ElyriasEcstasy (22 page)

“You’re awake!” Bongo crowed, as though the fact required
celebrating.

“How long was I out?” Urna asked, still feeling adrift,
time-wise.

Bongo halted before him. “We pulled in maybe ten minutes
ago. We both slept the whole way. Must’ve been an hour.”

An
hour
. Urna tried to estimate what distance they’d
covered, remembering the speed of the transport, but the calculation was beyond
him.

“But anyway,” Bongo said, gesturing grandly, “we’re here!”

“Great. Want to tell me where ‘here’ is?”

Urna’s flat tone didn’t dampen the other’s grin. “It’s one
of the junction points. A place where travelers can meet, rest up, get some hot
food. You hungry?”

Waving away the question, Urna asked, “I mean, where are we
in relation to what’s above? What part of the Safe?”

“I could show you on a map. Would that really matter,
though? This is the
under
world, sweetheart!” He laughed.

Urna noted the man’s ebullient mood. He wondered if he’d
already gotten his hands on some alcohol. The others on the platform were still
sneaking looks at him, evidently intrigued. Made sense, Urna thought. They
probably didn’t get a whole lot of former Weapons riding their rails.

He still wanted some concrete information, though, and so
asked, “You’ve been down here before?”

Bongo shook his head. “I’ve known about it, though. In fact,
I’m the only one from back at that town who did know about the underground.”

“You’re something special in the—the Order of Maji, then?”
The name still sounded vaguely foolish to Urna.

Pulling on the collar of his shirt to reveal the edge of the
red corkscrewing tattoo, Bongo said, “I wear the sign of magic. You don’t get
one of these if you just dabble, if you’re some muttering wannabe revolutionary
who’s just envious of the Lux’s wealth and wishes he was one of them.”

“And now the Guard know your name. From that pass at the
checkpoint.”

“The name was fake. And it’s not like I haven’t had the
Guard on my ass before. Don’t worry about me.”

“You people are organized?” Urna hadn’t quite meant that to
be a question.

Bongo arched a blond eyebrow. “Got your ass out of town,
didn’t we?”

Urna managed to keep from frowning. He silently granted that
Bongo’s group had more or less effected his escape, but he had many more
questions about the Maji, about how widespread this society might be and how
their beliefs figured into things. Could it be that all these people assembled
here on this platform—and who knew how many others—
really
believed in
magic? Did they accept the Farsafe as an absolute reality?

Instead, he asked, sweeping a hand broadly, “What do your
people use all this for, then? This underground.”

“It’s more what it will be used for,” a sedate feminine
voice cut in. The woman stepped around Bongo, a head shorter than the
green-eyed male. Her hair was a vivid disarrayed red, inevitably suggesting
flames licking up from her skull. Prominent cheekbones drew her face into an
elegant mask. Her small, rounded chin pointed slightly upward, and her eyes
were large, almost oversized. She was quite striking, exuding an air of calm
authority.

Urna felt a vague urge to perform some sort of ritual
greeting or acknowledgment, realizing only after a second or two that it was
the same instilled impulse from the military—the reflex to salute an officer.

Covering his surprise at his own reaction, he asked her, “In
that case, what’ll you use these tunnels for? Future tense.”

She smiled, and it was a beatific smile, brimming with peace
and wisdom, despite that she looked no older than twenty-five or so. She wore
sturdy work clothes that couldn’t entirely hide the litheness of her shape.

Instead of answering, she turned that smile on Bongo. “It’s
a pleasure to meet you. You’ve done well in bringing him this far.” Her words
were couched in a tone of gentle dismissal.

Bongo actually dipped his head in an approximation of a bow.
Shooting Urna a last look, he withdrew, going off to mingle with the others.

“My name is Kath.”

“I’m Urna.”

Laugh lines appeared briefly at the corners of her large
eyes but she made no audible murmur of laughter. “Yes, Weapon Urna. Everyone
here knows your name.”

“I’m not
Weapon
anymore.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Kath. “Care to come with me, to
where we can talk?”

Her offer aroused a different instinct this time. Urna found
he had to clear his throat before he could say, “Yes. Yeah, I’d like that.”

