The Bird and The Dragon

05-342 The hot segment and Sandau

The bridge sang longingly like remembering the fusion burners’ shockwaves when the wind from the wasteland vibrated its metal skeleton. The air tasted of ash and sand; everything was covered under a fine layer of dust even here on the edge of the desert where the boulder field first gave way to rough grass which later turned to hardy bushes.

The bridge was the lost world’s remains, a route the now-dead people had used to transport forgotten goods from the hot segment to the Shallow Sea on the south. Some three hundred kilometers of broken structure was left, passing the desert as a sometimes dangerous, but often the only reliable route through the ash and ruins.

Patrik had persuaded his still angry and reluctant half-brother to receive a group secretly traveling north. The operation was vital, but risky and needed continual supervision to succeed, Patrik had explained swearing he would participate. The visitors had been recruited in secret from the Three King’s Land. They could not travel openly because the southern lands were at war and the north had closed the borders. The political atmosphere was tense.

Patrik had explained to Kvenrei that one of the largest metal wells in the hot segment was malfunctioning. It was a geologically active site in the middle of the ainadu lands, spreading towards the sea in the south as a steaming, poisonous maze of weirdly colored hot springs surrounded by labyrinthine collection pools. All the wealth in the north was built around the metal industry and the hot segment was the heart of the nation’s financial and strategic power.

Patrik had described the production problems thinking Kvenrei understood them, talking about the changes in alkalinity, deformities in crystallization, and general decrease in the production rate. All this was connected to the tiny artificial creatures living in the hot waters hailing from the same branch of past technology with the forests. The only people who had a deep understanding of the ancient technology lived in the south and these experts, the witch doctors for the dead technology were the reason why Kvenrei was freezing in the sand-laden wind.

Deep in his mind, Kvenrei was still brewing revenge on Patrik, but a year spent home with the family had cooled his rage. Kvenrei reluctantly understood the reasoning behind Patrik’s plans. he also knew his brother carried out the dragon’s orders or her orders as commander Anhava interpreted Agiisha’s will. While preventing Kvenrei’s return to the south Patrik had accidentally provided him the one thing he had never achieved: the peace for his restless soul. Kvenrei had accepted the chains, that he would spend the war in the north, and the fact had brought him at ease.

Kvenrei was no longer bald. He had agreed on Enidtha’s wish to let his hair grow. Now the ends hung to his ears, colored like the desert’s grey sand. On a good day, his freshly cleaned hair was wheat-colored but often its colors reflected clay and ash.

The light time was on and Kvenrei observed the hills. There were countless routes to invade the wastelands in secret. Only the main paths were patrolled regularly and Kvenrei pointed it out to his brother when Patrik arrived.

“Invaders and spies would have to carry the supplies through the desert, and they have no horses,” Patrik answered taking the mocking question seriously.

Their horses were behind a hill. The animals were not allowed into the desert, for they were sensitive to the end of the world ash or maybe to the spores or no one knew what. They sickened and died or weakened and became useless. In the southern lands, only the eastern forests were clean enough to support a small number of horses. Everywhere else they were just short-lived toys, exotic pets for the rich, except in the north, for the ainadu had brought the horses to Watergate and knew how to keep the animals alive.

The approaching group was now visible on the bridge, silhouettes against the pale light. Patrik observed them with his binoculars.

“Six people of which…two nocturna.”

Kvenrei pushed his knitted cap up his brow and looked. Yes, two of the shapes were larger than the others. After the first war, the nocturna had been unwanted visitors in the north. During the peace, they were tolerated as guards, but they fought against the ainadu in the long, bloody war known as the hot segment conflict, the first war, and the Duha betrayal. The name depended on whom you asked.

“This is why we are here,” Patrik said. “They have a reason to keep nocturna with them and we have a reason to believe that those two are more than mercenaries.”

“You want me to watch them?”

“All of them. But the nocturna specifically. I don’t want them to do anything unlikely in the hot segment.”

“If they were planning terrorism or spying, they would not walk here openly.”

“You would do just that should you be a terrorist or a spy,” Patrik mentioned.

“True. But I am not nearly two and a half meters tall.”

“They will be under surveillance the whole time they are here. I want the details on everything they do.”

The one-eyed man called Toshin was the group’s leader. He had a journeyman, a woman called Trens, and their two workmen were Cassine and Seeds. Both were too civilized to be hired from the desert.

