Weaves of Ashes

Chapter 519: Chapter 514: The Same Room

Location:The western plateau — The Second Dead Field

Date/Time:20 Voidmarch, 9942 AZI

Realm:Lower Realm

At first light, Yinxin was out at the cairns, and she had been there long enough that the frost had gone off the stone under her hands.

”Nineteen,” she said, before Jayde had finished crossing the gray. ”I counted them twice. Nineteen cairns, and the newest one has a stone on it that has not weathered.”

”Somebody came out here this winter.”

”Somebody comes out here every winter, and has done for so long that the first of these has sunk into the ground, and not one of them has ever known what they were marking.” She did not turn round. ”They marked it anyway. Nineteen generations of a family walking to the edge of a thing they could not name and putting a stone down to say not past here. I have flown over the top of this plateau a great many times and I never once looked down. They have been looking at it their whole lives.”

Jayde came and stood beside her and did not fill the silence, because there was something coming and it was not that.

”Six,” Yinxin said.

”I know.”

”You did the arithmetic last night at the fire. I watched you do it, and I watched you decide not to say the answer out loud, which was kind, and I would rather you did not do it again.” Her hands stayed flat on the stone. ”One caster. Perhaps two who can hold a bore. Eighty-eight fields. And every plan you have built this week ends with me standing still in the dark for forty minutes inside a hole that somebody made an hour earlier.”

”If the collar doesn’t hold, we don’t cut.”

”That is not what worries me, and you know it is not.” Yinxin turned round then, and the golden eyes were entirely steady, and there was nothing dramatic in her face at all. ”I am not afraid of the forty minutes. I have been afraid of a great many things in three thousand years, and that is not one of them, because I can see the end of it from the beginning. What I am afraid of is the morning after the one where I am not there.”

”There isn’t one.”

”Jayde —”

”There is not one.” It came out of her flat and fast, and she did not take it back. ”That is not a plan; it is a hole in a plan, and I have never once built anything on top of you being gone, and I am not starting on a plateau in Voidmarch.”

”You have already built it. You built it the moment there was only one caster.” Yinxin was very calm, which was worse than if she had not been. ”I am not asking you to be sentimental. I am asking you to look at a line with one name on it and say what happens when the name comes off.”

”Then somebody else stands there.”

”There is nobody else. There are three, and they are three years old, and Tianxin already asks me what the shape of it is.”

Jayde was on her feet before she had decided to be.

She did not remember standing. The cairn was under her hand and then it was not, and there were four hundred and eighty paces of dead ground in front of her, and none of it was what she was looking at.

”No.”

”I have not said —”

”You do not have to say it. It is the only place that sentence goes.” She turned round. ”Not them. Not one of them, not for a demonstration, not for a theory, not in fifteen years, not standing at the back of a chamber to watch how it is done. If that is what the winter is quietly about, we are having it out now, in the cold, before either of us has eaten.”

Yinxin’s chin came up a fraction, and the golden eyes did not move.

”They are queens.”

”They are children.”

”They are both.” And there it was, the thing Jayde had known was under this and had never once made her say out loud. ”My mother put me in front of a thing that could kill me when I was younger than they are, and she did it because a queen who has never been frightened is a queen her people die behind. I did not enjoy it. I have never resented her for it. It is how the thing is done, and it has been how the thing is done since before your Academy had a gate.”

”Then it gets done differently.”

”By whose authority?”

”By mine, and by the only one I have that you will accept.” Jayde heard her own voice come down out of the argument and go somewhere much quieter, which was always worse. ”A thousand of us were made in a batch. Two walked out. I did not have a name until I was sixteen and then a man gave me one, and he gave it to me the way you name a good blade, and I carried it for forty-four years, and it never stopped being his.”

Yinxin had gone entirely still.

”I killed him at the end. Him and the man who owned him. I was sixty, and there was one way left to do it, and it took me with them, and I would do it again this morning before breakfast.” Jayde’s hands had gone flat at her sides. ”And I want you to hear what they were doing while I walked into that room. They were not fighting. They were not threatening anybody. They had a table and a set of figures, and they were working out, patiently, between the two of them, whether you could take the ears off a batch of children early enough to save on the anesthetic.”