* * * * *

Hearing pounding on one’s door in the middle of the night
was never a good thing. Fortunately, at least, Virge Temple wasn’t asleep. She
hadn’t even dragged herself up to her loft yet, too restless for bed. Instead
she’d been sitting in her cluttered front room, draining the last of the Fire
from its bottle, wishing she had more of the fine stuff. Probably she should’ve
gone with some rotgut to put her to sleep. This was reminding her too much of
Bongo. They had shared this bottle the last time they’d fucked.

Well, hopefully not the last time ever, she amended a little
wistfully. Her feelings surprised her. Hadn’t she always thought of Bongo as
exasperating, irresponsible?

There was no denying, though, that he had quickly organized
a plot to smuggle Urna out of town. Whether that had worked or not…

A second round of hammering started on her house’s front
door. In the ill-lit room, Virge lurched to her feet and started toward it. She
wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her jaw setting. Probably this was
the Guard. That meant trouble. More serious trouble than usual, most likely.

When she undid the lock, the person on the other side didn’t
wait for her to pull open the door. Instead, the intruder burst through,
causing Virge to stagger back a step. Anger surged within her. Fucking Guard!

But this wasn’t a Guard member, much less the expected squad
of black-clad enforcers. Rather, it was Vika who’d stormed in and now turned to
hastily shut the door behind her. She was breathing hard, hunched over from
exertion. It took a moment before the woman with the head of graying stubble
could straighten and address Virge. Vika was one of Bongo’s cohorts. Virge was
barely more pleased to find her in her home than the Guard. She had no liking
for the gruff woman, who’d left an unpleasant impression on her previous visit.

“You’ve probably…” Vika heaved another breath. Her nose was
running. “Probably got less than ten minutes. The Guard are trashing your lab.”

The haze of alcohol instantly burned away. Virge grabbed
hold of the bigger woman’s shoulders. “What did you say?”

Vika didn’t repeat it. “We created a little commotion
earlier, to draw away the local garrison of Guard. It worked. Urna and Bongo
got past the checkpoint. But they had to take out a Guard there. Now, somebody
high up has figured out that smoke means fire. A whole unit of Guard have
rolled into town. We’ve had scouts out all night. The Guard went straight for
your lab and—and—” Vika swiped at her runny nose. “You’ve got less than ten
minutes before they come here, looking for you. Call it five, just to be safe.”

The thought of Guard tramping through her laboratory,
upsetting things—
trashing it
, Vika had said. It felt like a blow. Like
physical trauma. So much of herself she’d put into that place, the research,
the concocting of medicines. To have it damaged, even ruined…it was almost
impossible to imagine.

Now, though, was no time for contemplation. If the Guard
were willing to destroy her lab, which was valuable to the military and thereby
to the Lux, then they wouldn’t handle her any more gently. No mere questioning
session for her this time. No possibility of a hapless ally like Nick Daphral.
She’d be shackled and thrown in a dark hole, maybe even tortured.

Tonight was an ending. She could meet that end. Or she could
flee. Run away, like Urna had run.

Would that the Weapon had picked some
other
laboratory to raid, she thought grimly. But she didn’t dwell on it. No time for
bitterness either. She had to act.

In the space of three minutes she’d gathered clothes, a few
essential papers, the very last food in the house, and stuffed it all into a
bag. She grabbed her coat, hoping Vika here had a plan in mind. Hoping it
ultimately worked out as well or better than the one that had apparently gotten
Urna and Bongo out of town.

She nodded tightly to Vika, who opened the door and led the
chemist out onto the curfewed streets.

* * * * *

A floral scent pervaded the snug room, one Urna couldn’t
identify. What the hell did he know about flowers, anyway? But it was pleasant,
a warm odor laced with the promise of budding life, of vivid colors aching to
burst forth.

He shook his head, amused at these atypically poetic
thoughts as Kath drew the beaded curtain closed behind him. Really, this wasn’t
a room so much as a nook. He suspected that if you stripped out all the
cushions and colorful wall hangings you’d be left with little more than a stony
hollow. Obviously these were the quarters of those who lived in and tended to
this elaborate underground.

