A Red Sun Also Rises

9. ESCAPE

The equivalent of two Earth months, at least, must have passed, and my body, though muscular and toughened by all my trials and tribulations—and, of course, by Ptallaya’s gravity—was at the limit of its endurance.

I’d learned that Phenadoor was honeycombed with tunnels, which varied in size from tall and wide corridors to little more than crawl spaces. One particular passage burrowed at a sheer angle into the mountain’s base then out beneath the seabed where it split into multiple branches. From these, veins of a deep blue crystal had been chipped away at, initially by generation after generation of low-status Mi’aata, and latterly by captured Divergent. The much-prized crystals were a primary component in Phenadoorian technology.

I’d been placed in Unit 22, a work party of nine Divergent, all baffled by my presence, and each responding to it with vagueness, hostility, eccentricity, or incomprehensible madness. Mostly, they avoided me as much as possible. The exception was an individual named Tharneek-Ptun, who appeared inexplicably drawn to me and persistently engaged me in conversations that made little sense and that he carried on whether I acknowledged him or not.

When Unit 22 wasn’t employed on one of the long backbreaking shifts, it occupied quarters carved out of the side of the main passage. The Mi’aata slept in gelatine-filled troughs. This was not the same healing stuff I’d bathed in upon my arrival in Phenadoor and I found its slimy texture unpleasant, so I’d drained my trough and put a rough blanket in the bottom. My bed was hard and uncomfortable, but every time I lay in it I was too exhausted to notice and immediately fell into a deep and dreamless slumber, unconscious even of the continual pronouncements that echoed through the tunnels.

“Wealth and comfort can be yours if you make the well-being of Phenadoor your primary purpose. Those who work the hardest are the most rewarded. Do not doubt. Do not question. Do not lose focus. Remember that, in striving for the betterment of Phenadoor, you are striving for yourself.”

As usual, it was a siren that woke me, and a Mi’aata warden who forced me to my feet. Like all his fellows, the brute was armed with a crystal-topped pikestaff, the tip of which delivered an agonising bolt of energy to anyone it touched. He employed it freely and viciously, jabbing the weapon repeatedly into my ribs. My muscles spasmed, my limbs jerked, and I let out a cry of pain.

“Get in line outside!” he ordered. “And the rest of you filth! All of you! Outside. Now!”

We stood and shuffled from the small room, lined up in the roughly hewn tunnel, and with the wardens harassing our every step began to walk along it, following its sloping floor downward.

Tharneek-Ptun, at my side, mumbled, “We descend once again, and in doing so fold inward, do we not?”

I gave what had become my standard response to his irrational statements. “Indeed so.”

“And in folding inward we mine our own resources.”

The atmosphere was dense and hot. All the tunnels were lit by glowing crystals and fitted with pipes that sprayed a fine mist of seawater over the Mi’aata to cool them and keep their skins moist. Noisy pumps then removed the water to prevent flooding. While this was beneficial to my fellows, it caused me great discomfort and my skin was covered with sores that couldn’t heal beneath the onslaught of corrosive salt water.

Following a zigzagging sequence of slopes, we were mercilessly prodded along, descending deeper and deeper until, eventually, we reached one of the mine faces.

“Take up your tools and get to it!” a warden snapped.

“Digging ever inward!” Tharneek-Ptun muttered. “How far into your own mind have you gone, Mr. Fleischer?”

“Too far,” I answered. “And you?”

“Right up to the barrier.”

My interest was piqued. So far, my unit had offered little by way of useful information, though the more coherent of them had railed against the social order of Phenadoor, calling it stagnant and self-absorbed. The rest of Ptallaya, they claimed, was primitive and undeveloped, so why not expand into it? But if such sentiment came from a unifying source—as the Quintessence suspected—my fellows appeared to know nothing of it.

“Barrier?” I asked.

Tharneek-Ptun remained silent and hammered at the vein of crystal while a warden passed by, then responded, “That which blocks true revelation. The insurmountable. The impenetrable.”

“And if you could pass this barrier, what would be revealed?”

“My origin. Have you never wondered what you were before you were born?”

“I’m not sure I was anything. Besides, I’m rather more concerned with what I might be now, while I live. What’s the first thing you remember, Tharneek-Ptun?”

“I recall the sea, and being taken aboard an underconveyance. That is all.”

“And New Yatsillat?”

“What is that?”

A warden approached and bellowed, “You two! Less talk, more work!” He thrust his pikestaff into the small of my back. I jerked and cried out, fell and lay twitching, then recovered, struggled back up, and returned to my labours. As my assailant moved away, I snarled in English, “I swear, if that lout comes near me again, I’ll kill him!”

Tharneek-Ptun uttered a cry of surprise and dropped his tools. The warden turned back at the noise. My companion quickly snatched up his implements and attacked the rock face with overt enthusiasm. It was enough to satisfy the guard, who grunted and wandered away. I waited until he was out of hearing range then asked, “Are you all right, Tharneek-Ptun? You’re trembling.”

No reply was forthcoming and the Divergent Mi’aata remained uncharacteristically silent for the remainder of the shift.

I worked on, the muscles of my arms, shoulders, and back becoming increasingly fatigued until they first burned then became totally numb. It was impossible to judge how long we were at the mine face, but by the time the shift ended I was dazed with exhaustion, half-starved, and barely able to stand.

A siren blared.

“Back to your quarters!” a warden shouted.

We formed a line and began the interminable trek back along the tunnel. Barely aware of what I was doing—focused only on putting one foot in front of the other—I knew nothing more until I found myself standing beside my bed.

Behind me, Tharneek-Ptun stretched his limbs, almost doubling in height, and said, “Gaaaah!”

I spun and looked at him in astonishment.

He touched my shoulder with the tip of a tentacle and said, very quietly, “Get some sleep, old thing. But I shall wake you later. We need a little confab.”

“Great heavens!” I cried out. “You’re speaking English!”