One of the two nocturna Patrik had met earlier. A decade had passed since the forest fire, but Esrau hadn’t changed. Now he had no uniform, but his dark clothes had military cut and Patrik was sure he had seen the knife the man carried earlier. Their eyes met briefly but neither showed the recognition. There was no official unrest between the ainadu and the nocturna, but the old scars hadn’t healed.

“Keep your eyes on Esrau,” Patrik whispered to Kvenrei when they packed the horses. “Did you notice that he takes no orders from Toshin?”

Kvenrei nodded. He had noticed the nocturna were not the ordinary hirelings. Sure, their people worked as mercenaries, but in this group, it was not the case; it almost looked like Toshin was serving the nocturna.

On the fourth day of their ride to the hot segment, they passed signs of the old fortifications: overgrown trenches and the remains of shelters. Esrau looked around but commented nothing. Instead Cassine rode to Kvenrei.

“Are we crossing the battle lines of the…northern war?” he asked picking the neutral term. Kvenrei nodded, it was commonly known history.

“We are riding from the west so is this” Cassine whispered: “The line where you met and countered Khem?” Khem’s army had included detachments of nocturna.

“In my knowledge yes. Of course, I didn’t participate.” The war had been over a century ago, but Kvenrei’s imagination covered the land in snow and ice like his father had described those days. He thought about Ikanji’s role in that madness, in a strange land, stuck in a conflict where all the participants were trying to take advantage of the ainadu.

“Are there any other battlegrounds left?” Cassine’s question interrupted him.

“Some marks here and there. No one has cleaned the rubbish you left.” Kvenrei winked.

Cassine nodded and suddenly asked. “Hey Esrau, did you fight in that war?”

The nocturna grinned. “I am not that old. It is distant history.”

The travel days to the hot segment passed slowly. The half-brothers avoided each other, both concentrating on their work. Kvenrei knew Patrik was a cunning, controlling, and ruthless man, but all these qualities served him well in keeping the New Freedom safe. This mission was a part of that work; negotiation with the unsure allies on an item crucial to the nation’s power.

The hot segment started with almost no warning. The stunted growth of trees gave way to grass, and grass turned to reddish, harsh plants, which were more minerals than vegetation. The air and ground warmed, for the heat inside the planet’s core surfaced here.

The guides were waiting for them, and they continued by foot to the wells. The horses were not taken near the hot springs where air was laden with steam and metallic compounds. The air also carried the wells’ microscopic machines and letting those inside one’s body was as deadly as diving into an operating well.

“Who is this Esrau?” Kvenrei asked one evening from Patrik when the technical inspections were well on their way. “For a soldier, he seems to know awfully lot about the wells.”

“I would say he is the expert, not Toshin,” Patrik answered.

“You seem to know a lot, too.”

“I talk to people. Maybe you should try it someday,” Patrik said. He had earlier found out what he could about the nocturna. The Three Kings’s land, or the Three as it was called, was seemingly a neutral country, too insignificant to meddle in Southern politics. It trained experts in ancient knowledge about the arboreal processes and the largest nocturna habitats were in the area’s forests.

Later Kvenrei found his way into a small bar to avoid the heavy work related to the well. He needed a break from the smell of metal and Patrik, whose plans seemed to proceed nicely without Kvenrei’s involvement. The bar was crowded and Kvenrei was already in his second drink when he spotted Cassine among the customers. He was having company. Kvenrei pulled his dirty hat to his brow and listened.

Cassine and an ainadu called Miklen seemed to know each other. Finally, they left together towards the better one of the two guesthouses. Miklen was a businessman with many contacts and access to social circles where Southern spies were not wanted. Kvenrei kept Cassine on watch the following days until one morning the man had disappeared. Soon it was confirmed that Miklen had left for Sandau, the only city in the north and most likely Cassine had followed him.

“Don’t tell the others,” Patrik said when the brothers discussed the matter. “They can explain the disappearance as they wish.”

“You are going to let him live, right?” Kvenrei asked sharply.

“Are you thinking about Jesrade?” The murdered prince still haunted the brother’s relationship.

“So far Cassine’s only sins are being handsome and having good social skills. He is not the only southerner in Sandau.”

“No. But I don’t trust the company he arrived with. Find out where he went and who he talked to. If he does anything dubious, kill him.”

“Only, if he is a real spy. I am not going to kill people because they have fallen in love with the wrong person.” The men stared at each other and Kvenrei felt the guilt churn his stomach. Patrik’s face was calm, but Kvenrei knew his brother well enough to see that the neutral expression was a mask hiding something.

