. It doesn’t tell us how to get in. There’s no keyhole, either.” She straightened up and leaned back against the rocky wall. “We can’t get this far and not be able to get in, can we? That’d be too cruel, Cy. Too cruel.”

“Of course not, Roxy! Move over a bit and let me have a look.” Cyrus knelt before the door. True, there was no keyhole, just writing and a raised depiction of a book welded onto the steel. He looked at the image more carefully. No, it wasn’t welded on, it was held by a single rivet at the top. One rivet meant it should swing. However, when he tried to push the plate to one side, he found it had corroded onto the wall.

He picked up a stone from the floor of the cave and tapped the edge of the cover. Slowly, bit by bit, it swung aside to reveal a patch of clean bright steel. In its centre, clear and unobstructed, was a keyhole. Beneath it, etched in tiny writing, was a message.

“You’re the reader, Roxy – better than me, anyway. What’s it say?”

She stooped down beside him again and read:

THE KEY TO HOPE OF ALL MANKIND

BENEATH THE LION YOU WILL FIND

“Mmm, they’re not making it easy for us, are they?” Cyrus muttered.

He stood up and turned away from the door, calling quietly, “Hey Asal! Shyad! Here, quick!”

The two Albans hurried into the cave. “Yes?” said Shyad, staring at the door. “What’ve you found?”

“Where’s the lion?”

“Lion? What’s a lion got to do with it? I thought you were looking for those book things?”

“I am. They’re behind this door. But the key’s underneath some lion.”

“There aren’t any lions around here,” chipped in Asal, “unless you mean that stone one – we call it the ‘statue’ – near the well.”

“That’s got to be it,” cried Cyrus. “And that’s where we’re going next!”

Roxanne laid a hand on Cyrus’ arm. “Don’t rush, Cy,” she said calmly. “I’ve got days left, so let’s make sure we don’t fail at the last.”

Cyrus looked at her. She was right, of course, as always. They had no idea what was going on inside the walls of Alba. Clearly Taja’s deception had bought them precious time. But it was now full daylight – surely Timur knew by now he had been tricked? Perhaps he was also suspicious of Yash’s story about killing the true Roxanne along with the other members of the mission?

Cyrus summoned Navid, Sammy and the third guard, Melker, to join them. After explaining the riddle of the lion, he asked the Albans the best way of getting hold of the key.

Shyad told him the image of a lion, carved from stone during the time of the Long Dead, rested on a plinth beside the well at the centre of the Alba community. It was impossible to reach without being seen. The solid statue was eight hands tall, added Melker. It would take at least three people to move it and get at anything underneath – assuming the key really was there.

“What about you?” said Cyrus. “Could you go back and move the statue for us?”

Shyad shook his head. “Tricky. There are always a few archers in the square, guarding the well. And like Melker said, what’d happen if we managed to shove over the statue and then didn’t find the key? We’d be strung up for vandalism!”

“He’s right,” added Asal. “It can’t be done secretly, Cyrus. We need time as well as security.”

“OK, let’s try a different approach,” said Roxanne, who had been listening carefully to their conversation. “Tell me, does everyone really support Timur, the man you call Abhay?”

“Just about everyone,” said Melker.

Asal disagreed. Hadn’t all three of them changed sides quickly enough when told the truth? So had Yash and his patrol. The relief guards would be coming soon, and there was a good chance they could be persuaded to join the rebellion. That would give them four members of the mission, Yash’s six archers, Taja, and seven Alban guards – nineteen in all.

“Tough fight,” observed Navid gloomily. “Nineteen against three hundred. Wouldn’t like to be one of the nineteen.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of fighting,” answered Roxanne. “It’s more to do with persuading. What do you think, Asal?”

“Well, I reckon if a large enough group of us go back in peace and tell them what we know, and they see you, Roxanne – well, I think quite a lot would come over. At least, they wouldn’t fight against us. What do you think, Shy?”

Shyad shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Melker?”

“Risky, but it might work.”

