Nocturne, chapter 3

three:

The three of us holed up in an abandoned factory, setting up camp in a long passage amongst heaps of junk and fallen chunks of the concrete roof. Icicles in the empty windowpanes held captive beads of brilliant golden sunlight. “I’m going to explore the area and keep a lookout. Ava, you stay here until I come back.” Her response was little more than a sullen glance. Darkness seeped in from all the corridors until our lights held it back.
I found a crumbling stairway and inoperative elevator in a shadowy side hallway, overgrown with tangled branches that would be verdant in the summer, entangling a heap of moldering cardboard boxes, still vivid and shiny plastic warning signs, and an unidentifiable black goop. I didn’t trust the steps, but the first one didn’t give way when I stepped on it. Upstairs was a low-ceilinged hallway with regular spaces between the wall that let wan streams of light in. The walls and floor were speckled with pigeon droppings and decorated with graffiti. Below me was an ice-filled trench and a small auxiliary building. Beyond was a forest of leafless and skinny gray-barked trees, covered in snow and scintillating ice crystals. Crumbling towers stood on the desolate plateaus. I saw lights in the distance, from a nearby fortification, I assumed.
I took a running jump across a hole in the floor, ran and skidded into an office, nearly tripping over an overturned rotting wood desk. An upholstered burgundy carpet was strewn with yellowed papers and technical manuals and stained with mud and mold, lit by dabs of luminous fungal growths. The place reeked of mold and rotting wood. A helical stairway made out of pitted and oxidized metal led to a tower open to the sky that would make a good lookout post, if only it wasn’t ready to topple over at any second, any provocation. The sun had sunk below the horizon, the sky was a deep violet, and the winter constellations began to reveal their light amongst the tiniest sliver of wan crescent moon. Dark clouds advanced from the north. It was slightly over a month since we left; we were halfway through winter. While the days were warmer, the night chilled straight to the marrow.
I went back and told Ava. “I’m going to gather food.” I then ran out, taking a look in the auxilliary building, filled with corroded equipment covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs and little else.

Snow drifted down featherlight as I was walking among the artificial dunes of this dead city, where the only plants that grew were dried out and stunted bushes crowned with wicked thorns. Beyond that, nature had conquered an older city, brick and carved granite made rough by centuries of rain and freezing and plant growth, covered with delicate fractals of frost and lichen. The ground had dissolved into bogs, and blue lambent ghost lamps danced on the thick, murky sludge.

In the gloaming before the dawn, I thought I saw figures below me. I ran down to Ava and Marciana.
“Somebody’s here. I think we should get the fuck out.”
“She’s still wounded. Do you think there’s any way we can talk our way out of this?”
“Can you carry her upstairs?”
“I hope so.”
“Don’t worry. I can walk now,” she said. “It’s not that bad. I’m just so hungry, that’s all.”

For now, we stayed in the upper hallway. I would have jumped had Marciana not been wounded; the drop didn’t look too bad, and there was snow to cushion my fall.