He nodded, then moved to his trough and climbed in.

I stood a moment, my mind reeling, then, unable to remain conscious any longer, collapsed onto my blanket and passed out.

Immediately—or that’s the way it felt—I was jogged back to my senses, opened my eyes, and saw him looking down at me.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

I heaved myself out of bed and looked around. The other Mi’aata were dormant. Tharneek-Ptun took me by the wrist, pulled me to the door, peeked out, saw that no patrols were in sight, and dragged me into the corridor. We moved rapidly down the slope, unchallenged—for, logically, it was the upper parts of the tunnel that were guarded, not the lower—until we came alongside a small opening in the base of the right-hand wall. My companion pushed me down onto all fours and propelled me through before squeezing himself in after me.

“Crawl forward,” he ordered.

With my lassitude quickly dissipating, I moved through the tight, irregular tunnel.

“Not much farther, old chap.”

The passage soon widened into a small asymmetrical chamber—a space of softly illuminated crystal surfaces with three other openings in it. Here we stopped.

“Is it really you?” I asked.

“It most certainly is! New Yatsillat. The City Guard. Old Brittleback. It’s all returned to me! What! What! I remembered it the moment I heard you speak English! Harrumph!”

“Colonel Spearjab!”

“Exactly so! Colonel Momentous Spearjab, formerly Yazziz Yozkulu, latterly Tharneek-Ptun, at your service, old boy! Ha ha! I say, what a rum do! What! What! Look at me! I’m a confounded Blood God! Humph! Humph! Humph!”

“But—but—how?”

As soon as I asked the question, the answer came to me. There could be only one explanation! The Blood Gods—the Mi’aata—didn’t invade the Yatsill at all. Rather, it was a case of metamorphosis. The one transformed into the other. The first didn’t understand the true nature of the second, while the second had no memory of the first.

“How? I have absolutely no idea!” Spearjab responded. “I’m as baffled as can be! Harrumph! But you, old chap—how came you to Phenadoor? Hey? What?”

“Your fellow Mi’aata took Clarissa Stark from New Yatsillat and brought her here. I came to find her.”

“She’s here? Why?”

“To distract the Quintessence, apparently. Frankly, I’m surprised your fellows had wits enough to do it. The Divergent—as the more recent generations of Mi’aata are called—aren’t very rational.”

Spearjab raised a couple of tentacles to his head. His four eyes rolled and squinted. He muttered, “Yes. It is jolly difficult to think.”

“The Quintessence says you are deviants.”

“Pah! Phenadoor’s ruler lacks imagination. He resists progress. He demands that everything be rebuilt over and over and develops nothing new. Here, everything is always the same, the same, the same! That is not Mi’aata destiny! We need to create and explore and advance. We must dominate and—”

He stopped and groaned and whispered, “My goodness!”

I placed a hand on his side. “What is it, Colonel? For a moment there you sounded quite different. Are you in pain?”

“Harrumph! There is something crawling around inside the old noggin. Makes it awfully hard to order one’s thoughts, what! It is a—a—a waiting. A gathering. A preparing.”

“Is it sentient? An individual? Here in Phenadoor?”

“Yes, old thing. There.” He pointed up to the left. “It emanates from that direction. What! What! Humph!”

“Colonel, the Quintessence suspects that a hidden presence in the mountain is controlling the Divergent. Is that what you sense? Could you lead me to it?”

“I rather think I could, yes. Humph! That’s if I can keep my bloomin’ wits about me and stay on the straight and narrow. It wouldn’t do to be subverted! Not at all! What! What! Just not cricket! Not cricket, I say! Give me a moment, would you?”

I waited while Spearjab sat hunched over, his four eyes closed, his mouth quivering with effort. When he finally spoke again, his voice was slurred.

“Difficult. I feel—divided. Divided, I say! But we can proceed. I should warn you, though—it’ll be jolly dangerous.”

“We have no choice, Colonel. We are caught up in some sort of vast plot. My and Clarissa’s transportation to Ptallaya, the dwindling of the Aristocrats, the murder of Yarvis Thayne and the attempt on Clarissa’s life, the increasing numbers of Divergent Mi’aata—all these things are connected, I’m certain. But to what end, and who is responsible?”

“Quite! Quite! But our absence will be noticed. The bally fiends will search for us.”

“Then we must move fast.”

Spearjab looked at me. His speech became less strained. “I say, in New Yatsillat, I was thoroughly miffed to see so many Aristocrats taken by the Blood Gods. But what ho! What ho! Now I know they weren’t taken at all! They are all here—here, I say!—but the poor blighters aren’t aware of themselves. They can’t recall their past existence. I’ve been fortunate, what! In remembering your language, I’ve remembered myself, and I’m thoroughly grateful, old thing. Thoroughly! Now the great revelation—the secret of our origin—must be shared with all the Mi’aata, hey? First, though, I want to know what infernal rotter is meddling with my mind! Harrumph! Follow me. Tally-ho!”

He crawled to one of the other openings and stepped through into the narrow tunnel beyond. I followed him up its steep incline, heading toward the heart of the mountain.

“A question, Mr. Fleischer,” he said, after a few moments had passed.

“Yes?”

“That word I used. What in the name of the Saviour is cricket?”





We climbed for what felt like hours. The tunnel twisted and turned, sometimes angling upward so sharply that it was almost vertical. Occasionally, other passageways branched away from it, and, eventually, we entered one of these and continued on. Being too narrow for regular use, these channels through the rock and crystal were uninhabited and we encountered no other Mi’aata, though on a number of occasions we caught glimpses, through crevices, of populated corridors.

Undetected, we pushed on, drawing upon reservoirs of strength we hadn’t even suspected in ourselves, through gleaming gem-encrusted burrows and along lengthy passages of bare rock, completely unlit, groping our way forward until something twinkled in the darkness ahead and we emerged into another stretch of glowing crystals.