The wind came off the escarpment, and neither of them moved in it.

”That was the last thing that world ever said to me. Two well-fed men doing arithmetic about children, and neither of them raising his voice, because to them it was not cruelty. It was a production question.” She had to stop and start again. ”And then I got a second life, and it opened with my father doing his.”

Yinxin’s hands came off the stone.

”He had my mother stoned in a public square on a charge he invented, and I was five, and they made me stand where I could see it.” Jayde said it the way she would have read a supply figure, because it was the only way it came out at all. ”Seventeen days later, the ceremony gave him the word Voidforge over his daughter, and he worked it through in an afternoon, and it is not a difficult sum. A child who will never cultivate is not an heir. She is an expense with his name attached to it. So he sent me down to the pits his own clan ran, and I was there for ten years, and at no point in any of it did anybody raise their voice either.”

The frost was going off the cairns. Somewhere behind them, a horse shifted, and a strap was pulled tight.

”Two lives. Two worlds. One of them had a table and a set of figures and the other had a clan hall and a vote, and they were the same room.” Jayde looked at her. ”Twice, somebody looked at a child and worked out what she was for. I have never once been on the other side of that, Yinxin. Not for a good reason. Not for a necessary one. Not for the best cause anybody has ever had. And I am not sitting down at it this morning to talk about your daughters.”

The wind came across the flat, and neither of them moved in it.

”You will not win this,” Yinxin said at last, and there was nothing hostile in it. ”Not because I disagree with you. Because in twelve years they will be old enough to decide, and they are mine, and they will decide the way I raised them to.”

”Then I have twelve years.”

”To do what?”

”To make it so nobody ever has to.” Jayde put her hand back on the nineteenth cairn, on the sharp new stone that somebody had carried out here this winter without ever being told why. ”The collar. The bore. The eye over the world. Every one of those was an engineering problem yesterday, and I have just found out what they are actually for. If that thing is repeatable, and it is fast, and it does not need one throat standing still in the dark, then the day your daughters are old enough to volunteer there is nothing left for them to volunteer for.”

”That is a great deal of machine.”

”I’ve built more with less, and I had worse people.”

Yinxin looked at her for a long moment, and did not agree, and did not concede, and did not soften.

”We will have this conversation again,” she said.

”Repeatedly.”

”Good.” She started back toward the ashes of the fire, and stopped after four paces, and did not turn round. ”Also I want the mathematics before the language, and I would be obliged if you did not tell Eden I said so, because she has a whole speech about it and I have already heard the first nine minutes.”

***

Breakfast was cold, and brief and taken standing up around the ashes, and Jayde was four mouthfuls into it when she stopped chewing.

Eden watched her do it.

”Heiteng’s three clusters,” Jayde said.

”What about them?”

”Six weeks ago. The council, the second morning, somewhere between the harvest arithmetic and the map.” She set the bowl down on the stone. ”I wrote them into the ledger as three more sites in a realm I cannot reach, and then I stopped thinking about them, because there was nothing to think. Say his line back to me. The exact words.”

”Their grain belt. Sand, and it was never them.”

”Sand.” Jayde straightened up. ”Not gray ground. Not a rim you can feel four hours out. Not a two-tenths patch a hundred paces off center. Sand. Kingdoms farming the edges of it and nobody complaining about anything but the wind.”

It took Eden about a second and a half, and Jayde watched it land.

”They’re cold.”

”Heiteng crossed that country eleven times before the war and never once felt a slackness in it. He would have said so. He notices that sort of thing the way other people notice weather.” Jayde let it sit. ”And Ren d’Aar went looking. Two years back, when Heiteng put the name Maleficari in his hand, he put a man on those three sites and told him to cross-reference them. That was before I ever walked into that mountain. He has had people on that ground the entire time I was under it.”