I heard footfalls and whispering echoing from below. Years ago, I found the noise of the jungle unnerving, the crisp sounds that broke the dead and still silence of winter were so much worse.
“They’re Selinian,” I said, picking up a length of metal pipe.
I jumped out of the window, in hopes that someone would hear me, that I could draw them out. The ground was covered in snow, from only a dusting to drifts half my height. Nearby was a trench, filled with slushy ice and mud and garbage, and thick tangles of thorny vines and stems grew out of the mess. Marciana staggered out of the door minutes later.
A young woman, dressed in black clothes under a white wool cardigan and a midnight blue coat, a dangling gold disk pendant amongst silver chains, stood in the auxillary building’s doorway. Her hair was close-cropped, the roots dark and the tips bleached to a yellow so pale it was almost white, held with a band.
“Spies?” she said, looking momentarily puzzled by the situation, pushing the door shut. Snow fell in flurries, the flakes were melting in our hair. “No matter,” she said, unsheathing a blade. “You don’t have your patron Cleisourarch to help you. He’s dead by Red hands, impaled with a stake and paraded naked and flayed open through the streets of Mediolanum and dumped in the river. You face me, the greatest duelist in all of Carantania.” She swung at me, I blocked it with the pipe.
“Marciana, can you support me?” Adrenaline warmed my body.
“I don’t know. I’ll try.”
“Good.”
“Enough of this,“ another woman shouted. “They aren’t with the enemy.”
“Anysia?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Uh, I’m terribly sorry,” the woman who attacked us said, her voice languid and melodic. The gold disk on her neck was inset with a large red stone with a carving of an eye at the center of a star and six cabochons of varying tones of green at the points, actually light-emitting diodes. A bead of amber with a fly entombed within, like Ava’s pendant, dangled from the side of her headband, wrapped in fine gold chains. A sardonyx brooch with a cameo was pinned to her coat.
“I saw you up there and I thought you were with the Selinians, or worse, the Pannonians. My name’s Cantianilla, by the way. Cantianilla Vasilescu, if you were wondering. I’m not sure but for what it’s worth, there’s a lot of people with that kind of family name, Vasilescu and Gavrilescu and Stefanescu and a bunch of other names with -escu at the end. Mine reminds me of basilisks. Do you know what a basilisk is? There’s a folktale about a feathered lizard that can turn a man to stone with its gaze. But maybe I’m mixing them up with dinosaurs. Those were real, but they didn’t have a petrifying glare or anything. So, what are your names, fellow wayfarers?”
“I’m Nicasius Patrescu. Ava calls me Nica. It’s nice, but a little feminine.”
“I’m Marciana. And only Marciana.”
“Marciana’s been my friend ever since we were small children.” I said.
“Yes, I thought i heard you call her that. It was a bit comforting, since Pannonians think we’re idolators and don’t have names like yours and keep their women in the home as a mandate, but who knows? Nobody really knows who the Synod is. Rumors abound that the Synod members wander the streets of Vindobona as vagrants, that the Magisterium funds the Pannonian Revolutionary Front as a lure for potential traitors to the Church and Nation. Should I believe it? It seems more like an old story than reality, but you know what they say about stories and half-truths. I understand that there are Saugumas, I mean, agents of the Synod in the Pannonian Revolutionary Front, and thus they decentralized it, and everyone can name only the members of their cell. You must forgive me for not trusting you. There are eight others with me,” Cantianilla said. “I know you’ve met Veridiana and Anysia. Veridiana’s in the basement, completely heartbroken.”
“What happened?” Marciana asked.
“Theopemptus happened,” Anysia said.
“Curse the house Daubresse until the sun goes bloated and rotten and the stars are shaken from the heavens. Mansuetus died in an attack on the Cleiousarch’s soldiers a day after you left. They had some kind of warmech with them, and I don’t know where they got it, maybe a blue-gray alliance of sorts. I saw the mortar tear him apart,” Cantianilla said. She seemed less brash once she knew we were friendly.
“I’m sorry,” Marciana said. “I know all too well the pain of loss.”
“There’s nothing you could do. I mean, we defeated the Blues, but victory has a price and many of us wondered if it was worth it. There’s a stela on the demesne with fifty names on it. If you could ever go back, you’d notice the number of Pannonian names on it. They fought valiantly, and their sacrifice for a free Carantania was not in vain.”
“If I was there, uh, could I have stopped it? They seemed so happy together. And the guy had promise with his music. Sleep, in paradisium.”
“I don’t know. We were using petrol bombs and jars of acid, makeshift melee weapons, axes and knives, guns we took from our dead enemies, the occasional officer-grade weapon we took from smugglers we didn’t entirely trust.” She clasped her hands together with a loud smack. “We had the home advantage, they had warmechs and assault vehicles, we could hide in the tunnels below the city, but not when we were on the attack. Then the Grays flooding the tunnels with poison gas. They wore these masks that made them look like alien insects from the beyond, Veridiana had some makeshift magnesium flares and we blinded them and bolted. Then they tried to shoot us when we came out. We’re so lucky they didn’t have mustard gas. We had gas masks of our own, but not enough, mostly just moistened cloths and work goggles.” She gave a nervous sniffling laugh. “You have any idea how bad it would be if they were able to use mustard gas in conjunction with the sprinklers and the other gas? We left the city by breaking through askaris, just like you did. There’s a tunnel now, but it goes the wrong way. We’re poorly equipped, poorly trained, and our tactics are as makeshift as our weapons. We couldn’t win against disciplined Selinian soldiers or Black decemviri squads who spent their entire lives training for this moment. Theusetas killed himself, half in shame, half to avoid capture. Martinus Vasilevsky is their leader now. I remembered his surname because it’s so much like my own. I wish him well.”
