Nine Layers of Sky (31 page)

Eighteen

SAMARKAND, UZBEKISTAN, 21ST CENTURY

Kitai took a step back as soon as she saw Manas. Ilya drew the sword. Kovalin stared at it, expressionless. “A typical Russian response. The moment you’re faced with something you don’t understand, you reach for the nearest weapon.”

Manas laughed.

Ilya flicked the sword toward Kovalin, again seeing an echo of the
volkh
’s flat black eyes in those of Kitai. “For example, you’re not part of any secret scientific society, are you? You’re Byelovodyean. They sent you to get the coil back. You told me what I wanted to hear. And that stuff about the
rusalki
—that was a lie, too, wasn’t it? But what I want to know is, why me?”

Kovalin turned sharply. “Something’s happening in the Republic. We don’t have much time, Kitai.”

“You were right, my hero,” Manas said. “The gate is here, beneath the tomb, powered by another ancient coil and more besides. Tamerlane’s people knew of it. When he appeared to die, they thought he would travel through, be reborn in the next world. They must have known that he was not himself human, that he was
bogatyr
—and one of the greatest. And now he keeps the gate open, but even Tamerlane’s time is ending. Why you, you ask? You’re his replacement. That’s why they sent you to fetch the coil: They knew it would listen to you. And once you had it, they were going to use you, wire you into the machine, fuse you to its coil. If I’d been the first to find it—well, I had other plans.”

Kitai reached out and placed both hands on the tomb. The slab of black jade slid apart. Blue light poured through. Through the azure haze Ilya saw a figure.

It wore a leather jerkin and a pointed helmet. A horsetail streamed from the peak of the helmet as if caught in an unnatural wind. The figure’s hands gripped a familiar, coiled form: bright lines ran beneath Tamerlane’s skin, tracing arteries and bone, a mesh of flesh and ancient technology. Yet Ilya could see through it to the golden walls beyond, a double image of imposed realities.

“Tamerlane.”

The figure’s eyes were open, agonized, aware.

“Did you never wonder what became of him?” Manas asked. “He sacrificed himself to keep the gate open. He’s like you, like me. All of us have the ability to use the coils, open little chinks and gaps between the worlds. But if you want to maintain a gate—ah, then the price is ultimately high. He failed to conquer Russia. And so he came here, to conquer another land, but not by force this time. To keep the way open for his hordes to travel through down the centuries. Pity no one told him that times have changed. He’s been in here for centuries, but not even the greatest hero can last forever.”

Kovalin was edging around the tomb toward Ilya.

“The gate needs the power of a mind as well as that of the coil,” Kovalin said. “Look.” Around Tamerlane’s feet were strewn bones, as small as those of a bird, and a single elongated skull.

“Rusalki?”
Ilya asked.
Keep them talking, buy time.

“Just so. Byelovodye needs a single, open, stable gate. This will be it, with you to power it.”

“But not under your control,” Manas said sharply. “This is
my
people’s gate.”

He reached into his jacket and took out a gun.

“You think we don’t have weapons of our own?” Kitai said incredulously. “That won’t help you.”

Slowly, the figure of Tamerlane was diminishing, growing ever more faint. Golden lines snaked into empty air, detached from sinew and skin.

“It’s powering down,” Kovalin said sharply. “He’s dying at last.”

Kitai swung to face Ilya. There was a pressure in his head, compelling him toward the gate. He took a tottering step forward. A gunshot echoed from the golden walls. Kovalin dropped. As he did so, Ilya threw the sword through the blue and sparkling air. The sword struck Kitai in the chest, slicing into rib cage and lung. The Mechvor fell forward without a sound. Manas stood, gripping the gun.

“I knew you would behave with honor,” Ilya managed to say. He felt fragile and shaky, dislocated from his body. “I understand
bogatyri.
”

“You understand nothing,” Manas said. He wrenched the sword from Kitai’s body and strode around the gaping tomb. “Why do you think I killed the
akyn
—a poet, espousing idle dreams? What good are dreams without power? I and my people have dreams of our own. I wanted the gate to lie in Kyrgyzia, by the lake—that was why I guided you there. But your damned bitch was too quick.”

“Your people?”

“The horse clans of Byelovodye. I was born among them. If they can control the gate, they will use it to weaken Russia.”

“But the gate is here in Samarkand. Won’t it weaken Central Asia as well?”

“Central Asia can withstand it. Our people are strong, they will undergo a new Renaissance once the Russian influence is diminished. You saw this city before the Soviets came in to ruin it with office blocks and apartments; you saw its magnificence. Control of the gate will purge the region of the last remnants of Soviet power. And when it is in chaos, weakened as you say, I will become its new khan, to see the region rise again.”