“The longer we wait,” said Cyrus, “the greater the chance that Timur will find out what’s going on. And once he does, I imagine Taja, Yash and all his patrol will be finished – and we won’t have a chance, either. Let’s wait until the relief guards show up, get them to join us, and then all go into Alba together. Agreed?”

With a mixture of grunts and raised fists, they all accepted Cyrus’ proposal. Shortly afterwards, as they had planned, their numbers were swollen by the four relief guards. They were also helped by the surprise conversion of the man they had been forced to tie up. Having overheard their discussions, he said, he would now throw in his lot with his friends. That brought their number to twelve: eight Albans, two Tallins, Roxanne the Yonner and little Sammy. From a military point of view, they were puny. But armed with the truth, they hoped their strength was greater than mere numbers.

The rebel party reached the high stone walls of Alba in good time. However, as they approached, shouting cheerfully to the guards, they were dismayed to find the gates hurriedly closing against them.

“Hey!” called Shyad, looking up at the Defenders on the platform on the top of the wall. “You know who we are. Open up!”

“Sorry, Shyad,” came the reply. “Not our decision. Padmar says no one’s to be allowed in without her personal permission. Not even you lot. And who are those other people with you?”

Beckoning Navid, Roxanne and Sammy to his side, Cyrus came forward.

“Friends!” he began. “We are Constants and we come in peace. I am Cyrus and this is my friend Navid; we’re Defenders from the community of Della Tallis. The lad is from the Gova settlement and we are here to escort and protect this woman, Roxanne from Yonne.

“Please don’t be put off by her tattoo. She’s the only survivor from the first mission. She’s from Yonne and can read. She’s here to help you by opening the Soterion. Time is short because she is in her Death Month. You must let us in.”

The announcement took the guards by surprise. For some time they argued among themselves before one of them called down, “We don’t believe you! Roxanne’s already here!”

Cyrus was on the point of replying when two more figures appeared on the platform. One was a small, dark woman in a purple cloak with a hood over most of her short-cropped hair. The other Cyrus recognised at once, although he had never previously set eyes on him. Tall, deathly pale, with long, silver-white hair that only partially hid the vivid scar on his forehead, he could only be one man. Timur.

Roxanne gasped. Although several moons had passed since she had last seen him, he still terrified her. Instinctively feeling her distress, Cyrus, Sammy and Navid closed in around her.

As they did so, Timur began to laugh. It was a high, thin, nasty sound, like tearing tin. Although fearful, Cyrus sensed it went on too long to be natural. It was a cover. The dreadful Malik was playing for time, trying to come to terms with what was going on. As Cyrus suspected, he had seen through Taja’s disguise, but until this moment he had not realised that Yash had deceived him, too.

Roxanne was not dead. She was not in his service, either. And never would be. It was too horribly clear: the woman from Yonne had beaten him. She would unlock the Soterion, she would share its secrets, she would be honoured. And he, Timur the Terrible, would be excluded, condemned to spend the rest of his life a mere Malik of miserable Zeds. He would never be all-powerful…He would never be God!

For the first time in his life, the leader of the Grozny was lost for words. But as the cornered rat bites deepest, so at this moment he was at his most deadly. If power and glory were not to be his, then they would be no one’s.

In his right hand Timur held what Cyrus had taken to be a staff. Now, too late, he saw that it was in fact a javelin. With a scream of rage, the monstrous Zed raised the weapon high above his shoulder and, all in the same movement, hurled it with tremendous force straight at Roxanne.

11: The Soterion

While the other members of the mission were pursuing the path towards tragedy at the gates of Alba, Taja was holding an ill-fated course of her own. Through the gathering gloom, she followed Yash and his patrol in silence, preoccupied with her own thoughts. However, when the track widened so it was no longer necessary to walk in single file, Jannat, the tall, long-haired archer, drew alongside her and tried to strike up a conversation.

At first the exchange was one-sided, the Tallin responding to Jannat’s questions with a blunt “yes” or “no”. Gradually, though, she began to open up. The grim look on her face eased, and by the time they reached their destination she was talking more freely than she had done for many years.

