Three months ago, I was a dead man. Sycamore had dragged my existence down to the lowest place possible where he had all but ground everything I was into the oblivion of Nothing. Dyonne pulled me back. I supposed I should have been grateful, but how could I be? My choices had been submerged in the waters of my grief like an ancient baptism until I had clung to the last hope, shining as a single star in an empty sky: Eden.
My wife had always injected sense into my world; she helped me consider what I couldn’t see, and had done so since our youth. I recalled one occasion, when we were crossing the line between childhood and adulthood together – five, maybe six years away from going to war – she had asked me what I wanted for the future. Where did I see myself heading?
She had started this conversation because of her fears that we had reached a crossroads in our relationship: could I be considering a life as a good citizen? Even back then, and years before, Eden had known that her heart belonged to the Magicians’ way; and as soon as she could escape the strict disciplines of her mother – a good citizen to the core – she intended to practise the art of magic. Did I oppose this? Was it time for us to head in different directions at that crossroads?
I had realised then that I depended on her personality, her love, her very presence, and wanted to be with her for ever. But I would never lie to her, and she knew me so well that she could tell if I tried. The Scientists’ way didn’t appeal to me, I’d told her, but I didn’t lean towards the Magicians, either. In truth, I didn’t know what I was or what I believed, but I wanted to travel through life with her; wanted her by my side when I passed into Aktuaht and beyond into heaven.
This answer had pleased Eden, but in that thoughtful, internalised way with which she considered everything. A Scientist, a good citizen, didn’t believe in Aktuaht and the Garden in the Sky, but a Magician knew that the paradise of the Gardeners waited on the other side. I might’ve been undecided, confused, and perhaps I would be for always, but at least Eden recognised that our relationship was built on the foundations of a shared faith. A few years later, I had become her husband.
Life without Eden felt inconceivable to me, both then and now. So here I was, still searching for her to inject sense into my world, even after her death. I needed to find Eden to give meaning to the things I had seen and done.
From the nameless tavern and the meeting with Dyonne, it was less than half an hour on foot to Public Square, so I decided to walk to the Garden instead of taking the under-rail. Far to the north, the sun continued to hide behind the ominous storm hanging over Alexria. It looked to me as if it had changed since I first saw it that morning. It wasn’t dissipating, but was it spreading? Heading this way? Absurdly, I felt as though it was looking at Old Castle.
I passed through Public Square, where a platoon of young soldiers stood to attention before their commander. Evenly spaced in six neat rows of five, they each had short swords sheathed at their waists and helmets tucked under their arms, and they were dressed in dark green uniforms armoured with plates of reinforced Dust. Pensive was a good word to describe their faces; oddly still a good way to describe their audience.
New recruits, fresh out of basic training, about to begin their City Service: a year-long tour of duty fighting in the war against the clans of the wasteland. A distant memory came back to me of how they were feeling – turmoil, panic, uncertainty in the face of the unknown. They were me a year or so ago, and they had good reason to fear.
Around the square, pedestrians and shop-owners held a silent, respectful vigil. Loved ones and relatives observed with a mixture of pride and sadness. The only sound was a low hum coming from the large glass transmission pyramid glowing faintly behind the platoon’s commander, whose own face was coldly neutral. She looked old enough to have been through this routine a hundred times, to have long ago learned that it was better not to grow attached to the soldiers she trained.
Every citizen served a tour of duty when they reached the age of twenty.
My eyes were drawn to one solider whose face was streaked by tears. The runner, the young man I’d seen outside my window. Armed and in uniform now, his eyes were turned to the sky. His hands visibly shook. On the other side of the square stood a detachment of city watch, ten officers in all. In their midst was the sergeant who had caught the runner, who Nel referred to as my girlfriend. She stared at me. Her name was Lana Khem, and our relationship was a little … unusual.
She gave me a discreet nod. I looked at the runner again.
Eden once said that survival was the only true commonality shared by every citizen over the age of twenty-one. Statistics showed that a quarter of this platoon wouldn’t return from the war. And most of those who did would come back as good citizens, adhering to Old Castle’s laws exactly as the Scientists wanted them to, like children clinging to their parents, searching for order and security. The wasteland would do that to a soldier. However, a few returned damaged beyond repair.
I was eighteen when I married Eden. She was nineteen. After only a year of married life, her tour of duty came up, and I saw her off in this very square, wondering how I’d cope without her, praying that she’d come back. But when she did return, our paths merely crossed as City Service came calling for me. Eden and I never knew each other as survivors. Her husband had been an undecided statistic when she last saw him.
In a clear, harsh voice, the commander barked an order and the platoon about-turned crisply to face the city watch with a crunch of boots. As well trained as they could be. The transmission pyramid projected the image of a huge face above it. Grainy and green-tinged, it was the kindly face of an elderly, bearded man. The official face of the Scientists.
‘These proud soldiers wish to defend Old Castle.’ The image’s voice – a gentle, deep tone – reached every ear in the square, but it was addressing the city watch. ‘Will you lead them to their duty?’
Sergeant Lana Khem stepped forwards. ‘It would be an honour,’ she declared.
‘Then go with the blessing of the Scientists.’ Light pulsed inside the pyramid with every word. ‘And may victory bring our heroes home.’
The face was an age-old recording, speaking empty words for the ears of tradition.
The city watch surrounded the platoon and began marching it out of the square. The soldiers would be escorted to Old Castle’s west gates, where they would then face the savage plains of the wasteland beyond. Some onlookers wept as they left; most applauded. Lana Khem led the parade. I’d see her again soon. She had a habit of being where I was.
The platoon marched out of view. The face of the Scientists faded to nothing and the crowd went about life as normal. A wind picked up and I looked at the storm in the distance.
I didn’t die in the war, but I would never call myself a survivor.