Despite being dressed only in the ragged remnants of my trousers, now little more than a loincloth, I perspired freely—and bled, too, for sharp edges sliced at my skin and I suffered many knocks and scrapes. Most of all, I was afflicted with thirst, and by the time Spearjab announced, “What! What! We are close, old chap! Very close! We’ve just passed into Zone Four. Humph!” I felt I might lose my mind if I didn’t find water soon.

We came to a narrow opening on our left and my companion directed me to look through it. I did so, and the sight that met my eyes was overwhelming. The cleft overlooked a vast illuminated cavern, so large that the far distance was somewhat obscured by the intervening atmosphere. Hundreds of buildings, tall and pointed, rose into the air, many storeys high but still not so tall as to come near the roof that arched overhead. Ramps spanned the distances between the structures, and wheeled vehicles—they were too far away for me to make out their design—traversed them. Other vessels flew between and around these elevated thoroughfares, making the whole settlement a hive of activity as thousands upon thousands of Mi’aata went about their business, whatever that might be.

“The Quintessence told me Clarissa was on this level,” I muttered. “I suppose she’s in one of those buildings.”

“I should say so,” Colonel Spearjab replied.

“Damnation!” I cursed, realising that I would never find her unassisted. I had no choice but to complete my mission and report back to the trinity. “Let’s move on, Colonel.”

The tunnel was horizontal now, running around the edge of Zone Four. We progressed through it until we came to a fairly large empty and dimly lit cavern, which, to my sheer delight, had a clear stream bubbling out of its floor, forming a deep pool to one side. Without hesitation, I threw myself down and gulped at the cold, revitalising water. Then, after my companion had also drunk his fill, I immersed myself fully and rubbed the sweat, dirt, and blood from my skin. Spearjab slid in after me and we faced each other, relishing the soothing chill.

“Oh dear! They have discovered our absence, Mr. Fleischer. I can feel it. Humph! Your mind is impervious to them—they’ll not detect you unless you are seen—but Mi’aata minds are all connected. What! What! Eventually they’ll trace my whereabouts.”

“How soon?”

“I think we’ll be safe for a little while longer, and we’re very close to our quarry now. Ha! It is a strong, extremely well-shielded mind. Yes, indeed! Extremely well shielded, I say!”

“But you can detect it?”

“Quite so! Quite so! Because I’m Divergent, you see, and it’s extended its influence over all of my kind. Harrumph! The confounded brute is keeping us befuddled and half-bonkers until it needs us. But—ha ha!—I can trace the influence back to its source, what!”

“You’re remarkably coherent, under the circumstances.”

“I have you to thank for that, old thing. You’ve jogged me out of my bewilderment, so to speak—kicked life into the slumbering Yatsill in me! Incidentally, whoever our mysterious plotter is, I feel that I am acquainted with them.”

“From where?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. Not the foggiest, I say! Harrumph! Harrumph! Shall we push on?”

I nodded, and in short order we were once again squeezing ourselves through a narrow passageway.

The tunnel eventually split into two. Spearjab led me into the left-hand branch, which began to slope downward. Not long after we’d entered it, I became aware that voices were echoing faintly from somewhere ahead.

“We’re there! Don’t make a sound! Lips sealed, what!” the colonel warned.

Inch by inch, we crept forward.

There were two voices. As we approached them, their conversation became more distinct, and both participants sounded familiar to me.

“—are far more advanced than the Koluwaians I have sent to you and outnumber your kind by thousands to one.”

“Do not concern yourself. The manufacturing plants are working at full capacity. It was fortunate that my attempt to kill the woman failed, for what I subsequently found in her mind has proven most useful. Her machines are almost finished, and the moment I demonstrate them, your world will buckle, of that you can be sure.”

“The Quintessence has not detected this activity?”

“The trinity knows the plants have been commandeered, of course, but what little access I allowed the Quintessence to the woman kept it so distracted that it has no conception of how far our plans have advanced.”

Colonel Spearjab flattened himself against one side of the tunnel and indicated that I should pass him. I pulled myself forward.

“What of my return to Koluwai?” the second voice asked. “It will be the last, yes? I have been through the rupture too many times already. I’m being disfigured by the scar tissue.”

“Your frequent crossings have caused your body to permanently resonate with the path—that is why you can now traverse it even when it is quiescent—but what healed you before is now damaging you. Do not be anxious. Do exactly as you are instructed and it will, indeed, be your final crossing. The detrimental effects won’t kill you.”

“Very well. I shall endure it one more time.”

“Underconveyance Ninety-eight will be departing very soon with the first group of Discontinued. The crew has been coerced. They will take you as close to the shore as you need. You understand how the crystal functions?”

“Yes. It is attuned to the far end of the rupture.”

“That is correct. Be careful with it, for I have found no other like it. How confident are you in travelling to the destination we’ve selected as our first target?”

“I can do it, though it will cost me much.”

“You will have riches beyond imagining—and power, too—if you succeed.”

I came to a letterbox-sized chink in the rock and peered through into a bright crystalline room. There were two individuals in it. One was a Yatsill, the other a robe-wrapped and masked human. I recognised them immediately and quietly hissed, “Yissil Froon and Sepik! How in blazes did they get here?”

“By the time you have relocated the other end of the path,” Yissil Froon said, “I will have no further need for Phenadoor’s resources and will use the machines to transport the Divergent to the Forest of Indistinct Murmurings. My army will be there by the time the Heart of Blood fully sets—arriving as the rupture properly opens. You must travel back through it immediately. I will detect your arrival and direct the Divergent to your position. The rupture will take them.”

“I shall depart at once.”

“No. First the woman must be dealt with. She has served her purpose. I have learned all I need from her. The obstacles I placed in her mind will not confound the Quintessence for much longer. If he learns the truth of Mi’aata origins, he will seek to restore the balance and there will be no further generations of Divergent. Unacceptable! My army must continue to grow.”

“Shall I bring her to you?”

