The Black Rose (28 page)

The shelter bubbled with conversation throughout the meal. Jack got talking to the man next to him, who had been among the congregation in the Cathedral. Jack's initial reservations about the man's complicity in the Cult's rule vanished immediately when he learnt that his wife and daughter had been lost in the cataclysm. Jack tried to ease the conversation to a less distressing topic, and they were soon talking about the new world.

The old woman, meanwhile, wanted to know everything about him and the other Apollonians. Feeling a little as if he was telling his life story, Jack explained about Earth, the Cult's attack, meeting the Apollonians, and everything they'd seen and done since then. All the while she nodded, occasionally volunteering a question or asking him to point someone out around the circle. It was only when he got to the bit about Thorin Salr that he remembered Adâ's caution to them not to tell any locals about who they truly were. But then, he thought, this must be an exception. These people had seen enough to know there was something beyond their closeted world.

The only Apollonian who looked uncomfortable was Lucy. She sat next to a girl of a similar age, and though the zöpüta kept trying to engage her in conversation, she gave only single-word answers before turning back to her bowl.

Jack assumed the meal would be the end of the evening, but he was completely wrong. Once the last morsels of meat had been scraped off the bones and the vegetables had been devoured entirely, the remnants were cleared away. People started getting to their feet, and Jack followed, not entirely sure what he was meant to be doing. Then, shakily at first but with growing confidence, a drumbeat rose. Another followed at a slightly different rhythm and another, and then came the rattling of some other percussion instrument.

The zöpüta began to shuffle, a little awkwardly to begin with, but with growing confidence. Several broke out into the middle of the circle, tossing their heads back and jumping from one foot to the other. As the beat continued, the group joined in the communal dance.

Jack remained where he was. The man to Jack's right had been pulled in by a friend.

The old woman squinted at Jack. “Well, if you're not going, I am.” And she jigged creakily from foot to foot into the crowd.

He looked around for the other Apollonians. Many of them had joined in, though a small group had collected around Charles, either to keep him company or as an excuse not to dance. Jack made his way over.

Hakim shimmied past, accompanied by the emissary from earlier in the day. “I knew the Cult didn't have complete control, but I was
not
expecting this!”

“We have a strong tradition of underground music,” the emissary replied over the beat. “Of course, our instruments were destroyed, but we managed to cobble some imitations together this afternoon.”

“Very impressive!”

“Not a dancer then, Jack?” Charles smirked, tapping the rhythm on the arm of his wheelchair. “You should make the most of it. I'd be out there if I could.”

Jack smiled sheepishly and took up a token foot tapping.

Adâ was part of the nondancing group, her face reflecting the intermittent firelight as bodies swooped in front of the flames. She wasn't smiling or even moving at all to the rhythm. With an odd stab of reminiscence, Jack thought of the first time he had met her. She had been extremely tense then, concerned about Sardâr's well-being, and that had manifested itself as cold impatience. He got a sense of the same tension now.

“How's Sardâr?” he ventured, making sure only she could hear him.

Adâ exhaled slowly. “He's… sleeping. That fight with the Emperor took its toll badly, on top of the other recent injuries.”

“But he's going to get better, isn't—?”

Ruth burst out of the rippling circle, her face flushed. “Aren't you joining in?” she addressed Jack, panting.

He glanced distractedly at Adâ, but she shook her head. “I don't dance,” he said.

“What do you mean you
don't dance?”
Ruth tugged at his wrist, and his resistance gave way. She pulled him into the midst of the crowd and began to move her body with the beat.

Jack stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He was very conscious of being the only person in the entire crowd not dancing.

“Come on.” Ruth grinned. “If you really can't, I'll show you how.”

She placed her hands on his hips and pulled him closer, rolling him in time with her own motion. He moved his hands to her waist, and they drew nearer still. The flames reflected concave in her eyes. Her breath was warm on his cheek. Then they were kissing.

“I thought so,” Vince called, moving past them with his arms around a zöpütan woman.

Jack and Ruth both laughed, a little abashed.

“No, by all means, carry on,” Vince added and disappeared into the mesh of people.

The next few days were hard but rewarding work. After everything from the celebration night had been cleared away, the zöpütan council reconvened and several hours later came out with a resolution. They were going to establish a community on this new world, naming it Nduino after the revolutionary cell for which Ruth's parents and many others had laid down their lives. They were going to hold a series of further meetings to draw up a charter of laws so that they could live in greatest possible harmony with each other and this new environment. In the meantime, they would begin extending the shelters in the most sustainable way possible.

The Apollonians found themselves in an odd position. For the first time since their foundation, they had no enemy to fight, no cataclysm to prevent or plan for, no definite purpose to fulfill. It seemed natural that they should, for the time being, help build up Nduino. With Charles acting as architect, they all pitched in collecting materials, crafting them and meshing them together, putting up canopies and constructing rudimentary huts. It was tiring, and in the superheated middle of the day they took prolonged breaks under one of the canopies. However, with every new structure erected came a growing sense of progress.