“It’s a bit late in the day to turn yourself into yet another local warlord, isn’t it? The myth of the strong man, all over again? I’ve stopped believing in heroes, Manas. I believe in people.”

“People? Most of them are barely worthy of the name ‘human.’ Sheep and chickens, more like, running round in a panic because no one will tell them what to do. You’re a fool. You’re better off dead. And this time, I don’t think anything’s going to come and save your life.”

He swung the sword. Ilya dodged back. The blade struck sparks from black jade, and light flared across the golden walls of the mausoleum. Manas struck again. Ilya twisted away and the sword caught the sleeve of his coat and tore. He felt the sting along his arm. He did not know if Manas was trying to drive him into the gate, or simply kill him. He did not think Manas possessed Kitai’s mind-wrenching abilities, but neither fate was appealing. He feinted, dodged again, reached the other side of the tomb.

The gate was flickering, sending shadows across the golden walls, and growing fainter as it did so.
The
gate is dying,
Ilya thought. But might it still be possible to travel through it, without becoming ensnared? For if the gate shut, then he would be trapped on Earth, with Elena still in Byelovodye.

And then he heard a voice.

It was coming up from the pit of azure light that streamed from the tomb. It was not the voice of God or Tamerlane, nor that of a
rusalka,
nor of anyone he recognized.

It was a faint, small voice.

It said, “Have you fed the goat?”

As Manas swung the sword high, Ilya rushed forward and caught him by the arm. The sword came down, biting deep into his side. Ilya staggered, tried to turn from the gate. They both fell over the lip of the tomb, into the light. The gold lines reached out, snapping, electric, seeking Ilya’s skin, and missed. He and Manas were falling free.

Nineteen

BYELOVODYE, N.E. 80

Elena stood, looking up at the ship. It towered into the heavens, dwarfing the launchpad and the surrounding buildings. Its white sides caught the spring sunlight; the red star on its flanks glowed like blood. She turned and saw that the flowers were blooming out across the steppe, enjoying their brief spell of life before summer came to wither the grasses and scatter the seeds. There was no sign of the
rusalka,
of Altaidyn Tengeri, or of the Golden Warrior. The horse clan had vanished. The air was filled with a faint blue haze, sparkling with lights like the sun on water. Colonel Anikova of the Pergaman military was striding toward her across the black earth.

“What happened?” Elena asked. “Where is the horse clan?”

“Gone. They turned tail; they ride south to their own lands. I’ve issued orders to let them go.” Anikova spoke brusquely, but her saturnine face was close to smiling.

“They wanted to create a dream,” Elena said. “And so did I. But we didn’t have the same dreams.”

“No,” Anikova said, squinting up at the launchpad. “I don’t imagine you did. It’s a new gate, I’m sure of it. We’ll have to wait and see what it lets through. . . .”

Two men walked along the base of the gantry, clad in white lab coats, heads close together.

“The world has adjusted around you,” Anikova murmured.

“Won’t they be surprised to find themselves working here?”

“In the first few seconds. Then memories alter, transform, adjust. Life here isn’t quite like life on Earth. But I suppose you know that already.”

“It’s something I’ve come to learn,” Elena said, and only when the words were out of her mouth did she realize their double meaning.

“I should arrest you. But one learns to be careful, and I don’t know what effect this new opening has had back in the city, in Central Command. I might get back to find an entirely new hierarchy in place, or familiar faces who swear that the whole purpose of our endeavors has been to open the floodgates between Byelovodye and Earth, to establish a Byelovodyean space program.”

“Is that what I’ve done?”

“I don’t know. But you’ve let through a whole world of dreams, whatever else you might have accomplished. You must have believed in this very strongly. I think,” Anikova added musingly, “it’s best not to risk an incident. I’ll take you back to the city, and then you’re free to go.”

“I don’t think I’m free,” Elena said, thinking of the coil. She took a deep breath, wondering how much and who she might be betraying, and told Anikova what it had said. “I think I’m going to have to come back here. Keep the dream alive.”

Anikova frowned. “You know how the gates are kept open, don’t you? Someone who has the right connection needs to be hard-wired into them, fused with the machine. Otherwise they can fold.”

“I’m not prepared to go through that.”

“No one’s asked you to.”

“Not yet. But surely there has to be another way. I’ll find it, if I can. Go back to Tsilibayev’s work, question the
rusalki
—if they’ll talk to me, which I doubt.”

Anikova was staring at Elena.

“Do you know, there’s something about you that reminds me of my sister.”

And now that Elena looked at the Colonel more closely, she realized who Anikova had reminded her of, when she had stood before the garden in that hotel room breach: her father. She wondered about the stories that her father had told her with such conviction, of the land of white waters, how he had told them so little about his youth. But it was not the time to voice any suspicions.

