LORIANE UNCURLED herself, sucking lungs full of air with an familiar tang. She was lying on a pavement of a street with tall houses on both sides.
She would have sworn she heard someone call her name. A voice that sounded like Tandor.
A haze of dust hung in the air. The ground was covered in glass and debris and, underneath that, dusty bodies, unmoving. Close to her, a couple of burly men in uniform, eyes open and glassy. Further away, a whole heap of people in front of a door. There was no blood, but no one moved, and the coating of dust made it look like they had turned to stone.
Loriane scrabbled up, awkward and top-heavy, but no longer in pain. Then a fleeting thought: does this child inside me feel icefire? She patted her stomach, but couldn’t find the sharp bump anymore.
The breeze that went through the street was icy cold.
Where were the others?
Several houses had lost windows or parts of walls. Straw roofs had been blown off, and the entire town had gone eerily silent.
“Loriane!” That sounded like Myra.
Loriane turned around and almost tripped over a body behind her, half-buried under a piece of wood that had fallen off a shop awning. Every bit of exposed skin on the villager’s face and hands was red and covered in blisters. He stirred and moaned, his eyes half open and showing only white. She had seen that before, after the explosion in the City of Glass.
Icefire.
That was the familiar feeling in the air.
“Myra, girl, you be all right?” Ontane emerged from the dust of a collapsed façade of a house, with the camel in tow. Tandor still sat on it, dazed, his hair rimed in dust, but otherwise unharmed.
Myra ran to embrace her father. The baby in the sling made muffled cries in the tight space between them.
What remained of Tandor’s hair had turned white with a fine riming of white dust. His eyes were open, and Loriane noticed that the skin on his face had started to peel.
“Tandor? Did you just call me?”
He didn’t answer, but when she took his hand, he moved his and squeezed her fingers. His blue eyes stared into the distance.
“Tandor, can you hear me?”
He squeezed her hand again.
“Please, talk to me. Tell us how to find your family.”
But he didn’t respond to that. His face contorted into frightening expressions. She swore she could hear someone laughing.
On the cart, Ruko sat up. A piece of debris had struck the side of the cart, and the wheels were out of alignment. Ruko glared at her over his shoulder. Somehow, his expression seemed less detached than before.
“Ruko? Do you know where Tandor’s family lives?”
But he still wasn’t speaking. He was looking at Tandor, though, and she wondered if they had a means of communication.
“We need to get out of here,” Ontane said. “Before the Chevakian army turns up and accuses us of destroying this town.”
“Where to? That was their accursed barrier that just exploded, dear husband,” Dara said. “Haven’t you noticed that we live on the other side? We might as well go home now.”
“And what do ye think we’ll find up there, huh? If the icefire down here be strong enough to kill everyone, it will be strong enough to kill us up there.”
She didn’t reply, but her face was set, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Be there anything we can do without you arguing about it, woman? I tell ye now, ye be free to go back home, but I bain’t coming.”
Dara snorted, but didn’t leave either.
Ontane held out his hand to Loriane, not noticing that he stepped in the puddle of blood-stained vomit, and helped her clamber over the debris of a collapsed shop awning. There were several people underneath.
With Ontane leading, they picked their way through the street, which had turned into an unrecognisable mess. Stalls had been ripped apart. Houses collapsed. Bodies were everywhere, covered in blisters, some still alive, most of them dead. In fact, apart from Loriane and the family, not one person was walking. A sickening scent of dust mingled with that of burnt meat hung in the air.
“What do we do now?” Myra asked.
Ontane shrugged. His face was haggard. “See if we can find another camel and cart for mistress Loriane, and keep going. Don’t ask me where.”
Well, damn it, there went her chance to leave this bickering family behind.
Dara still had her arms crossed sullenly over her chest.
Loriane was just so tired. “Please, I want to find a quiet place, away from the town.”
“I agree,” Dara said. “We wait until it be safe to go back.”
“I don’t mean that. This child is killing me. It’s not normal. I want someone to cut it out.”