“There is no need. I have much to do and many to influence. I must immediately enter into a deep meditation in order to maintain my grip. I trust you to act independently until I can contact you again. Go to the girl at once and eliminate her. I shall divert her guards. Then make your way to Underconveyance Ninety-eight and play your part as arranged. Soon, Mr. Sepik—soon we shall gain the resources of an advanced world and use them to return and conquer this one. An entire world each, my friend! An entire world each!”

Sepik bowed, crossed the chamber, and disappeared through a narrow doorway.

I turned to Colonel Spearjab, leaned close, and whispered urgently, “Can you locate Sepik’s mind and follow him?”

“Yes. He is very distinct, what!”

“Then lead on, as fast as you can!”

Heaving himself past me, Spearjab moved through the twisting tunnel. I followed, my heart hammering, my mind repeating over and over those dreadful words: Eliminate her.

To my great relief, we’d gone only a short distance when the crawl space suddenly expanded, giving us room to stand. The colonel shot forward around a bend, then raced along a straight, gloomy passage. I ran behind, disregarding my battered body’s complaints, forcing it by sheer willpower to overcome its extreme fatigue. When had I last eaten? How long since I’d enjoyed a full night’s sleep? I didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Sepik was on his way to murder Clarissa Stark. I had to stop him.

We clambered through an irregularly shaped hole into a bright corridor, turned left, and came to a pearl-panelled door.

“The beastly thing is behind this,” Spearjab whispered.

“Open it.”

The Mi’aata made a gesture and the panel silently dissolved, revealing a three-walled room with an oddly formed vehicle standing in its centre. The contraption faced the open side of the chamber, through which the towers of Zone Four were visible. Sepik was standing with his back to us, bending over the rearmost part of the machine and making adjustments to a number of crystalline controls.

I leaped forward, grabbed the Koluwaian around the waist, lifted him high, and slammed him onto the floor. His cry of alarm was cut off as I kicked him onto his back, fell knees-first onto his stomach, and ground my forearm into his throat. I used my free hand to rip the mask from his face, flinging it aside.

The witch doctor Iriputiz looked up at me.

“By God!” I cried, rearing backward. “You!”

The man’s mouth worked but only a faint croak emerged.

Bunching my fingers in his robes, I hauled him to his feet and, unable to stop myself, sent my fist smashing into his mouth, once, twice, a third time. He sagged and would have fallen but I held him upright and shook him until his head snapped back and forth and his broken teeth rattled. Blood dribbled from his split lips.

“I’ll kill you!” I screamed. “I’ll bloody kill you!”

I drew back my arm to strike him again but a tentacle wrapped around it and Colonel Spearjab’s voice penetrated the red fog of hatred and vengeance that had enveloped me.

“Mr. Fleischer! You need him alive!”

I hesitated. My wits swam back into focus. I took deep breaths. Spearjab released my arm and I let it fall, but maintained my grip on the islander and glared into his eyes.

“If you want to live, Iriputiz, you’d better damned well talk. Where is Clarissa Stark?”

“She—she is being held in—in Tower Forty-six” he stammered, pointing weakly toward Zone Four. “I was—I was just going there.”

“Yes, and I know why, you murdering hound!” I shook him again and slapped his face. “Take me to her or, I swear, you’ll die so slowly that the torture you put me through on Koluwai will seem nothing but child’s play!”

I spun him around and twisted his arm up behind his back until he shrieked, then pushed him against the vehicle. After quickly examining the machine, I muttered an imprecation and turned to Spearjab. “There’s not room for all of us, Colonel.”

“Oh well, not to worry, hey!” he said. “It isn’t a good means of escape, anyway—the fliers operate well inside Phenadoor but outside they can’t stray far from the jolly old mountain. Their frequencies are highly localised. What! What!”

I thought for a moment, then levered the witch doctor’s arm again until he moaned with pain. “Where is Underconveyance Ninety-eight?”

“Dock Twelve!”

“Can you find it, Colonel?”

Spearjab waggled a limb. “If they don’t capture me first, old chap. Ha ha! What! Harrumph!”

“Then go. When you get there, remain concealed and watch out for me. I’ll join you as soon as I can. If I reach it before you, I’ll wait for as long as possible.”

The Mi’aata gave a tentacular salute and withdrew, heading back the way we’d come. I didn’t envy him the tunnels.

I returned my attention to Iriputiz. “Your choice is simple; cooperate or die.”

“I want to live.”

“Get into the machine.”

The vehicle was gondola-shaped with two large outcroppings of blue crystal at the front and two at the back. I could see neither an engine nor any means of locomotion.

I climbed in, sat behind my prisoner, and gripped him by the neck. “Any trickery and I’ll snap your spine.”

He mumbled his understanding and began to manipulate controls on a panel in front of him. The vehicle hummed and waves of light rippled down the crystals. It rose smoothly from the floor, eased forward, then flew from the room and sped out into the immense cavern.

We only travelled a short distance—our destination was on the near side of Zone Four—but the flight was long enough that I was able, by careful observation, to understand the machine’s surprisingly simple controls. By the time we spiralled down onto a platform that projected from one of the upper storeys of a tower, I was confident that I’d be able to fly it myself.

I looked around. We were at a dizzying height and most of the busy traffic was below us. The platform was not easily visible from the neighbouring buildings. I was already aware that Yissil Froon was employing his mental powers to keep the guards distracted, so had little fear of discovery. I was more concerned that Iriputiz would attempt to betray me, so after we landed I kept a tight hold of him as I clambered out of the flier. Hauling him after me, I dragged him over to the building’s wall and rammed him into it, slapping his face again and feeling a satisfying sting in my palm. He was an old man and I was acting like a vicious thug but didn’t care. There was nothing I could do to him that would match the agony he’d inflicted upon me, no amount of pain I could subject him to that he didn’t deserve.

“Lead me to her.”

He indicated a door. I pushed him over to it, he made a gesture, the panel faded, and we passed through onto a ramp that angled upward to our left and downward to our right. We followed it down.