”He knows they’re dead sites. He established that before I ever went under. Kaelen walked all three, and the report was the same every time — old, cold, nothing living in them, and something put them there on purpose.” Jayde let that much settle. ”And then he kept going, and this is the part I have been turning over since four this morning. Eden — he has the posts.”

Eden’s bowl stopped halfway up.

”He has —”

”He has had the schematic for a year. It was the last thing that went through the channel before the silence. Not a letter. A diagram, a burial depth and a spacing, and then nothing at all for twelve months.” Jayde heard how it sounded and did not soften it. ”And he did exactly what I would have done. He put them in the ground. Across the whole realm. He has been listening to his own kingdom for a year while I was under a mountain.”

”And?”

”And he found nothing,” Jayde said it plainly, and watched it go in. ”A year of burying. A realm the size of that one. And the count on the other side of it is three. The same three Kaelen already had.”

Eden set her own bowl down very carefully indeed, and for a while she did not say anything at all.

”Say what cold means, then. Properly. Because I want to be careful here and I am about to be less careful than I would like.”

”Go.”

”It means a nest can end, and there are two ways that happens.” Eden held up a finger. ”One. Something killed them. And I want that on the record as the unlikely branch, because Isha was specific and Ala was specific and neither of them left any room in it — the weave is the thing that kills worms, and it is the only thing that kills worms, and the only caster is sitting forty feet from us drinking out of a chipped cup.”

”And yet.”

”And yet a week ago I would have told you nothing on this world eats them, and then I stood in a chamber and watched a mantis work through them like a man going down a hedgerow, and come out the other side heavier.” Eden’s mouth went flat. ”So I will not close the door. There may be something on Doha that can end a colony, and we simply do not know about it, the way we did not know about Ashborn. Slim. Not zero. I would want to know very badly if it were true, and I am not going to plan around it.”

”And the other branch.”

”The other branch is that nothing killed them at all and they left.” Eden turned her hand over. ”And the honest question underneath that is whether the colony ate the ground out and died where it sat, or whether it packed up and went. And I think I can rule out the first one from arithmetic, which is the only part of this I am actually confident about.”

”Show me.”

”Isha’s number. One breeding pair, on this continent, upward of ten thousand years ago. One.” She said it again, because it deserved saying again. ”One pair, and there are eighty-nine fields on that grid. A colony that eats its ground out and dies where it sits does not become eighty-nine of anything. It becomes one dead circle and the end of a story. Eighty-nine means that over and over again, for a very long time, something came out of a nest and went and started another one. Worms leave. That is not a theory. It is the only way the number on my grid can exist.”

”Then say the same sentence about the Upper Realm.”

Eden opened her mouth, and stopped, and Jayde watched the whole of it arrive at once — watched her get halfway into a reply, discard it, and go somewhere considerably colder.

”Three placements,” Eden said slowly. ”Three.”

”Three.”

”On this continent one pair became eighty-nine. Up there, three separate seedings became three, and then stopped, and then went out.” She had both hands flat on her knees. ”That is not the same species behaving the same way in two rooms. That is the same species behaving completely differently, and I do not have a single mechanism that gets me from one to the other.”

”Say the options.”

”They spread, and we cannot see it, which I do not believe, because he buried a grid across a realm and the grid heard nothing and that instrument does not miss a live nest — it is the one thing on this world I would put my life on.” Eden lifted a finger. ”Or they never spread at all. They sat where they were put, they ate what was under them, and they finished, and there was never a second generation walking anywhere. Or —”

”Or something killed them.”

”Or something killed them.” Eden’s voice had gone very quiet. ”And I put that on the record an hour ago as the unlikely branch, and I would like to formally withdraw the word unlikely, because a realm with three cold circles and nothing else in it is exactly what the ground looks like afterward.”

Jayde felt the plateau tilt under a week of assumptions.

”Then that’s the question.”