“Mistress Loriane!” Ontane’s face turned white.
“Be that . . . be that really necessary?” Dara didn’t look so happy herself.
“It’s not coming out by itself, and it won’t, because it’s too big. I can tell Myra what to do. I’ve done it a couple of times.” More often than she cared to remember. There was a reason girls were made to wait until sixteen before being allowed to take part in the Newlight Festival.
“I’m not letting my—”
“Ye can’t ask Myra to—”
Ontane and Dara started speaking at the same time, then stopped and looked at each other.
“Congratulations. The first time you two agree on anything is when it’s something that has to be done.”
“Myra, I don’t want ye to do such a horrid thing,” Ontane said. “I’ll do it.”
Dara said, “What do ye know about women’s things? I’ll do it.”
They glared at each other.
Myra stepped between them. “Right then, if we can all agree, let’s go and find a safe place.”
With great difficulty, they made their way back to the market square. They saw no survivors.
They stopped to consider which way to go and of course Ontane and Dara argued over it.
Ontane said, “I think we keep going that way. The other way’s the road we came—look!” His eyes widened.
Loriane turned. Over the rubble of collapsed houses, she could see the hillside that led up to the plateau. She didn’t see anything—wait, she did. Higher up the slope clouds of white whirled, covering the green trees. Snow.
There were also clouds of steam, or smoke rising from between the trees.
“Is there a fire?”
“A fire? Can’t you see it, Mistress Loriane? The trees be alive with blue flames. It be following us.”
Loriane stared up the slope but could not see any blue flames.
“Icefire,” Myra said.
“Great, and what now?” Dara said. “So much for all your wonderful ideas.”
“You, woman! Ye be full of talk about what to do, but when ye actually have to make a decision—”
“Yes, it be always my fault, of course. It bain’t like you ever make any mistakes, mister know-it-all! I still think we would have been just fine at the hunting shack, but no, you—”
“Stop fighting!” Myra screamed.
Silence.
Dara and Ontane stood facing each other, both glancing sideways at Myra.
“Hadn’t we agreed to help mistress Loriane first?”
Ontane grumbled an unintelligible response. Dara looked the other way.
Loriane just wished they’d stop acting like little children. Honestly, if this was what having a family meant, then she was glad she had never married.
“Look,” she said. “I appreciate your help in getting down here, but don’t feel like you have to stay with me. I’ll ask Ruko to help me.” Her child was important to Tandor, and no doubt Ruko would protect it.
“Well,” Ontane grumbled, “it looks like there be no time for that nasty business. I vote we be getting out of here as soon as possible.”
At that moment, there was a harsh whistle somewhere in the distance, and a sound like Loriane had never heard before.
Myra’s eyes widened. “A train! Let’s go to the station.”
The building Myra called the station was on the other side of the markets. Once it might have been painted white, but half of the entrance had collapsed, showing exposed bricks and timber. Getting there was a struggle. The camel was jittery. Loriane guessed it could feel icefire. The cart was too broken to be pulled with ease; the ground was covered in rubble.
In front of the building, they halted and Ontane untied their packs from the cart. The moment he touched Tandor’s trunk, Ruko pushed him aside.
“Hey, you,” Ontane yelled out. “Behave yourself, for all ye’ve been a parasite on us the last few days.”
“Let him,” Loriane said. What Ontane said wasn’t true. Ruko had come along to protect Tandor, and had never eaten from the family’s supplies. She added more quietly, “Ruko, we’re going on the train here. We’ll have to leave the camel, but we need to get Tandor up into that building.”
Ruko said nothing, but turned back to the cart and took care of Tandor’s enormous trunk
Ontane slipped the headgear off the camel’s neck. “We’ll turn the beast free. It may find its own way home, if it knows where home be.”
Loriane followed the family up the rubble-strewn stairs into the station. She’d be prepared to walk all the way, or ride in the cart. She thought setting the camel loose was a bad idea, and didn’t like the sound of the word “train”.