Kath—or whoever had decorated it—had made the space quite
habitable. They’d walked together to the far end of the platform then through a
short series of interconnecting tunnels. The hubbub of conversation was far
behind. It was quiet here.

“Sit, if you like,” Kath said, gesturing. She seated herself
on a faded but still cheerful pillow. A few random furnishings were wedged into
the corners. Cupboards and boxes. A candle glowed on a small stand. The flowery
scent, Urna realized only now, was rising from that candle. The wax had somehow
been treated to release the odor.

He sat cross-legged on a cushion immediately opposite Kath.
He felt a kind of sure calm coming over him and wondered if he were merely
taking some subliminal cue from this female who exuded such a serene air. She
gave him her enchanting smile again. He did his best to return it.

“You’re Order of Maji too?” he asked, even though she’d
invited no questions.

Kath nodded. “As is everyone you’ve seen since coming
below.”

“And, uh,” he looked around again, but the room held no
clues, “what does the Order do, exactly?” When she didn’t respond immediately
he felt the need to add, “Bongo’s told me something of it. Magic above
technology. You oppose the Lux.”

She picked up on his hesitation and offered a soothing
gesture. “I know you’re not with the Lux, Urna. We have a few contacts among
the Guard. Word of your escape and the subsequent search has spread through
their ranks. I daresay that such gossip will be reaching the general population
soon, if you’re not recaptured.”

Daresay?
Urna smiled at the quaintness of the word,
at the easy flow of her speech.

“Besides,” Kath went on, turning to reach behind her,
“people are going to start to notice when you stop appearing on the broadcast
screens. Without Passenger kill numbers from Urna and Rune, who shall the
common folk cheer for? Tea?” She turned back with a pot and two cups.

“Yes,” Urna murmured, unsure if her mention of his and
Rune’s popular mission statistics was some sort of condemnation or not. Could
she disapprove of the killing of Passengers, those monstrous creatures from the
Black Ship? Who could object to their slaughter?

He accepted a cup of the tea, tepid but strongly flavored.
He watched as Kath savored a sip, closing her eyes briefly. Opening them again,
she said in a more forthright manner than before, “The Order of the Maji is as
old as the Order of the Lux. So our lore says. We base our trust in magic, yes,
while the Lux embrace industrial science, mechanics. I don’t say one way is
good and the other evil, although you could find people on both sides to make
that argument. But we’ve chosen our way and it serves us.”

“To do
what
?” Urna winced slightly at his own
emphatic tone. Then again, why should he care about being rude? Being delicate
with other people’s feelings wasn’t his usual way. But oddly, he did care.

Kath, evidently taking no offense, said, “We’re preparing.
We’re getting the Safe ready. It’s slow work, but I’ve seen progress, even in
just the last few years. A decade ago this underground wasn’t remotely
operational. Now we’ve got a substantial range of movement. When the time
comes, we can transport people, supplies, weapons.”

“Weapons? Really?”

The laugh lines came to the corners of her eyes once more.
“You thought we were pacifists?”

He shrugged, sipped more tea, enjoying its taste. “It’s just
that Bongo, on the way here, was awfully insistent that we not kill a Guard.”

“We’re not interested in death where it can be avoided. I
wouldn’t say that’s a philosophical stance, precisely. There is a lot of
practicality in not wanting to partake in any rampant slaughters.”

Again Urna wondered if that was indirectly aimed at his
former career as Weapon and Passenger slayer. Why, he wondered, was he being so
sensitive about that all of a sudden?

The Maji, then, were a group of true rebels—or at least
preparing to become rebels, presumably when the time was ripe. They had to be
serious. This underground network was proof. But how much of a threat to the
Lux were they really? He couldn’t say. All he was sure about at the moment was
that this woman impressed him. She had the bearing of a leader. Not a military
commander perhaps, but then again, maybe the coming conflict between Lux and
Maji wouldn’t call for militaristic means. Maybe it was a whole different brand
of warfare that was planned.

Or maybe he was reading far too much into what little solid
information he’d gotten from the red-haired woman.

“So,” he said, draining his tea cup, “for now your
people—what? Resist the Lux in subtle ways. You abet fugitive Weapons?”