The two women began by comparing the customs and lifestyles of Alba and Della Tallis. In many ways they were similar. Both were illiterate communities, although they knew of books and writing. They shared the Constant values of courage, respect, unity and duty, and held men and women in equal honour. Leaders were chosen by handshows, the Alban equivalent for “Mudir” being “Konnel”.

Jannat, who was hoping to be a Konnel after the next winter, guessed correctly that Taja was already a Mudir.

Taja gave her a quizzical look. “Is it obvious?”

Jannat laughed. “We say that leaders are born, not made. I only have to look at you to see you’re a born leader. It’s obvious.”

The subject led to one of the principal differences between the two communities. Whereas Della Tallis was essentially agricultural, Alba was a military settlement. The tradition went back as long as anyone could remember – legend said Long Dead soldiers had helped build its high walls of stone and concrete, the terraces rising up the lower slopes of the mountain, and the dwellings clustered around a broad square. The carved stone lion that stood beside the well in the centre of the square was believed to be another gift from these military forefathers.

Taja learned, somewhat to her surprise, that in Alba weapons training began at the age of eight. All Defenders paraded once a month in the main square. Discipline was stricter than in Della Tallis, too, with public floggings for those who stepped out of line. To keep up the strength of the defence force, as far as possible reproduction was regulated. Between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, all women were expected to have at least one child before returning to military and agricultural duties. Their offspring were raised communally by a team of younger women supervised by four Konnels. Relations between men and women over the age of fifteen were not expected to result in the birth of further children.

Jannat talked for a moment about her child, Parmin, then asked Taja whether she had any children. No, came the curt response, she had not. They walked on for a few steps. “I don’t like to talk about it, Jannat,” she added in a softer tone. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Children mean you are never forgotten – and I don’t want to be forgotten. I don’t want to live and die and disappear like an insect. If I had children, they would talk about their mother, and their children would talk about their grandmother, and so on. But that won’t happen to me.”

“It’s the same for nearly everyone,” replied Jannat. “I don’t suppose Parmin will ever remember me when I’m gone – and his children certainly won’t!”

“But that’s what I don’t want!” retorted Taja, suddenly animated. “I’m intelligent and able! My spirit should not flare and burn out, leaving ashes to blow away in the wind. That’s why I hoped Cyrus and I could find the Soterion together and give its secrets to the world.”

The archer laid a hand on Taja’s arm, only to have it brushed aside. “I don’t need sympathy, Jannat! Nor do I deserve it. Listen, on the way here I did something dishonourable. One of the men in our band was injured – I hastened his death so he would not slow us up. I sacrificed him. Now I have a chance of redemption, even sacrificing myself if necessary… ”

“I promise you,” said Jannat, aware now that Taja, despite her hard shell, was as vulnerable as every other Constant, “that you will be long remembered. Whatever happens when we get to Alba, you will always be the person who risked everything for others.”

“Is that really what I’m doing?” muttered Taja. “Behaving like Roxanne?”

“Yes, it is. You didn’t have to leave Cyrus and the others and come with us, did you?”

“No, I suppose that’s true. I didn’t.” Taja’s voice became lower, as if she had to force the words from her throat. “Well, Jannat, if things go wrong – you know, if I don’t survive to see the end of this mission – please tell Cyrus what you just told me.”

“That you are risking all you had for a principle, like Roxanne?”

“Yes.”

Jannat smiled. “Don’t worry, Taja. I think he knows that already.”

It was the middle of the night by the time Yash’s band reached the small patrol door in the settlement wall. Following the usual procedure, they identified themselves with a password before the bars across the door were pulled back and they were allowed in.

Unused to Alban formality, Taja was surprised by the way the patrol reported back. The archers, standing on either side of her in a row, had their weapons checked to ensure they were undamaged. Yash then informed the Duty Konnel what had happened, pointing to Taja and calling her Roxanne, as planned. The Konnel peered at Taja’s tattoo in the moonlight, nodded and ordered her to be held in the guardroom until Abhay verified her identity in the morning. The officer did not want to be responsible for a Z-marked woman wandering freely around the settlement in the dark.