After clambering underneath a half-collapsed arch, they came onto a paved area, from where two very straight strips of metal led towards the horizon. Rails, Myra said. For the train, although the train itself was nowhere to be seen. Taking in water, Myra said.
So there was no train at the moment, but there were unharmed seats under the awning of the roof and Loraine sank down gratefully, ignoring Dara and Ontane’s bickering over the absence of a train, and whether it would or would not leave. Ruko sat next to her, guiding Tandor. It was the first time he had come close.
She glanced at him and wondered what went through that head of his. He was staring ahead, the light from the field on the other side of the tracks reflected in his eyes. There had to be some secret to speaking with him.
“Ruko, have you ever been to Tandor’s family?” Loriane asked.
As usual, Ruko said nothing, but a big tear tracked down his cheek. He reminded her of Isandor and she wondered where her son was. Ruko was just another boy, broken and turned wild by living in the wilderness for years.
Loriane took his hand. It was warm. They sat silently, while Ontane and Dara bickered and Myra rolled her eyes while feeding the baby. Loriane’s other hand was on her stomach, feeling the movements of the baby’s feet through her belly. The child was facing the right way, and everything felt normal again. One ride in this train, and she would be safe. Maybe everything would be fine after all.
Voices echoed in the entrance of the building, and a group of five young men arrived. Strong and healthy all, with dark hair and wearing fur cloaks. Southern men without a doubt.
They nodded at the family, but didn’t approach to talk. Deserters from the lower ranks of the Knights, Loriane thought, and knew that other refugees would have no love for them. They sat in the far corner of what Myra called the platform.
Soon others came in, all southerners. Families, silent children, women with haggard faces, and then the physically wounded. Burns mostly, but also broken limbs and frostbite from those who had fled in the clothes they were wearing.
They talked to whoever wanted to listen.
Their stories were all equally haunting. Some had come from the City of Glass, others from Bordertown. The ones from the City of Glass were mostly nobles or those who had been in possession of sleds. They spoke of a wall of icefire following them and burning everyone who was too slow.
Many had been fleeing constantly without sleep, and had festering sores that needed urgent attention. Loriane did what she could, but without materials, that wasn’t much.
The platform filled up more and more. No one seemed to know where they were going, except out of here. Wherever the train went when it came, wherever there was work, wherever someone had some distant relatives or some acquaintance who had long forgotten about them. Most of them had no knowledge of Chevakia, and knew no one, no matter how vaguely, who lived there. It didn’t matter, they all waited for the train that still hadn’t entered the station. Word came that a second train had entered the town.
Scuffles broke out as some people were trying to leave again, arguing all of Chevakia was dead and there wasn’t going to be a train, but the platform was too full and no one knew where to go.
Still the people came. The old and the very young, in a sad, stinking heap of humanity that soon spilled out the station onto the adjacent square.
Ruko had to fight for the bench they had secured for Tandor. He was well enough to stand up, but couldn’t do so, or they would lose their seat.
Dara surprised Loriane by bartering some of their saltmeat for a blanket from a group of young men who seemed to be travelling together. When she spread the blanket over Tandor, the Knighthood crest in the corner was clearly visible.
Myra helped where she could. She caught a baby as it slid from the distressed mother’s body, while next to her the boy’s father succumbed to his injuries. Six more people died before she could attend to them.
There was nowhere to leave the dead. No space, no platforms for laying them out as was the custom in the City of Glass. There were no wild animals to come for their meat.
Fights broke out over the meagre supplies some people had with them.
Then there was a loud whistle in the distance and such hissing as Loriane had never heard before. A few children near the edge of the platform pointed and screamed. One of the children’s mothers looked and screamed as well, and a young man yelled, “A train, a train!” Using the Chevakian word.
An older man yelled at him, “Use the right language. We once had trains, too.”
A few people gave him suspicious glances, since he was clearly a supporter of the old king.
With much hissing, the huge thing rumbled into the station like some monster.