“Unfortunately, the Grays are more receptive to compromise with Whites,” Anysia commented. “Blues too, but the Blues are pretty much defunct. I hate to say this, but we can’t just sit back and wait for them to kill each other.”
“I’m cold.” Marciana said, her words turning vaporous. “Can’t we have this conversation inside?”
“So, are you still a triumvir?” She looked the part, in a black coat and pants, violet paisley scarf. We all left our coats on, it wasn’t much better inside.
“Are any of us? We’re starting over again as the legitimate government of Carantania in Exile. I guess I can, but Veridiana no longer plays that role.”
“Rivasoa? Joannicus?”
“They’re alive, but they’re not with us. They have a job to do and that’s what they’re doing.”
“I see. The Carantania Liberation Army lives, and many Nevdashti and Bharukans will join. Election, then?”
“Uh, yes. I’m supporting Arun, and would welcome Marciana back on the triumvirate.”
“What’s going on with Theopemptus?”
“None of us have a sodden clue. Gone, vanished on that night the Reds stormed the Cleiousarch’s manse. I want nothing more but to lock him in a room with photographs of people lost in the conflicts.”
“Did you find what I left behind there?” Marciana asked.
“What was it?”
“Notes of my experimentation with a vial of vapour dust. Not much of it, just enough to get a little high. I didn’t really enjoy it and I don’t think I’d do it again. I wouldn’t have done it, but there was a vial just lying around. All those ethical issues on just who ends up with the aureates.”
“I don’t think I did. What’s it like?”
“Basically, I felt a bit numb and woozy and a bit like I was floating and detached from the universe. Then it wore off and I felt crappy and nauseous for the next four days. It’s a bit like having a tooth pulled, except I had to use the water closet more.”
“Ok, come on, I’ll take you to see her.”
“Where did you get the amber bead?”
“I don’t know, I just found it in a broken silver and malachite box in some alley. A gift that displeased someone, I suppose, but it is pretty. You could probably buy a small city or a literal ton of vapour dust with it, so whoever owned it, I guess he didn’t really need it.”
“And people don’t believe it’s real, right?” Ava asked.
“Exactly. Maybe it isn’t real. I don’t know anything about the radiography or spectrography or whatever of amber. I won’t sell it because I like it, even if it is just a worthless synthetic bauble. I know someone will give me half a counterfeit cupreate for something that might be worth a small moon. I’m sorry, but we Jews are the scammers who taint wells with mind-controlling substances? And then they complain about all of us in the MJE, when they’re the ones who pushed us into it. Unless they’re vile, stinking, putrid Kahanist filth. The establishment loves them. I hate them. I stabbed one with a pencil while shouting ‘being a victim doesn’t give you the right to be an oppressor.’ Capricious lunatics who let primal impulses and the voices inside their head guide them. They’ll turn Adiabene into another Pannonia if they ever got the chance. So, Ava, I’ve heard of you. Will you sing for me, nightingale?”
“Only the male sings. I’m sure you didn’t know.”
“I’m sure I didn’t. I am, I mean, I was, a history student, not an ornithology one. Until I shot my mouth off about National and Heritage Front bias and got kicked out and started a firestorm amongst the student body, not necessarily in that order.”
“So was I, but I had pet birds. Mostly parakeets, a budgie or two, I wanted a crow, but he wouldn’t have enough room to fly around. I’m going to go back to school someday, when the war’s over.”
“Avoid Jewish history, it’s soul-crushing, even when not taught by a Heritage Front member who’s there by law. On that subject, if you’re stuck with a Heritage Fronter, take the class early so you can just sleep through it.”
“Ain Sifna doesn’t have that problem.”
“How very fortunate you are. You won’t be fed nonsense about us backing democracy, egalitarianism, and socialism, which they say like it’s a bad thing, in order to weaken their host culture. Nine heavens help you, you could be dealing with a Kahanist. Might be hard to sleep through their ravings on the Croatii. It’s not like anyone alive’s had a problem with Croatii as a whole, it was just something long ago, so long ago that continents have been rent apart and merged together, stars have winked in and out of the sky, constellations have shifted from spears to cookware and from lions to radio telescopes. And when they did, it’s not like they collaborated more than anyone else, but they’ll just reject your reality and substitute it with their own, I guess so they can ward off accusations that they don’t have a real goal, they just hate anyone who’s different. I’m telling you, Muslims like you are better friends and allies. You aren’t like ‘You have to disperse throughout the world to bring about the apocalypse! No, wait, you have to be clustered in your own state. Here, have this insignificant tract of desert on the ass end of nowhere and now you can fight and die in all our proxy wars, and fuck you, we’re just using you to grab resources’ and all that rubbish. And then they do the same thing in Adiabene after forcing two thirds the population into Bharuka because the idea of dividing the region based on religion somehow makes sense to them and the Kahanists move in and take control.”
“It’s something I wish wasn’t nonsense. But for different reasons.”
“Some of us do, the Kahanists won’t. I guess when you’re right, you’re right. Even when you’re wrong about everything else. I don’t know what makes them think they’re so latently psychic that they can break lightspeed just by denying relativity. Who knows? Maybe we’ll have the fortune to see Shapira and Yerushalmi and their cronies overthrown and hanged, what with civil war bubbling up everywhere in the alleged autonomous regions. I fear their opposition has fled to better lands.”
“Maybe they’ve been in the Event. I was able to create fireballs during my flight from Selinus. I do wonder if I could have when I was just across the river from the Event.”
“Did it manifest in anyone else?”
“If Ava achieved some heightened senses or psionic powers, I didn’t see it; I don’t think she did, but I’ve been in the Event and then I woke up on a train in Vaishali, so maybe that’s causing it.”