“Reverend Fleischer, I can—”

“Don’t call me that!” I snapped.

“I’m sorry. Please listen. I can give you power—”

“I don’t need it.”

“Not here! Not on Ptallaya! On Earth! I’m to travel back to Koluwai, and from there to your country—to London. The crystal will cause the far end of the path to follow me.”

I pushed him on down the walkway. “Path?”

“The rupture. The thing that spans our world and this.”

“Why move it over London?”

“Yissil Froon intends to send his Divergent Mi’aata through. That’s why he’s been breeding the creatures. When they emerge from the Yatsill and consume human blood, it poisons them, affects their brains, makes them susceptible to his influence. They are to be an army of conquest, using war machines designed by Clarissa Stark. Your country, as the most powerful nation, will be the first to be invaded. Once it’s brought to its knees and its resources are seized, the rest of our world will buckle. Work with us, Rev—Mr. Fleischer. I am to become Yissil Froon’s representative on Earth. I will make you my general. You can have your choice of riches!”

I was so astounded by his audacity that I almost stumbled.

Digging my fingers into him, I gave the witch doctor a shake and hissed, “Why, Iriputiz? Why did you send me to Ptallaya?”

“Because my wife was preventing the Yatsill from developing into Mi’aata. I couldn’t locate and stop her. So, instead, I infected you with the kichyomachyoma disease, which my own people cannot carry, and sent you here to spread it among the creatures. It weakened their ability to receive her help, made them more liable to transform.”

Wife?

A veil of secrecy and deceit lifted.

“Yaku! You are Yaku!”

Suddenly, I understood almost everything.

“Move faster!” I commanded.

I forced the witch doctor ahead until, having descended three levels without encountering a single Mi’aata, we came to a door that was guarded by two. Neither responded to our approach, and when we reached them, I saw that their eyes were glazed over. Yissil Froon held them in his thrall.

I reached out, took hold of one of their pikestaffs, and plucked it from a loose grip.

“She’s in here,” Iriputiz said. He made a gesture and the door faded. We stepped through.

The room was square, unadorned, and unfurnished but for a long table at its centre. Clarissa Stark was stretched out on it, held down by straps around her wrists and ankles. She turned her head as we entered, her yellow eyes met mine, and she croaked, “Aiden!”

Then she saw Iriputiz and uttered a cry of amazement.

I pushed the man forward. “Untie her!”

Iriputiz obeyed.

“They’ve been battling inside my mind,” Clarissa said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “The Quintessence and Yissil Froon. Froon has examined everything I know about Earth. He filled me with mathematical formulae to keep the Quintessence occupied.”

“Clarissa, I’m going to get you off this island,” I responded.

I pushed Iriputiz aside and helped my friend to sit up. I nodded toward the islander. “As you can see, Iriputiz is no stranger to Ptallaya. He comes and goes as he pleases. He is Yaku, Pretty Wahine’s husband, and also Mr. Sepik of New Yatsillat.”

Clarissa rubbed her wrists and looked at the Koluwaian. “Your wife is dead. Her ability to hide away failed her and she was killed by a Blood God.”

The old man shrugged and said, “She means nothing to me.”

I prodded him with the pikestaff. He jerked and gave a screech as the weapon’s tip sent a shock through him.

“Take off your robes,” I ordered, and turned back to my companion. “There are no Blood Gods, Clarissa. Those bumps on your head—I think some sort of paired parasitical creature has burrowed into your scalp. The things endow the Yatsill with increased intelligence and telepathic abilities, while also causing them to slowly metamorphose into the creatures that inhabit this mountain, the Mi’aata.”

Seeing the look of horror on her face, I added, “Judging from Pretty Wahine’s long life, they’re somewhat incompatible with human physiology. They can’t transform you, other than to correct the malformations you suffered as a child. They also extend your lifespan and connect your mind to the other hosts.”

Iriputiz was now standing in nothing but a loincloth, though the crystal he wore was still hanging against his narrow chest. I passed the pikestaff to Clarissa, gestured for the islander to hand me his robes, and started to put them on.

I said, “I’ve been piecing it all together. I was wondering why, after Pretty Wahine arrived on Ptallaya, the Mi’aata used to die before reaching the sea. I think it’s because, when they break out of their Yatsill shell, they must immediately feed. It gives them the strength required to make their way here to Phenadoor. Quee’tan were their natural prey, but the Yatsill, who fashioned their society on Pretty Wahine’s memories of Koluwai, drove the Quee’tan out of the forest when they built tree houses.”

I glared at Iriputiz, finished dressing, and pointed at his crystal. “I want that, too.”

Reluctantly, he removed it and handed it over. It tingled against my skin as if charged with electricity. I looped its string around my neck and continued, “The Mi’aata were then further hampered by Pretty Wahine. She interpreted their emergence as a demonic invasion. The mental powers she’d gained through the consumption of Dar’sayn allowed her to counter it by suppressing the Yatsills’ metamorphosis. The natural evolution of the species was almost completely halted.”

With a jerk of my hand, I ordered the witch doctor to the door. Clarissa followed him, limping slightly, and I fell in behind. We exited the room. The guards were still in a stupor. We passed them without incident and started up the ramp.

“Yissil Froon was the first Yatsill to drink Dar’sayn,” I said. “He took it in large amounts. It gave him greater mesmeric control—and insight. He saw the true nature of the relationship between the Yatsill and the Mi’aata. That’s when he approached you, isn’t it, Iriputiz? After he realised.”

The Koluwaian swallowed nervously and nodded.

“And what did he do?” Clarissa asked.

“Answer her!” I barked.

Iriputiz moaned and said, “Some of my people fell through the rupture. They were brought to Yatsillat. When the Heart of Blood rose, what few Mi’aata hatched fed off their blood and fled to the sea. Yissil Froon could listen to their thoughts. He could influence their actions. With his mind, he followed them and discovered Phenadoor.”

