The Soterion Mission (14 page)

Slightly less than a moon ago, the severed and mutilated head of Kurav, a member of the third mission to Yonne, had been flung over the walls of Alba in the middle of the night. A crude Z-shape had been carved into the forehead with a knife. The grizzly message confirmed what they feared – like the previous two, Kurav’s mission had failed.

Not long afterwards, a tall, Z-marked man with strangely white skin had appeared unarmed and stark naked before the walls of Alba. He came in peace, he said, with wonderful news regarding the Soterion. Might he speak with someone? Padmar leapt at the opportunity. After all, it was she who had suggested employing a Zed – and now, almost by magic, one had appeared. He seemed most personable, too. Almost civilised. She was soon persuaded by his smooth talking and arranged, with Chima’s reluctant consent, for him to be allowed into the settlement.

He had been born a Constant, the visitor explained, but was captured by the Zeds in his youth. They had branded him and raised him as one of their own. One day, his tribe had seized and tattooed a literate Constant woman from Yonne. He took pity on her and, after she had explained about the Soterion Mission she had been on, the pair escaped and set out for Alba together. Unfortunately, they fell in with some very devious Constants from Della Tallis who forced the woman to join them. These traitors planned to use her to steal the secrets of the Soterion for themselves and thereby gain dominance over all other Constants.

“And the Albans believed these lies?” exclaimed Cyrus, scarcely able to credit what he was hearing.

“There were some early doubts, of course,” said Yash. “But they didn’t last long. Now the majority of the people almost worship him, hailing him as a sort of saviour. Whatever he says, goes. Not many shared my worries; or if they did they kept it to themselves. Most Albans are so keen to get behind that steel door, they’ll follow anyone who promises to help them do it.

“The job of my patrol was to watch out for your arrival, kill everyone except the tattooed woman, and take her to Abhay –”

“Timur,” corrected Roxanne.

“Sorry, Timur. Once he had her with him, he said he’d open the Soterion and share its secrets with everyone!”

“Fat chance!” grunted Navid.

“Worse still,” concluded Yash miserably, “it now looks as if he’s got rid of our Emir, Chima. That leaves Padmar and her friend Timur in charge of the whole settlement. I tell you, Cyrus, we’re going to have our hands full sorting out this shambles.”

“Exactly,” said Cyrus. “We’ll do everything we can to help, of course, but you know the lie of the land, Yash. So, what’s the plan?”

10: Into Alba

Yash brushed away the strand of red hair that had fallen across his face. “Plan, Cyrus?” he shrugged. “Wish I could think of one!”

“What if we all just march back to Alba and say who we are,” suggested Navid in what turned out to be the longest sentence he had ever spoken, “and tell ‘em that the bloke who says his name is Abhay is really Timur, chief of the Grozny, and then they’ll arrest him, or whatever, and we can get on with opening this Soterion?”

“Yes, that’s the obvious thing to do,” said Yash, “but it’s too risky.”

Navid frowned. “I don’t get it, Yash. How’s it risky?”

“It’s like Yash said,” explained one of the other Alban archers, a tall, thin woman whose black hair reached to the leather belt at her waist. “Timur has kind of planned for that. He’s told everyone that you lot, the Constants from Della Tallis, are clever and tricky. If you now turn up and call him a liar, he’ll say that’s precisely what he’d warned us against: you’ve got Roxanne and have turned her against Padmar and himself.”

“What’s more,” chipped in another of Yash’s patrol, “we’ve disobeyed orders in not killing you. In Alban eyes that makes us not the sort of people you’d trust. Traitors almost. You’re a Constant – you know what disobeying orders means, don’t you?”

Cyrus nodded. Yes, he knew alright. He remembered vividly how torn he had been between obeying Emir Leiss and following the alluring Z-marked refugee with her extraordinary story of a Soterion. He glanced across at Roxanne to find her looking at him. She had read his mind and was smiling.

Poor, lovely Roxy! he thought. She looks desperately tired. Not surprising considering what she’s been through, leading us, driving us day after day across that blazing wilderness. It was her spirit, her will, her strength that kept us going. Understandably it had taken a lot out of her, he now realised. She hadn’t looked so exhausted since the day of her escape from the Grozny.

Taja’s voice brought him back to the present. “And if you return empty-handed and say you’ve never seen us, wouldn’t they believe that, either?”

Yash shook his head. “I’ve reported seeing you.”

“But couldn’t you say it was a mistake, that you’d got the wrong people?”

Taja was more animated than she had been for a long time, Cyrus thought. Also more positive. Had she finally accepted that Roxanne had been telling the truth all along? And if so, what had made her change her mind?

“No, it was clear I’d seen you,” said Yash, shaking his head. “All the details were right. And we’ve been out on patrol much longer than usual. If we go back empty-handed now, we’ll be under all kinds of suspicion.”

“And if you don’t go back at all?” asked Cyrus.

“No good either,” replied the woman with the long black hair. “Even if you’re a day late, they send out people to bring you in. A while back, when an entire patrol never came home, every able-bodied person in Alba was sent to look for them. Too late, as it turned out. The Zeds had got them. Murdering swine!”