“If he abuses his connections, you know what to do. Miklen lives in Sandau, so you return to your family. I’ll wrap up the mission here.”

Kvenrei was content to return home. His youngest daughter was just a baby and had stolen his heart. In the few weeks of his absence, Meina had grown so much and Kvenrei didn’t want to miss her baby years as he had done with his older kids.

Finding Cassine was easy, for he was not trying to hide. Miklen had introduced him to his social circles, and they openly participated in gatherings and shows. Kvenrei felt uncomfortable tracking a man doing his best to settle into a new city. Cassine spent lots of time hanging out in the cafes and discussing with people using his rather good language skills.

From these people, Kvenrei learned that Cassine was not just a hireling and a soldier, but he had a background in Nazadova. Cassine was the youngest child of a wealthy fishing fleet owner. He had studied in Haven until something had disgraced him.

One morning in the dark time, when the auroras covered the sky, he spotted Cassine in the park with Miklen’s elderly dog.

“Good morning, Cassine,” Kvenrei said.

The Southerner didn’t immediately recognize him, which was understandable. On their travel, Kvenrei had sported rough looks with his dirty clothes, goggles, and filters. This morning both men looked cultivated versions of themselves, in their well-cut jackets and shaved beards.

“Good morning mister. I can’t place your face, where have we met?”

“You left forest expert Toshin’s entourage rather unexpectedly.”

“Oh, that one. I assure you I left my resignation note. Kveneri? The fabric trader?”

“Kven-rei, the same man.” Kvenrei pronounced his name carefully. It felt weird. For years he had thought Jonathan Byrd his real identity, but Kvenrei had displaced the Bird. Kvenrei had a home, a family, and a future. He noticed Jonathan was feeling an unfamiliar role now when he needed his internal assassin and spy.

Cassine shook his hand.

“How did you meet Miklen if I may ask?” Kvenrei said.

“It was before the war. I spent the winter 339 here as the airport secretary when I met him.“

“And three years later you decided to come back? That must be quite a story!”

“You might be disappointed. I returned to Shibasa and we wrote some letters. Miklen’s wife died and then came the war. I wanted to evade it and Toshin’s group was a lucky shot.”

“It was probably your only chance. The trading routes are closed,” Kvenrei said when they walked like the gentlemen they were pretending to be. Mentioning the war awakened the guilt of murdering Jesrrade’s prince again.

“The travel through the wasteland was horrible, but I am happy to have made it.” Cassine smiled widely and Kvenrei felt empathy toward the man. He had no right to judge his choices or love.

“Has everything been going well?”

“Thank you for asking, it has been nice. Of course, I am still a bit alien, but Miklen’s friends have been supportive. We are going to go to the theater tomorrow. I am expecting it, your performing arts made an impression the last time.”

“What shall you watch?”

”The dance of darkness.”

Kvenrei smiled recognizing the performance. It was taking place in the theater owned by Patrik’s mother Marya. “It has a great set,” he said but remembered that Marya’s club, as the political group was called, would gather in the theater on the same evening. The timing was probably only a coincidence, but Kvenrei needed to be sure. He had not taken Enidtha out since the baby was born, and this would be a good excuse to correct the situation.

The men said their goodbyes and in Kvenrei’s eyes Cassine seemed relieved. He was sure the man was not after any knowledge about the hot segment or its artificial lifeforms, but the non-ainadu in the north were kept under observation. Cassine was his responsibility as he was in the direct command chain to commander Anhava.

Enidtha had never asked the details of his work, but Kvenrei was sure she knew. He had tried to describe his job and its peculiarities a few times, but the woman had quieted him.

“You serve the ainadu and the dragon and I accept it, even cherish it. But I want you, not the details of your service.” Enidtha had said. Kvenrei considered her approach wise, for the state secrets were a heavy burden.

But it meant that it was wrong to mix Enidtha with any of Anhava’s business even if the suspicion was minimal. Kvenrei considered his firstborn, Ayu. She was 18 years of age and took after her mother: soft curls of brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and the round shape of her pretty face, steeled by the sharp chin.

Ayu related to his suddenly returned father with suspicion and dismissal, a very reasonable attitude, Kvenrei agreed. He had been away for most of Ayu’s childhood, visiting only now and then, staying from a few weeks to a few months. Ayu was a clever young woman, with theories about his father’s deeds and Kvenrei thought that the time to tell the truth was getting close.