We came to the door that led to the platform where the flier was parked. I pushed Iriputiz through it, whirled him around to face me, and kept shoving until he was standing with his heels at the very edge of the precipitous drop. I repeated Clarissa’s question. “And what did he do?”

Glancing fearfully down at the streets far, far below, the old man stammered, “He—he—he sent me back through the rupture to fetch more people.”

“For the new Mi’aata. To make them insane. To make them susceptible to his influence.”

“Y-yes. Pretty Wahine had disappeared. We could not find her. But she was still interfering. Even so, some Mi’aata were born at every rising of the Heart of Blood. They required food.”

I placed my right forefinger in the middle of the witch doctor’s chest and held it there while addressing Clarissa.

“Yissil Froon knew of Earth from this hound. And he knew from the sick Mi’aata that Phenadoor was scientifically advanced. He realised that, with its manufacturing power and the growing number of Divergent, he could create an invasion force.”

“Surely you don’t mean that he intends to attack our world, Aiden!”

“I mean exactly that. Get into the vehicle, please.”

I applied a slight pressure to the Koluwaian’s chest. He swayed backward, his arms windmilling as he fought for balance.

“Please!” he yelled.

“Clarissa,” I said. “Can justice be evil?”

So softly that I could barely hear her, she replied, “If it’s true justice, I don’t see how it can be, Aiden.”

I gave a grunt of agreement and pushed.

The witch doctor’s eyes went wide, his mouth opened, and he toppled backward and vanished from sight. A long receding wail rose from below and quickly trailed away to nothing.

I turned, paced over to the flier, climbed in, and began to manipulate the controls.

Clarissa remained silent.

“There are certain matters,” I said, quietly, “that I am beginning to see in black and white.”

The vehicle moaned quietly and rose into the air. I steered it high over Zone Four.

“Is there a way out of here?” I asked.

“To the left. A shaft of red light is shining in—there must be an opening.”

I spotted the beam and directed the craft toward it. The light was streaming into the cavern at an angle that suggested the red sun had made considerable progress across the sky since I’d last seen it.

“I was Yissil Froon’s plague carrier,” I called back to my friend. “His means to overcome Pretty Wahine’s influence. He needed me in New Yatsillat. So when Yarvis Thayne tried to raise opposition to our presence, Froon had him murdered.”

“By whom?”

“The same Yatsill that attacked you, I expect. My guess is he dominated them mentally and made them train to fight. I doubt they really understood what they were doing. Froon made a show of supporting those who wanted us banished from the city, but in reality, the only one he wanted gone was you.”

“Because I was trying to find a cure?”

“And also because the Yatsill were mimicking your inventiveness. You weren’t meant to be transported to Ptallaya—and you certainly weren’t meant to be a host for the parasite. He was afraid your level of intelligence, transmitted to the Yatsill, might lead them to realize what he was up to. That’s why he tried to have you banished to the Whimpering Ruins, and why, having failed, he then orchestrated the attempt on your life. Later, in surreptitiously investigating your mind, probably in search of a weakness, he encountered the plans that you and Lord Hufferton had drawn up for war machines. That’s when you suddenly became useful to him.”

“So that’s why the blueprints were going around and around in my head!” she exclaimed. “But, Aiden, I was immature when I dreamed up those machines. It was done as an exercise, nothing more. The designs are impossibly extravagant. I doubt they would even function.”

“Perhaps not if constructed by men on Earth, but here on Ptallaya, with Mi’aata science, who knows what’s possible?”

A long moment went by, silent but for the air whistling past, then Clarissa said, “There’s something I still don’t understand. Why are the parasites entering fewer and fewer Yatsill? Why is the Ritual of Immersion failing?”

“I have a theory, but if you don’t mind, I’ll wait until I have evidence to support it before I share.”

“I don’t mind, but why keep it to yourself?”

“Because,” I answered, “if it’s true, I will have to completely revise my understanding of what it means to be evil.”

I saw that the sunlight was streaming through a large orifice in the side of the cavern. I steered our vehicle into it, sped through a short tunnel, and shot out into the open, veering around and down to fly low along the base of the mountain.

Dock Twelve was easier to find than I’d anticipated. There were a great many caves around the base of Phenadoor, nearly all of them with docks visible just inside, mostly empty, the fleet of underconveyances obviously out at sea. However, after completely circling the vast mountain, we passed a solid vertical cliff along which vast doors were lined—all closed.

“The manufacturing plants,” Clarissa declared.

“How do you know?”

“The Quintessence was obsessing over them. I picked up his thoughts when he was digging around in my head.”

The twelfth cave to the right of the plants was occupied by one of the underwater vessels—Underconveyance 98.

I brought our vehicle to a halt and allowed it to sink down until it was just five feet or so above the gently rolling water.

“That’s the ship we’re looking for,” I said. “The one that’ll transport us back to the mainland. Shall we try it?”

“I don’t see that we have much choice.”

“Hopefully, Colonel Spearjab will be somewhere nearby.”

“The colonel? Here in Phenadoor?”

“He’s Mi’aata now, but hearing me speak English restored his memories. I wouldn’t have found you without him.”

“Then I owe my life to both of you.”

I turned to face my one-time sexton. She was almost naked. Like my own trousers, hers had been reduced to little more than tatters. Her shirt was lacking sleeves and buttons and did little to cover her. The goggles still hung about her neck. Her skin was smudged with dirt and bruises and scored with scratches, her hair lank and matted, and her weird yellow eyes slightly wild with urgency, fear, and excitement.

She looked spectacular.

“I love you, Clarissa Stark.”

She smiled, and her face, already stained red by the crimson light, blushed a deeper hue. I didn’t need any other response.

We stood. I took the pikestaff from my friend, we climbed over the side of the flier, and jumped into the sea.