Mothers drew their little children out of the way, screaming at the older ones to stand back. Children cried and everyone stared at this huge, dark, gleaming and hissing thing.
Loriane felt awed. If this was the technology Chevakia had, then why didn’t the Southern Land have this kind of magic? Tandor had even spoken about it. He said he had old books that showed the trains in the City of Glass. He even told her where to look for the remains of the tracks. She had never cared. Why not?
She searched the crowd for the man who had made the remark about trains, and found him surrounded by a couple of others engaged in serious discussion, pointing at parts of the train.
The train came to a complete halt. Despite the refugees’ fear of its hissing steam, the boldest ones soon opened the doors and clambered into the carriages where there were rows of seats. Bewildered attendants aboard were pushed aside in the tide of humanity; they were helpless. Healthy and sick, strong and frail scrambled aboard.
Anything to get out of here.
Ontane managed to clamber into a wide door and held out his hand to Myra. In the stream of jostling people, they pushed Tandor up, followed by their luggage, which included Tandor’s chest, under close guard of Ruko. Ontane then heaved Loriane aboard and Dara followed.
There were no seats in this part of the train, just a large carriage, with straw covering the floor. Loraine guessed this was how camels travelled. The air even smelled of the beasts.
While others clambered in the door, they secured themselves a seat in the corner of the carriage, and draped Tandor on a heap of straw. He was shivering and mumbling. Loriane covered him with their new blanket, meeting Dara’s eyes. A thought crossed her mind that, away from her whingeing husband, Dara might be a successful healer, or merchant.
Still, people were trying to push in, but there was no more room in the carriage, and plenty of people still on the platform. Someone blew a whistle. Steam hissed past the open door. People screamed; a few young men pushed themselves in, stepping and stumbling over the knees and legs.
Men yelled out the door that there would be another train, that they could see it.
The train chugged into motion, and the crowd of people crammed on the platform slid from sight. The screaming and crying for loved ones who had become separated lingered a bit longer.
Silence descended. The only sound was that of the machine that pulled the train and the rumbling on the rails. Loriane had expected to be afraid, but it was much like being in a sled.
Wind blew in through the open doors.
Soon people started asking questions. Where was the train going?
No one knew.
Tiverius, someone said. Others said they had family there, but didn’t seem too certain when asked where their family lived.
How long would that take?
Again, no one knew.
The man in black who had known about the trains was with a group of similar fellows in the same carriage. They were explaining to children and anyone who would listen how the trains worked.
“You know anything about this thing of icefire that’s following us?” Dara asked them.
“It’s power that has escaped from the Heart,” a man said. His black clothing looked more clean and unruffled than that of the others, and his white-flecked beard was neatly clipped. “The Knights tried to stifle it, because they wanted to make sure that the people were poor and never understood the riches of icefire. Only because they, themselves cannot see it and cannot feel it or do anything with it. But the Heart doesn’t like to be locked up. Its power built and built until it exploded from the earth.”
“And before, this power was used for trains?” a young girl asked.
“Yes, that, and much more. The Knights denied us the riches. The Knights wanted the power gone. But you cannot stifle the Heart . . .”
Ontane was making frantic hand movements.
Dara mouthed, What?
He whispered, “They be rebels, and we don’t want anything to do with them.”
“And ye liked the Knights so much?”
“Please—these rebels be dangerous.”
“Ye remember how the Knights used to come into Bordertown and rape the women?”
“Shhh.”
“I haven’t forgotten, husband. I haven’t forgotten that the people who called themselves our parents let it happen—”
“Dara!”
She glared. “That be the first time in years ye haven’t called me ‘woman’.”
“Just shut up. We mind our business, and get into nobody’s way.”
Dara turned away, her face tense. Loriane guessed that had Ontane not been there, she would very much like to join the black-clad men. However did she put up with such a selfish prick as husband? However did he put up with such a prune as wife? How come Myra had grown up as kind and open-minded as she was with parents like them? That had to be the greatest miracle of all. Of course, she’d only lived with them a few years, since Tandor had brought her, but she knew the girl loved them and they loved her, despite all their bickering.