“You mean,” said Cyrus, “that if you don’t show up soon, we’ll have goodness knows how many Defenders –”

“About three hundred.”

“Three hundred! Three hundred Defenders swarming all over this mountainside looking for you?”

“Probably,” confirmed Yash with a smile of grim resignation. “And they’d put a massive guard on the Soterion, too, in case you had somehow avoided or killed us and were trying to get in there unnoticed.”

For a few moments, they stood around without saying a word, confounded by the impossibility of their position. Cyrus became aware of the stream babbling and splashing behind him. It’s mocking us, he thought, laughing at our puny human worries. What does it care? It’ll go on chattering to itself long after we’re gone. He took a deep breath. For Roxanne’s sake, for the sake of all they had been through, for the dead Zavar, for poor, half-blind Sammy, for the honour of all of them, there was only one option.

“If you agree, Yash,” he said, advancing into the middle of the clearing, “this is what we’ll do –”

No one ever discovered what Cyrus had in mind. Before he could say anything further, Taja interrupted him. It was the old Taja, the strong, sharp and forceful Mudir of the West Tower. “I’m sure your plan’s a good one, Cyrus. Even so, I think you’ll find mine’s better.”

Before he could interrupt, she went on, “There’s only one certain way out of this: Yash and his archers must return to Alba with Roxanne.”

Gasps of astonishment greeted the suggestion. “You can’t be serious!” spluttered Cyrus, dismissing Taja’s recent agreeableness as a front.

“Listen, Cyrus, will you?” she snapped. “It’s the best option by far. We’ll go back to Alba while you and Roxanne try to get into the Soterion. Navid can protect Sammy and stand guard.”

“Er, sorry, but I don’t get it, Taja,” said Navid, running his fingers through his hair. “To begin with, who’s this ‘we’ going back to Alba?”

She gave him a quick smile. “The patrol and myself.”

“But you said Roxanne…”

“Exactly, Navid. Mark me with the sign of a Zed and who’ll know the difference? I’ll go as Roxanne. While I’m confusing Timur and Padmar, Cyrus and the real Roxanne will have a chance of getting into the Soterion. If Timur can get away with pretending to be someone else, why can’t I?”

Roxanne came forward, palm outstretched. Taja took it without a word and, for the first time, the two women embraced.

“Thank you, Taja,” said Roxanne solemnly. “This is the bravest thing anyone could offer to do. Yet I’m afraid it won’t work. Timur will immediately see you’re not me and then he’ll…Well, quite frankly, it terrifies me to think what he’ll do. You can’t imagine how evil he is, Taja. He’s all deviousness, all cruelty.”

“I’m prepared to risk it,” said Taja, standing back and looking Roxanne straight in the face. “Anyway, if – or when – Timur does recognise me, what can he do?”

She turned towards the archer patrol. “Yash will tell him that he has killed all the unmarked Constants, as he was ordered, and brought back the woman with the Zed tattoo. Then I’ll confess that I’m not Roxanne but Taja.”

No one said a word.

“I’ll explain to him,” Taja went on, “that because we were worried the Albans wouldn’t trust someone with a Zed tattoo, Roxanne hid her mark with mud while I drew a Zed mark on myself with charcoal. I did this, I’ll explain, for Roxanne’s sake, to see how the Albans would react to someone looking as if they were a Zed. How ironic, I’ll tell them as I weep for the deaths of my friends, that a false tattoo saved my life while Roxanne died because she had covered up her real one!

“It’s the perfect way to outwit Timur: the evil genius foiled by the cleverness of his own plan!”

It was a brilliant idea, Cyrus agreed, though terribly dangerous. And he still didn’t know why Taja was suddenly willing not only to accept Roxanne’s story of the Soterion, but to risk her life for it.

“Taja,” he said slowly, “you’re right – your idea probably is the best way to divert Timur while we try to get into the Soterion. However, as Roxy says, you’re putting yourself in real danger. If Timur finds out what’s actually going on, well…”

He left the sentence unfinished, partly because he didn’t want to spell out what might happen and partly because, after a few seconds, Taja completed it for him.

“…he’ll kill me, no doubt – if Padmar lets him – in the vilest way imaginable. I’m ready. I don’t have much time remaining anyway, so I might as well do something useful.”

Navid’s brow furrowed. “Is that really why you came on the mission, Taja?” he asked. “You joined us to help, not to check up on Roxanne?”

Taja shrugged. “Look, Navid, as you know, I’m not a sentimental person and every moment we waste talking will make our task more difficult…But I’ll say only this – and it’s my last word on the subject, OK?”

Navid nodded.

“You’re right to be confused,” she went on, “because I was myself, for a long time. I didn’t trust Roxanne. I’m not sure why. Maybe I didn’t believe anyone would give up everything and go through hell for a dream. I wouldn’t have done it myself.”

She gave her former rival a strange look, admiration blending awkwardly with envy. “But I’ve watched her, seen her determination, heard her story and had it confirmed by the behaviour of Timur and the words of Yash and his patrol.

“And now I see I was wrong: there are people who act for the good of others. They think beyond themselves, of the community and of the future. I suppose those who set up the Soterion were like that. So before it’s too late, I want – for once in my life – to make a difference.”