There was only one thing that marred their time there. All of the refugees, however shakily and sporadically, were getting gradually better. The same could not be said for Sardâr. The elf had been lapsing in and out of consciousness their entire time on Nduino, and Adâ had attended him almost constantly. Apparently feverish, he'd been moved aboard to rest in the cool environment of
The Golden Turtle.

The others had offered to keep vigil, but Adâ remained resolute. She said he was her responsibility and the others should assist the zöpütan in building their community. Jack had seen nothing of Sardâr since he'd been moved inside and very little of Adâ. Whenever she climbed down the side of the ship or made a run for water, she looked increasingly worn down.

To a lesser extent, this also affected Hakim. Whilst he was sure to keep up an optimistic front as the de facto leader of the Apollonians, Hakim was sinking, and it was increasingly apparent to Jack in moments of inaction. When Hakim got away from the work periodically to drop down the hatch of the ship, he always returned more restrained than before.

A group had just erected another miniature shelter when Jack caught sight of Adâ emerging from the ship. Hakim stood next to Jack, looking in the same direction.

“They seem really close.”

Hakim smiled slightly. “They always were. I've never seen a couple quite like those two.”

“How long have they been together?”

“Years and years. They went to school together, to university. That's where I met both of them. I've never known either of them to be with anyone else. They both had successful careers, one as a teacher, one as a lawyer, but they've never parted…” He trailed off.

Jack had an uncomfortable feeling that Hakim had been about to say,
Until now.
“He's not doing well, is he?”

Hakim took a moment to reply. “No, he's not.”

“Why's he been affected so much worse than the others?” Jack pressed, hoping he wasn't sounding too insensitive.

“That's the problem—we don't know exactly what's wrong with him. He was weak already, from all the events in Thorin Salr and Albion, and the duel with the Emperor seems to have tipped him over the edge. The others injured may have been tortured or caught in the wreckage, but none of them had to face off with possibly the most powerful alchemist of our era. And then there's the matter I spoke about at the meeting. Using a Shard for too long means you become accustomed to it: the power becomes natural to you. When it's gone, your idea of your limits is… warped.”

Jack didn't reply. His gaze followed Adâ, who had sunk to crouch in the shadow of the ship.

“Should we go and talk to her?”

“I've tried. So have Charles and Vince and others too. There's nothing any of us can say that will make the situation any better. It's a waiting game now.”

Later that day, Jack finally got the chance to see Sardâr. Adâ had appeared at his side as he had been tying some leaves together and told him that Sardâr wanted to speak to him. Hurriedly leaving what he was doing, he followed her into the ship and down one of the corridors. She slid open a cabin door and muttered a few words, then stood aside to let him in, closing the door behind her.

The room was dimly lit, the amber glow from the lamp shivering slightly against the opposite wall. It took a moment for Jack to realize that the lump of shadows on the bed was Sardâr—his only movement was the hint of his chest rising and falling.

“Come closer, Jack.” His voice was barely audible, rasping like the rustle of leafless branches.

Jack moved up to the bed. He was about to ask “Are you alright?” but the sight he was met with answered the question all too clearly for him. He had never seen anyone look so weak. The elf's face seemed to have collapsed on itself, the lamplight shadowing the deep recesses of cheeks and eye sockets. His hair had thinned and greyed, and his hands, laid upon his stomach, looked skeletal. What appeared to be life-support aids only exacerbated the dreary effect. Sardâr looked as if he was caught in a cradle of wires, weaving over and between the blankets and puncturing his skin. Jack involuntarily raised his hand to his mouth, then forcibly lowered it. He had no idea what to say.

Sardâr gathered his energy, then spoke again. “There's something I need to tell you.”

“Can't this wait until you're better?”

The elf smiled sadly. “I'm not sure that's going to happen. This can't wait.”

Jack paused, then nodded.

“Good. Now take off your language ring.”

Puzzled, Jack struggled to pull the ring off his finger. It had been on for so long that it left a red welt against his knuckle. As before, the symbol wasn't lit up.

“Now is there anything different?”

“No,” Jack replied slowly. “Wait. You're speaking your language, aren't you? How can I understand you?”

Sardâr closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. “Just as I thought. It hasn't worked in a while, has it?”

Jack thought for a moment. “No, I suppose not. Dannie pointed it out to me the other day, but even before then… What does it mean?”

Sardâr didn't reply, his eyes still closed.

“Sardâr,
what does it mean?”

The elf's next words were so faint that Jack had to lean in until he could feel the breath on his cheek.

“It means that you are the Übermensch.”

Sardâr died the following day.

Looking back on it, Jack remembered thinking there should have been a thunderstorm or some other seismic event. There wasn't. There was just Adâ, emerging from the ship looking wrecked, the first Apollonians halting their activities, realizing what had happened, clustering about her, followed by more and more people. Jack stayed out of it, feeling like a pebble as people streamed by. Her sobs were muffled by the amassed bodies.