“Um, Veridiana, I understand all too well your loss and, um, I want you to know that if there’s anything I can do for you, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” she said. Her fingernails were an iridescent green, and she had a black strap with a flat copper heart glazed red hanging from it. She was in a cheery cerise dress with long sleeves, printed with paisley flowers in blue and white, a white hat with an amethyst pin and black velvet flower on it, stockings with five-petaled flowers, white plastic boots, a bracelet and necklace of plastic beads, purple lozenges and black spheres. The basement was dark and dingy, with only a few small windows for scant amounts of light and air; the air smelled of clay dust from a basin. There were lightless catacombs blocked off by boxes or stacks of pipes, a room with furnaces that haven’t worked in years and probably never will again.

Ava offered her opinion. “We didn’t really get along at first, like souvlaki and ice cream as another dear lost friend of mine would say, and afterwards I was always too embarrassed and too shy to talk to him, and I never wanted him around because it’s like I didn’t even exist to you. Look, I may seem the social butterfly to you, and you’re right, but, really, you were the only person I could talk to. About important things, I mean. I feel like a particularly shitty person for saying that, but I’m glad to get it off my butt. And I’m sad to see him go.”

“I know Charisius and Veridiana. Never met the others.”
“I didn’t introduce you to Cantianilla? We’ve known each other for years.”
Fabrician was a tall man in a long, black coat, jeans, and hiking boots, a coilgun strapped to his back.
“So, shall we continue our journey? Worry not, we will not have to travel by foot.”
“Where are we going?”
“To create and gather resistance and supplies in the Autonomous Territories. We’ll take what we can, but I prefer jezails and fusils and culverins. We shall return one day, we will fill their lungs with their own poison gas, and thus the glorious liberation of the Republic of Carantania.”
It looked like they had secured an armored personnel carrier from the Esercito, painted it with revolutionary slogans in white and brilliant lime green.
“Can you still contact Martinus? I saw a patrol of Pannonians. There were about forty of them, no warmechs or war machinery of any kind, so I don’t know if they’re heading to war or just hunting down the PRF. But just make sure.”
“I will tell him, for Carantania.”
“Can you think of any wish that’s incorruptible?” Marciana asked her.
“I can not. I don’t believe it’s possible. But here’s a situation for us to discuss on the long walk to Nevdasht. A dread power comes before you to to grant whatever wish your heart desires at the cost of something of equal value. He is all powerful. He can change a single aspect of history without changing the entire gestalt. He can ignore paradoxes at will. He can create a square circle or a sine of alpha greater than one if you sacrifice negative numbers in return. What do you ask him?”
“I’d ask you something first. Do you read the same poetry I do?” Marciana asked.
“No, I overheard you say it and I kept asking myself if I should say anything to you.”
“For my parents’ lives. At the cost of, uh, Lepidus.”
“I don’t think he’d accept it. It would have to be of equal value.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I could give up an innocent to bring back an innocent. I’ll have to think about it.”
“How about a second chance at life with all the foreknowledge of this one, in exchange for having to repeat my life, with all the drudgery of learning things I already know in primary and secondary?”
“You’re a clever one.”
“What if I gave up our reputation to save my parents?”
“I guess that’s acceptable.”
“Or maybe because cleverness is rewarded, I’d hold Lepidus hostage and demand that he bring them back at the cost of one week of his life or whatever trifles he thinks are equal to a human life. Or get some extreme misanthrope to wish everyone be happy in exchange for eternal youth.”
“That’s clever, but maybe he won’t accept it because it’s really your wish, not his.”
“How about the ability to recognize Siguranta operatives instantly at the cost of ceasing to exist in any and all registries, whether by oversight or glitches in the system?” Veridiana said.
“Hey, you didn’t say what you wanted,” Marciana said.
“I like what you said. A chance to begin my life anew. You could think of things differently. Bring back even Kahane himself to save your parents. That too is a sacrifice.”

“Can I ask you something? The Muslims here don’t use the usual Selinian names, but the Jews do. Why is that? It’s always a shock, back home they had Kishi and Qatabanese names, Ismail and Harun. Sara and Fellah. Stuff like that.”
“Because you’re defiant. Because you know that people will always hate you no matter what you do. But us, history is bound to a wheel, and even the willing collaborators someday meet their fate at the firing squads. A harsh lesson, but a much-needed one, perhaps. But history is bound to a wheel.”