Loriane stroked Tandor’s hot forehead. She lifted the bandages. The wound didn’t look too bad, but she worried about him. He should have woken up by now. His wounds were healing faster than she had thought possible, and there didn’t seem to be a reason for him to remain half-conscious. Unless . . . unless icefire kept him asleep.
Either way, she was uncomfortable sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. Her back ached. She was sore all the time.
And the train rumbled on.
Some people munched on whatever food they had been able to bring. Men stepped over sleeping bodies to piss out the open door. Women could do no such thing.
Soon, Loriane found herself crouching in the corner, the darkest place she could find, dribbling piss on the straw. Her bowels twisted and churned, ejecting jets of brown, bloodstained fluid, and she wasn’t the only one. Many of the weaker people didn’t even bother getting up but let it run into the straw where they sat. A young boy close to her was sick. The sound of retching made her cringe. The smell followed soon after.
With that, and the stinking wounds, the vomit and sun baking on the roof of the wagon, the smell became unbearable. Only those close to the door got enough fresh air, but as the train continued, the air became hot, and those close to the door had red skin from the wind and became thirsty. The young men in black organised a rotating scheme so that everyone got a turn at sitting near the door.
Somewhere on the far side of the carriage, a woman wailed when her child stopped breathing. The little boy, covered in blisters and ugly sores, couldn’t have been more than a year old. There was nothing to cover him. Nowhere to put him aside so the mother took off his shirt and draped it over his head.
When an old woman died, the young men pushed some straw in the corner and stacked the bodies on top. They were soon joined by the body of the woman who had given birth on the platform. Fever, Loriane knew. The woman’s adolescent son clutched the child, but Loriane knew that without its mother, it would soon die. She would offer to feed it, but she hadn’t eaten for two days and was desperately thirsty and didn’t think she’d have much milk to share.
Myra sat against the wall where they had secured a place, and clutched her baby. No one had any water, and Myra didn’t have enough milk either.
The train rumbled on. Steam trailed past the windows.
Forest replaced fields, and then came wide expanses of grass. Groups of camels roamed the countryside. It grew warmer, even as the sunlight turned golden.
Then came night.
Several of the wounded did not stir the next morning. The young men again stacked the bodies in the corner.
A man, who must have done some nursing work, started arguing that they should remove the dead from the carriage.
“What do you mean—remove?” yelled the mother of the young boy, her face stained with tears.
“Well . . .” He looked at the door, over the jumble of dirty and stinking bodies.
“How dare you suggest that!”
“It’s in the interest of all of us. If the bodies stay here much longer, they will go bad, and all of us will get sick.”
“I will not put my son to rest without a proper ceremony.”
Several parents agreed with that.
The man retreated, mumbling about having been to Chevakia before and knowing how quickly things went bad here.
Loriane’s belly cramped from sickness and hunger, and the foul smell that grew worse as the sun rose. At night, she suffered another bout of stabbing pains. Same thing as before: strange sharp bumps moving under her skin. She put her hands on the spots, pushed back, and felt the bumps moving, too sharp to be knees, too strong to be hands. She sat like that for a long time, sweat rolling off her back. In her mind, she kept seeing those drawings of malformed children.
There was another pregnant woman in the carriage, and occasionally, they threw each other anxious glances, hoping and knowing that the babes would be better off being born once they got off this train. Loriane was scared. By now, she had to be almost a moon overdue. Not long, and the birth would become impossible.
Tandor, what did you do?
But Tandor had no answers. He sat in his crazy stupor, moving where they told him to go, but not communicating with anyone. Ruko sat next to him, protecting him from people who came too close, and making sure he wasn’t hurt. Loriane was glad for that, but the two of them seemed lost to everyone else, and she didn’t know what she could to bring them out of their stupor, so that either could tell them where Tandor’s family lived. Worse, Ruko had locked Tandor’s chest and wouldn’t let anyone near it.
The train rumbled on.
How long was this going to last?