It wasn’t far to swim but, even so, I’d underestimated the severity of my exhaustion and found myself struggling, especially with the heavy weapon—its shaft was made of buoyant wood but it was difficult to drag through the water—and Iriputiz’s robes tangling around my limbs. By the time we climbed up onto a shelf of rock beside the cave entrance, I could do nothing but lie on my back panting. Clarissa put her hands under my shoulders and dragged me a few feet to one side to ensure we couldn’t be spotted from the dock. She sat beside me and said, “Rest a moment. Get your strength back.”

We were silent for a while, before Clarissa asked, “When did you realise the truth?”

“When the Quintessence showed no knowledge of the Yatsill. I remembered all those Workers entering the sea, thinking they were going to Phenadoor. Suddenly I recognised that they were the Yatsill in their most natural form, just animals sporting in their natural environment, free from telepathic influence.”

“And free of the parasites,” my friend said. She touched the two lumps on her forehead and grimaced.

“Yes.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “What does Phenadoor normally make in those manufacturing plants?”

“From what I could gather, underconveyances and large dome-like structures that the Mi’aata affix to the seabed to house farming communities. Also, Phenadoor’s infrastructure is constantly being replaced, so parts are always required.”

“I noticed as much.”

“Very little actually needs replacing. The work is demanded of the Mi’aata simply to keep them occupied and enslaved. The Quintessence is a dictator, Aiden. Phenadoor is all the trinity wants it to be and nothing more. Inevitably, in reaction to such despotism, extremes are born, giving us monsters like Yissil Froon, whose desire to escape his fate as a component of this languishing autocracy has led him to seek power elsewhere. It’s sending him along a path of destruction that threatens to annihilate millions of innocents.”

I sat up, removed my robes, and wrung the water from them. “You think that’s his motivation? Well, one way or another, we’ll defeat him, and when we do, his hold over the Divergent will be gone. Perhaps when they reveal the truth of their origins to the rest of the Mi’aata, it will stimulate questions, and discontent at the suppression of imagination and creativity will cause an uprising. The Quintessence’s days might well be numbered.”

“What chaos Froon generates!”

We rested for a few moments longer. I looked at the sun. It was very low—its nadir almost on the horizon—and I realised my journey to the Forest of Indistinct Murmurings and subsequent time in Phenadoor had occupied a far, far greater period than I’d initially estimated. A deep longing overcame me—I wanted that infernal globe gone! I yearned for two little yellow eyes to look down upon Ptallaya again!

“We’d better move,” Clarissa said. “I can feel the Quintessence searching for me. I’ve learned from bitter experience that I can only resist his mental intrusions for short periods.”

I stood, put the robes back on, and, after wrapping the hood around my head to conceal my face, took up the pikestaff and led my companion around the ledge, into the cave, and onto the dock. A few Mi’aata were working at its far end and three were standing by the underconveyance’s gangplank, but otherwise Dock Twelve was sparsely populated. We slipped behind a stack of crates and, remaining concealed, moved around the periphery of the cave until we came to an arched opening. I took a tight hold of Clarissa’s arm, as if she was my prisoner, and strode into the open, giving the impression that we’d just entered through the doorway. One of the Mi’aata moved away from the gangplank and met us halfway to it.

“Mr. Sepik, we’ve been waiting.” I saw that his four eyes had a peculiarly distracted quality about them. Yissil Froon’s doing, for certain.

Imitating the witch doctor’s whispery voice, I replied, “Can we depart at once?”

“Yes. One of the Discontinued came aboard moments ago and our hold is now full. If more want to make the trip, they’ll have to try another vessel.”

I had no idea what he was referring to, but, acting on intuition, I asked, “What was this latecomer’s name?”

“Tharneek-Ptun.”

I gave a nod of satisfaction. Good! Colonel Spearjab had found his way aboard!

We followed the Mi’aata up the gangplank and entered the ship. Its corridors were narrow and its rooms small. We were escorted to a chamber and I was told, “These are your quarters. What shall I do with this one?” The Mi’aata looked at Clarissa.

“She will remain in my custody,” I answered. “I have to interrogate her.”

The floor suddenly vibrated.

“Ah,” the other exclaimed. “We are leaving Phenadoor. There will be time to sleep if you wish it. You can place your prisoner with the Discontinued in the hold at the end of this corridor.”

He departed.

Safely ensconced in the small room, I drained its trough and put my robes in the bottom of it. “This will be your bed, Clarissa. I’m afraid it won’t be very comfortable, but it’s better than nothing. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

We settled down, both too worn out to worry any more about our security.

“What happened to you in New Yatsill?” I asked.

“Poor Pretty Wahine,” my companion replied. “She pushed herself beyond all endurance trying to protect the Yatsill and her abilities eventually failed her. I’d just returned to the cave after a fruitless search for Yissil Froon when three Mi’aata burst in. Two grabbed me while the third killed the old woman. I was then dragged into the sea. I lost consciousness, woke up in one of these vessels, and was taken to Phenadoor.”

“I should never have left you,” I said. “My trek to the Forest of Indistinct Murmurings was a complete waste of time. Well, almost.”

“Almost?”

“I met a Zull. I’ll tell you about it after we’ve slept.”

I was conscious of nothing more until I was awoken by the touch of a tentacle against my leg. A Mi’aata had entered the room. I sat up and immediately became aware that my face was exposed. The creature didn’t react—probably, I realised, because it was unfamiliar with Iriputiz’s appearance.

“We have arrived,” it said.

“Already?”

“Yes.”

As Clarissa stirred, I thanked the Mi’aata and told it we’d be on deck presently. It handed me a tray, on which there was a skin of water and an assortment of fruits and vegetables, then left us alone.

Clarissa groaned. “My muscles are as stiff as wood.”

“Mine, too. Good gracious, Clarissa, we must have slept for hours and hours. Phenadoor is a long way from the mainland, yet the voyage is already over!”

“I’d hoped for an opportunity to study the vessel. How do Phenadoorian machines function? I can hear no engine, have seen no fumes, can smell no oil—I’m intrigued!”