Elena turned to face Anikova, finally able to give voice to her fears. “I lost someone here. Will you help me find him?”

Anikova looked sideways at her. “You helped me realize my dream, though I never could admit it—an open gate between the Republic and Earth, a changed society. I have a certain obligation to help you realize yours. Yes, I’ll help you to find him.”

Epilogue

He was lying very still, eyes closed, when she came into the room. She looked for signs of breath and saw none. Slowly, she went to sit by the side of the bed, but he did not stir.

It was now three days since the incident at what was now the launch site, and three days, too, since two men had fallen out of a crack in the air at a startled farmer’s feet. The report had finally reached Anikova’s desk and, recognizing the description of one of the men, she had acted swiftly. She had flown Elena to the far south of Pergama Province; she now sat outside on the low wall of a farm.

The farmer’s wife had told Elena that she believed the man to be dying. The other one—the one who looked like a tribesman, with the tilted eyes of the East—had fled in the night, and been spotted crossing the border into the lands of the horse clans. The farmer’s wife said that she had been glad to see him go. Both men alarmed her, she said; there seemed something wild about them. But the remaining one was too badly hurt to do any harm.

Now, Elena sat by Ilya Muromyets’ side and watched him sleep, or perhaps, finally, die. At last she could bear it no longer, and though the local doctor had instructed her that he was not to be disturbed, she reached out and touched his hand. It was cold, but his eyes opened. He smiled up at her.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

“We didn’t know where you were, what had happened,” Elena whispered.

“I was on Earth. I made it to Samarkand. There was a gate, Elena. It was buried in the ground, within the tomb of Tamerlane. He was there within it, keeping it open. But I think it died with him. And you? What happened to you?”

“I found a dream,” she said.

“Space? The stars?”

“Yes. But I can’t help wondering where one would get to, if a ship was sent up from here, from this hidden republic.”

“Maybe you’ll be the one to find out.”

“I’ve been finding out a lot,” Elena said. She felt that if she could only keep him talking, she might hold him here for a while longer. “Kovalin, Kitai, others— they were very old beings. It’s believed they were descended from humans who came through the natural breaches, and indigenous
rusalki.
Anikova let me see the records. The later colonists were in favor of the proletariat, not the development of supermen. They made a number of bargains. The half-breeds had knowledge, but there weren’t many of them, not enough to enforce their desires. They needed
rusalkan
technology.”

“Their sisters saved my life. Over and over again.”
Until now.
She could see resignation in his face. “But not this time, I think. This time, I have to go it alone.”

“I think the
akyn
was right about the
rusalki.
They aren’t evil, but they don’t have a human agenda. And the failure of their plans for the gate seems to have thrown them into disarray. They have retreated north, Anikova believes, into the deep forest, and separated from the horse tribes. From what I’ve seen of them, they may not want to have more to do with humans. Superstition says that they’re a kind of nature spirit. That’s probably as accurate a description as any.”

“Does Anikova know what will happen now? How a way through will affect Byelovodye, and Russia?”

“She says we’re going to have to be very careful what dreams we adopt. On both sides of the curtain. The Byelovodyeans have the advantage there. They know the power dreams can have.”

Ilya smiled. “So do Russians. Believe me.”

“This time, we really do have to get it right. No more botched political experiments, no more environmental disasters, no more erosion of science.”

“It’s not up to us, Elena.”

“I know. It’s up to everyone.” She sighed. “And our track record isn’t good.”

“Don’t look so downcast,” he whispered. “You can only be a hero; do the best you can.”

If she was a hero, she thought, then she was one with a splinter of ice in her heart. “Ilya? Are you going to be around to help?”

“When I embarked on all this, I did so because I wanted death at the end of it. That was my plan, until you appeared.”

“And now?”

“Plans have changed.” He sat up against the rough flock pillow, grimacing with pain. “My own sword, too. At least the bastard left it behind. I’m intending to live. I want revenge on Manas.” He looked at her, reaching out. “And there are other things worth living for, as well.”

“Like quests, and slaying dragons?” She was smiling.

“I was thinking of love.”

Later, when he was once more asleep, Elena went out into the sunshine. Anikova was still sitting on the wall, idly teasing a goat with a blade of grass.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” she asked, still abrupt.

“We’ve both seen the future,” Elena said.

“And how does the future look to you?”

Elena looked along the slanting shadows of the farmyard, over the wall to the distant heights of the mountains. In the late sun, the snows were golden. It reminded her of the land that swept down from the Altai, or the mountains above Lake Issy Kul. Ilya lay a step through the door. Perhaps she would find a way to keep open the gate that she and the coil had created. Maybe one day she could return to Russia. Dreams could be found in both, and neither world was very far away. She stifled her misgivings, for his sake.

“Future looks good enough to me,” Elena said.