When Yash asked the Konnel why he did not report to Abhay and Padmar immediately, the man hesitated for a moment before repeating what he had been told. The acting Emir, he explained with obvious embarrassment, had given orders not to be disturbed. She and Abhay had important matters to discuss and wished to be left alone.

Discuss important matters all night? thought Taja. Padmar had obviously fallen for more than Timur’s promise of unlocking the secrets of the Soterion. Was there no limit to this monster’s dreadful powers? Not long afterwards, her mind still swirling with curiosity and fear of what lay ahead, she lay down on a rough bench in the guardroom and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Early the following morning, Yash led his archers into the parade square and stood next to the lion to wait for Padmar. Looking tired and flushed, she appeared with Timur at her side and began questioning the patrol about its mission. Her partner, his tattoo covered by a huge black hat, loomed over the diminutive Konnel like an evil puppet-master.

“Excuse me, acting Emir of the Alba,” he interrupted with oily good manners. “May I put a question or two to our friend Yash?”

Padmar’s eyes were drained of all judgement as she gazed up at him. “Of course, Abhay!”

“Thank you, Padmar. Now, Yash, tell me this instant – no, please forgive my rudeness – I mean, do fill me in on the success of your exemplary patrol. You rescued Roxanne, for instance, my old Constant friend?”

“We did.”

Timur’s eyes flashed with delight. “And where is she?”

“In the guardroom, as the Duty Konnel ordered.”

Timur rubbed his hands together, struggling to keep himself under control. This was too good to be true! These batbrained Albans had delivered Roxanne to him without realising what they were doing. With a little not-so-gentle persuasion, she would be only too eager to put the secrets of the Soterion into his grateful hands!

“And you are sure it is she?” he continued eagerly. “You’ve seen the tattoo – the foul mark of a Zed – cruelly burned on her, like mine?”

“She’s branded, yes,” Yash replied cautiously. He hated lying, though he had no choice.

Timur’s eyes narrowed slightly. This fool wasn’t trying to hide something from him, was he? “And you killed her escort of Constants – all of them?”

“Shot dead with arrows and buried, yes.”

“I expect that pleased Roxanne, didn’t it?” asked Timur, his whole body writhing with anticipation at how Yash would respond to his wickedly barbed question.

Yash hesitated, fatally. What was he supposed to reply? Timur had said Roxanne was a friend whom Cyrus held against her wishes. But Yash now knew what Timur had known all along – that this was a lie. He played for time.

“Pleased her, Abhay?”

The Great Zed could contain himself no longer. “Toadpizzle!” he screamed. “You know what I mean! What did she say when you told her she was coming back to me, the Mali – ” He stopped just in time, biting his tongue in the process.

“She doesn’t want to meet you again, Abhay,” said Yash, staring in disgust at the trickle of blood running down the ice-white face.

The besotted Padmar started. “Oh Abhay! You said –”

Timur cut her short. “She lies! Poisonous, worm-ridden lies!” he cried. “Of course she’s thrilled at the prospect of being reunited with me. Am I the only one who tells the truth?”

Yash resisted the temptation to give the obvious answer.

“I will see for myself,” Timur continued. Swinging round, he ran off with enormous strides in the direction of the guardroom. For a moment, Yash thought of following him to protect Taja from possible harm. Having witnessed a side of Timur not seen before, he feared greatly for her safety. But he stayed where he was – revealing the truth now might jeopardise their whole plan.

Padmar, mesmerised by Timur’s false charms, watched until he was out of sight then turned back to Yash. “On that man,” she said, “hangs the fate of our whole community. Yash, I hope you haven’t been disloyal to Alba.”

“No, I have not, Konnel Padmar,” he replied firmly, refusing to link her with the position of Emir. “We brought back a Z-marked woman, as Abhay asked.”