“Crystals and frequencies, that’s all I know,” I replied. “Perhaps we’ll one day have an opportunity to learn more.”

“Unless we find our way back to Earth.”

I looked at her. She returned my gaze. There was no need to say it—we both saw an odd reluctance on the other’s face. Despite the wounds and exertions and losses, the dangers and our merciless opponents, we were both more engaged with the business of living than we’d ever felt on our own world.

We ate, quenched our thirst, left our quarters—taking our captured pikestaff with us—and followed the corridor to a ramp that led to the ship’s deck. A group of a dozen or so Mi’aata had gathered outside. A great many of them were of an unhealthy hue, their skin pale and blotchy, their limbs quivering uncontrollably.

The creature who’d ushered us aboard at Dock Twelve—the “captain,” though the Mi’aata don’t use such terminology—met us and indicated the group. “The Discontinued. The strongest of them will help you to shore.”

I looked landward and immediately recognised the northernmost limits of the Mountains That Gaze Upon Phenadoor. We were floating about a mile offshore, directly opposite the narrow mouth of a river that emerged from a densely forested valley.

“It’s the Forest of Indistinct Murmurings,” I told Clarissa.

The Discontinued started to flop over the side of the ship. One of them approached us and said, “Follow me in.” Though he spoke Koluwaian, I recognised—from small markings above his left eyes—Colonel Momentous Spearjab.

I turned to bid the captain farewell but he’d already wandered away, obviously uninterested now his duty was discharged.

Spearjab jumped into the water and Clarissa and I dived in after him. He gripped us under the armpits and began to swim. We were all on our backs and thus able to converse.

“I say, Miss Stark!” he exclaimed. “How perfectly splendid to see you! And looking as fit as a fiddle, too! At least, I assume so, not knowing what a confounded fiddle actually is. Ha ha! What! What!”

“Well, I’m a lot better for meeting you again, that’s for certain,” she said.

I asked our friend whether he’d encountered any problems getting to the ship.

“None at all! I went straight through the tunnels, avoided the populated thoroughfares, and when I reached the dock, declared myself Discontinued. Harrumph! What! I was hustled aboard with nary a ‘by your leave!’ Humph! Humph!”

I glanced to my right and saw the other Mi’aata swimming nearby.

“Discontinued? What does it mean?”

“They are the aged and diseased ones, old thing. They’ve lived their lives and are now on their way to jolly well die.”

“On their way to where?” Clarissa asked.

“I’m faking it, dear lady, so can’t possibly know. They probably don’t even know themselves—what!—they’re driven by instinct. Shall we follow and find out?”

“Yes,” I answered, though I already had an idea of what we were going to see.

Looking past the colonel’s face at my companion, I asked, “Clarissa, are we far enough away from Phenadoor? Can Yissil Froon or the Quintessence still infiltrate your mind?”

“I think we’re safe, Aiden. Are we returning to New Yatsillat?”

“No. The destruction you witnessed continued after you were taken and the city is no more. Perhaps, when the yellow suns rise and the Yatsill children visit the Pool of Immersion, they’ll return and rebuild it, but I think our destiny lies elsewhere.”

“You have somewhere in mind?”

“I do, but first we must deal with the threat to Earth.”

Upon reaching the shore, we crossed a wide expanse of sand until we came to the treeline, then stood with the rays of the sun shining on our backs and watched the Discontinued file into the forest. Once a little distance had been established, we trailed behind them, pushing our way into the shadows and past the spiny roots. Moisture dripped onto us and I passed my robes to Clarissa that she might be better protected. The atmosphere was thick and humid, the late afternoon of the Heart of Blood stifling and oppressive. There was a heavy scent in the air, spicy and not altogether pleasant.

We hiked beside the river until, finally, the Discontinued moved away from its bank and headed for a clearing, which was perhaps a couple of miles to the west of the one in which Clarissa and I had arrived and where, later, I’d met Gallokomas. We stopped at its perimeter and, concealed by foliage, observed the group.

“I say, I feel I’m committing a terrible act of desecration,” Colonel Spearjab whispered.

The Discontinued climbed into trees on the opposite side of the clearing, dragged themselves out onto branches, then lowered themselves until they were each dangling by a single tentacle.

“What are they doing?” Clarissa murmured.

“Exactly what I expected,” I replied. “Watch.”

Slowly, beads of viscous liquid swelled from the creatures’ skin. The droplets ran together until the Mi’aata were completely coated in a thick clear slime. They became utterly still. Gradually, they darkened.

“The fruits!” Clarissa exclaimed. “They were—are—they are pupae!”

I nodded. “The Yatsill metamorphose into Mi’aata, which, in turn, transform into Zull.”

“Zull!” my two friends cried out.

“What! What!” Spearjab added.

“Each phase of life loses its memory of the one that went before,” I continued, “and each is conducted entirely separately from the others.”

“This is incredible!” Clarissa whispered.

“But all going terribly wrong,” I observed. “You asked why the ritual of Immersion is failing. Because Pretty Wahine’s arrival was calamitous! She cut into a chrysalis thinking it was a fruit and drank the placental fluid, which later came to be known as Dar’sayn. When she encouraged its collection by the Yatsill, they were unaware that in milking the fruits they were actually killing the descendants of their own kind—and the consequences extended even farther than that, for when we were at the Shrouded Mountains, Kata told me the Zull go there to die. I think, when they do, a part of them enters the water in the form of parasites.”

Clarissa’s eyes widened. “Great heavens! The parasites hijack the Yatsill, the Yatsill change into Mi’aata, the Mi’aata become Zull, and, in their death throes, the Zull deposit the parasites. Full circle!”

“Precisely. An astonishingly complex life cycle, and one that has been thrown into chaos not by Yissil Froon, but by an innocent and well-intentioned woman from Earth.”

“Hallo? Hallo? What?” Spearjab said. “Who is this individual you keep referring to?”

“She was known to you as the Saviour, Colonel.”

The irony of that title escaped none of us.