“Anyway,” she added, suddenly changing her tone, walking over to Cyrus and putting her arms round his neck, “I came along because I wanted to be with this man, wherever he went.”

Cyrus smiled awkwardly and shook his head.

“No need for anyone to pretend now, Cyrus,” she laughed. “Why do you think I’ve been watching you so carefully, eh? I was hoping when you had learned to read and Roxanne was out of the way, we could finish this mission together. You and me, saviours of the Constants!

“Foolish and unkind, I know – but understand how I feel about you, Cyrus. And always have. Always will.”

Taja, the unsentimental, iron-willed Taja, raised a hand to her face to hide the trembling of her bottom lip. The moment passed as swiftly as it had arisen. Regaining her composure, she turned to Yash and told him to escort her to Alba without further delay. “No tears, no goodbyes,” she insisted. “Not a word, please. Let’s just go.”

As the evening closed in, the two groups made their hasty preparations. The tall Alban woman helped Taja straighten her hair by dampening it with water, and etched the mark of a Zed on her forehead with charcoal. As the patrol would arrive in the dark, she said, there was a fair chance that Timur would not learn of the deception until morning. Taja, after a few quick words with Roxanne, tried to imagine how she should react on meeting a man who had once raped and tortured her. It wasn’t easy.

Meanwhile, Yash explained to Cyrus precisely where the Soterion was and how best to get there without encountering an Alban patrol. The mysterious iron door lay in a cave set into a steep, wooded slope on the opposite side of the mountain from Alba. The entrance had been partly blocked by a rockfall, then further obscured by a screen of trees and bushes that had grown up since the Great Death.

Following its discovery, the mouth to the cave had been cleared, although it was still difficult to find unless one knew precisely where to look. Even if someone did stumble across it, they would find the entrance blocked by a locked steel door. As a consequence, the Albans left the place comparatively lightly guarded. Yash said two warriors kept a permanent lookout above the site and two more at the entrance to the cave itself. The principal problem would be the upper guards. Both carried horns and had orders to blow them at the slightest hint of danger. The noise would alert the guards below and, if the wind was in the right direction, carry as far as the walls of Alba.

And another thing, added Yash, he hoped Cyrus and Roxanne would be able to reach the door without causing the guards unnecessary injury. All four were his friends, especially Asal and Shyad, the horn carriers on the upper station.

When all was ready, as a gibbous moon rose over the distant desert, Taja and her escort walked briskly out of the clearing and took the ruined road for Alba. As he watched the indomitable Mudir of the West Tower disappear from view without a word of farewell or a backward glance, Cyrus felt a wave of sadness sweep through him. Experience and instinct conspired to whisper that Zavar would not be the only one of the party to die before the mission was accomplished.

Cyrus became aware of Roxanne standing beside him. “Do you think she’ll be alright, Roxy?” he asked quietly, pushing back the hair from her forehead and kissing the puckered scar.

“I don’t know, Cy. I hope so. She’s an incredibly brave woman.”

“And a sad one, too, though she did her best to hide it.” He paused for a moment. “I wonder what made her finally change her mind about you?”

Roxanne lifted her tired face towards him. “A woman’s instinct, I suppose.”

“Not a very sharp one. It took her ages to see what most people knew from the moment you came over the barricade: that you’re honest and true, and this thing on your forehead is a lie.”

“Do you blame her, Cy?” Standing on her toes, she slipped her arms round his neck and pressed herself close against him. “Whether you do or not, her instinct picked up something else much more quickly. I think it was that which changed her mind.”

Deep within him, Cyrus felt the first ripple of panic. No! Please, not now!

Seeing the look in his eyes, she held him tighter still. “Look at me Cy! Look at me!”

Gently, slowly, she removed her arms from round his neck and turned her face to the moonlight. “You see, Cyrus? I believe Taja noticed it. That’s why she kept saying we had to hurry.”

Cyrus had seen it before, many, many times. Back in Della Tallis, it was an everyday occurrence. Sad, indeed, yet unavoidable. One just accepted it. But not Roxy, not the loveliest human being he had ever met…

Words stuck in his throat. “How long?” he said eventually, staring in disbelief at the face that was the same and yet subtly, cruelly different.

“Maybe five days? I first felt it when we were in the desert. I didn’t want to tell anyone in case it made them less determined to carry on. The dust in my hair helped – covered the strands that were going grey. I checked when we got here and saw my reflection in the stream.”

“Oh, Roxy! And all I said was that you looked tired! How could I have been so blind?” He turned her round and clasped her to him. “I don’t want you to go!”

“Silly man!” she smiled, refusing to be drawn into morbidity. “I won’t! At least, not yet. Listen, I’ve been working it out – here’s what I reckon.

“During my Death Month I’m growing older – in Long Dead terms – by about two winters each day. Now, according to the Third Book, a man named Caesarion lived to the age of seventy-five. That’s like a Death Month of twenty-eight days. Five or six of mine have gone; therefore, if I’m like him, I’ve got twenty days or more of life! That’s enough time for us, isn’t it, Cy?”