She looked up at him, a quizzical expression on her small, round face. “Well, Abhay will soon be back with his friend and we will know the truth. In the meantime, fill me in on the details of your patrol.”

Timur was gone longer than expected. By the time he reappeared, walking alone up the stony slope from the guardroom, Yash and his archers had related their full story. They made a good job of it, moving on from the truth to weave an elaborate fabrication of slaying the Constants and capturing the woman with the Zed tattoo.

“Well, Abhay?” asked Padmar as he approached. Ignoring her, he stormed straight up to Yash and punched him viciously in the face. “Ignorant snakescum!” he screeched. As the archer reeled backwards, Timur raised his fist to strike again.

“No!” cried Padmar, grabbing his arm. “That is not our way, Abhay! Tell me first! Please!”

Trembling with rage, the Malik of the Grozny gave Padmar a look of indescribable scorn. “Not your way?” he mimicked, his high-pitched voice resembling hers with unkind accuracy. “What is your way? To lie and cheat like your frogspawn warriors who bring in the wrong woman, eh? Don’t you understand? The woman this incompetent insect has brought in is not Roxanne!”

Yash wiped the blood from his mouth. If he had needed any proof of Roxanne’s description of Timur as “all evil”, he had it now. This Z-marked thing was indeed a beast, a fiendishly clever one. Padmar might have fallen deeper into his trap than others, seduced into overlooking his obvious wickedness, but at first hadn’t they all been tempted there by his brilliant deception? Now look where it had got them! Yash decided to speak out before the devilish intruder dug his claws in any deeper.

He had barely opened his mouth, when they were interrupted by three men running into the square. “Konnel Padmar! Konnel Padmar!” cried one of them. “You are needed at the gate right now!”

“What is it?”

“A force of about a dozen warriors, including all the Soterion guards, is headed this way. There’s a child with them, and a woman with what looks like a Zed tattoo! The gate guards don’t know whether to let them in or not.”

Padmar glanced at Timur. His demeanour had switched yet again, and for the first time she felt a flicker of mistrust. The quivering fury of a few seconds ago had melted into eager anticipation as he took in what the messenger had said. A woman with a tattoo? Was it possible?

“Shall we go, dear Padmar?” he enquired with exaggerated civility. “This might be interesting.”

The need for decisive action forced Padmar temporarily to ignore the shadow lurking at the back of her mind. She may have lost her judgement on one issue, but for everyday matters she retained the leadership and decision-making skills that had made her a Konnel. “We will go to the gate at once,” she ordered. “Run ahead and tell them to do nothing till I get there.”

Ordering Yash and his archers not to move a step in her absence, she hurried off towards the gate. The black-hatted Timur, stalking her like the raven of death, followed closely behind.

Once the Konnel was out of the square, Jannat came across to Yash. “Now we know for sure, what are we going to do?”

“After coming this far,” said Yash, speaking with difficulty because of the cut on his lip, “there’s no going back.”

Jannat nodded. “We’re all agreed on that, Yash. His behaviour was vile, wasn’t it? But I think there might be worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you see what was on his shirt?”

“Yes, my blood!”

“No,” frowned Jannat. “It was there when he came back from the guard room. I’m afraid it might be someone else’s.”

Padmar and Timur were nearing the wall as Cyrus finished speaking. His words had carried clearly to them, confusing the Konnel and sending her partner into a fit of violent quivering. Calling up to the guards to remember their orders, the pair clambered swiftly up the ladder to join them. Timur knocked his hat off on the way up and, such was his urgency, didn’t bother to go back and pick it up.

“Stonehead!” he hissed as he shoved aside a startled lookout and grabbed the man’s javelin. With Padmar at his side, he moved to the front of the parapet and launched into a long and raucous attempt at a laugh. The ruse, though hideously unconvincing, gave him time to assess the situation. The Soterion guards had deserted their posts and were lined up with a good-looking stranger holding a long spear. And there, standing next to him…Oh yes! It was her alright, older but still striking. Roxanne, his obsession, his beautiful Nemesis.