”That is the only question.” Eden was on her feet. ”Jayde, we have eighty-eight live fields under this continent and one weapon, and there may be a realm above our heads where the entire infestation ended, and nobody up there has any idea it happened. Whatever did that — a thing that lives there, a thing the demons do without knowing they do it, some property of a realm at six hundred times the ambient — whatever it is, it did in ten millennia what I am proposing to do with one dragon, one tunnel and forty minutes at a time until the last worm on this continent is dead.”

”And if it’s none of those. If they just stopped.”

”Then that is worth as much, because then a colony has a natural end and I can put a number on it.” She shook her head. ”I cannot separate the three from here. Not with anything I own. That is not a thing an instrument answers. That is a thing an archive answers.”

”Which is what I am going to ask him for.”

”Which is what you are going to ask him for.”

They stood in the cold for a moment with the horses being loaded behind them.

”There is a fourth possibility,” Jayde said, ”and I want it written down and then I want it left alone, because it will eat the whole day.”

”Go on.”

”They left the realm.”

Eden did not answer.

”Placed deliberately, the way the first three were. Or carried out in soil or in grain by somebody who never knew what they were moving. Or they found the passages themselves, which I dislike more than either, because a thing that spent ten millennia learning to move through rock would not find a passage very difficult.” Jayde let it lie there. ”And if any of that is true, then the Mid Realm is not a question I would bet against, and there is not one listening post between here and it.”

”Written down,” Eden said. ”And left alone.”

”We answer what we can answer. Everything else goes in the column marked later and stays there until somebody hands us a way to open it.”

”Which leaves you two things you can do this month.”

”Which leaves me two things I can do this month.” She counted them off. ”Go faster down here. Every field we can cut a door into is a field that stops feeding, and the whole of that is a question about a tunnel and a collar and how quickly you can build me one.”

”And the second.”

”Find out what happened up there.” Jayde turned round. ”He has a grid, he has three sites, and he has a kingdom that has been writing things down for ten millennia. What he has never had is one thing to look for. He does not know a drain is a measurement. He has no thermal, because there is no instrument on this world that takes one except the two in my ring. He has never seen the inside of a live chamber, and neither has anybody he has ever met — nobody in that realm has stood in one and counted.”

”So he has been listening for a year without knowing what the sound means.”

”He has been listening for a year and hearing silence, and he has no idea that the silence is the most important thing anybody on Doha has found this century.” Jayde’s hands had gone flat at her sides. ”He gets the two tells. He gets the count off Eleven, and the diameters, and the drain figures, and every column on that datapad, and he gets them without conditions, because I am not haggling with the only person alive who can answer this. And what I want back is the boring half of his archive. Wells. Roads. Tax assessments on ground that stopped paying. Anything with a date on it near those three circles.”

”And the Mid Realm.”

”Is black, and stays black, and there is not one post between here and it.” She stopped. ”That one I have to carry myself, and I already know roughly when.”

Eden set her bowl down and did not pick it up again.

”That is a great deal to put in a first letter after a year.”

”Yes,” Jayde said. ”It is.”

She walked out to the edge of the gray on her own and stood there while the horses were loaded behind her, and let herself arrive at the part she had been going around since the fork in the road.

She had not sent anything to Ren d’Aar in twelve months. Into a mountain on the first of Frostforge, out of it a year later, six weeks before the Widow’s Field, into a forecourt in the snow with a hundred and ninety-seven caskets laid out in rings and a war to plan — and not so much as a mark on a scrap since. A year of silence with nothing attached to either end of it, and a man on the other end of it who had no way of knowing whether the silence meant she was busy or dead.

And what she proposed to break it with was two ways to tell an occupied field from a scar, and a question about wells.

She turned that over for a while and found she minded it less than she had expected to, because it was the only kind of letter she had ever known how to write to him. Two people who had never seen each other’s faces, passing pieces of the world across a realm boundary, and every single one of them a thing the other one needed and could not get anywhere else.

”Eden.”

”I know that face.”

”Do we have paper? Proper paper — a full sheet, not a field scrap.”

Eden looked at her for a long moment, then went and got it out of the pack without a single word, which was, Jayde thought, the kindest thing anybody had done for her in a month.