CHAPTER 31
~Date Unknown~
The long autumn crept towards the outer edge of winter as Pathfinder's exploratory group worked its way north. Under her leadership, they traveled an eclectic route, often departing the guidestone-marked path in favor of a detour through a ruined town or a high patch of brush. It slowed their process considerably, but Pathfinder insisted it was necessary - the raiders in the area had acquired an inexplicable knowledge of scouting techniques, and they couldn't take chances. As difficult as it was, there seemed to be some truth in what she said, as they encountered no danger on the first stretch of their journey. For her part, Archivist put up an admirable effort, keeping to Pathfinder's brisk pace without complaint, ignoring her pain and exhaustion and learning to keep down whatever food they found on the trail. With each morning she found new strength, and the group was able to move a bit farther and faster than they had the day before.
Then came the day, after a solid week of slow advancement through rugged terrain, that Scrapland at last revealed itself. The rising sun unveiled the silhouette of the ruin, the skyline of the great graveyard that had once been a metropolis. Pathfinder, without explaining her rationale, slowed her relentless pace and ceased the constant detours, allowing the group to travel over the easiest and most direct route. This led them through an old ruined town, little more than a footprint that had long since stripped of anything of worth. Pathfinder was at ease here, and for the first time on their journey she allowed herself the opportunity to converse with Storyteller.
"Middle Market's around here somewhere. The raiders know enough to stay away, so we're safe for now." Pathfinder slung her walking stick over her shoulder. "So what did you see in Pinnacle, exactly?"
"Something I can't explain." Storyteller sighed and hung his head. "Tell me, what do you remember of the world that was? I remember you mentioning your family, but was there anything else of note?"
Pathfinder paused for a moment. "Our house. That's what I remember. My mom and dad. One day, dad got a call from someone, and then he was talking about danger and how we needed to be safe. They put me into some kind of shelter after that. That's about it, really. Just faces and voices and fragments of this and that."
"You were just a child, so you remembered what a child would." Storyteller pulled out his notebook, resting it in his hands. "But I was there, at the heart of the beast. The source of the flame that consumed it all. And yet...What I saw in that place didn't fit. What I saw made me out to be a liar."
"Is that such a big deal? No one's memories are perfect." Pathfinder glared off into the distance. "Tell me, what do you remember? Please, share it with me."
"I remember..." Storyteller closed his eyes, inviting the ghosts back into his head. "...My town. My school. Main street. The hill outside of town. I remember when it all changed, when the place I knew became alien to me. I remember being watched. I remember the lies they told us, the anger I saw in everyone's eyes when it came out." He tightened his grip on the notebook, twisting it in his hands. "I remember how they treated my brother. I remember how he cared for me when our father died. I remember how he saved my life." He eyes were moist when he opened them. "Oh, look at me. I've lost my composure."
Archivist tugged at Pathfinder's arm. "Okay, I don't mean to be a pain, but do you remember the old world too?"
"A bit," said Pathfinder. "Like I said, I was a very little girl then."
"Did you have a name?" said Archivist.
Pathfinder smiled coyly. "Rebecca. That's what they called me."
"Rebecca..." Storyteller studied Pathfinder's face. "I remember being introduced to a young girl with a name similar to that. It couldn't have been you, though. That girl surely perished in the disaster. Tell me, did your parents ever take you to a town called Patmos?"
"I can't remember anything like that," said Pathfinder. "What about you? What was your name? I guess it's possible I might recognize it."
"Samuel. Samuel Scarborough."
"Scarborough...Maybe? I just don't know, I might have heard that name once. It was so long ago. Just fragments now." Pathfinder took a deep breath. "We should keep moving. Standing around in the open isn't smart."
"I can't wait to get to Middle Market," said Archivist, walking backwards as she spoke. "It's weird, I've lived alone for so many years, but now I just like having people around. It's great! I don't have to talk to myself anymore! And they're all so different, aren't they? What are the people like there?"
"Different than the ones you're used to dealing with, definitely," said Pathfinder. "They have their own culture, a holdover from the old world. They have their own language, too, and some of them don't speak ours. If we get into trouble, let me deal with it."
"Of course," said Archivist. "That's the right thing to do. You wouldn't expect me-"
Suddenly, Archivist disappeared in a cloud of splinters, leaving barely enough time to scream. Pathfinder bolted to the space where Archivist had stood, Storyteller following close behind. There was a gap there, one bridged by a few rotten-through planks laying just at the edge of a steep incline - one of which had given way at an unfortunate time. Archivist was just visible at the bottom of the incline, laying in a ball a few feet out.
Storyteller vaulted over the edge, sliding down the incline and reaching Archivist in a few seconds. "Are you all right? What has happened?"
Archivist winced and clutched her knee. "I twisted it. It hurts so bad."
Pathfinder hit the ground next to Storyteller. "How is she? Can she walk?"
"I spent some time traveling with an itinerant doctor. Maybe I can figure out what's wrong." Storyteller crouched down next to Archivist, hands floating above her injured leg. "May I take a look?"
"Okay," squeaked Archivist, drawing back her hands.
"Let me see." Storyteller rested his hands below the girl's knee, the flesh already swelling at the joint. "It doesn't look broken."
As Storyteller's fingers came into contact with Archivist's knee, she let out a cry of pain and pulled back, hands wrapped over the joint. "No! It hurts!"
"I see." Storyteller returned to his feet. "Sorry. We need to take her to a place where she can get proper care. You mentioned that Middle Market is in this area. How far?"
"Close, within a mile I'd say." Pathfinder leaned over Archivist, hands resting on her knees. "What do you say? Can you walk at all? What if Storyteller helps out?"
"I don't know, maybe? Help me up." Archivist leaned heavily on Storyteller, who helped her to her feet. "Okay, I think I can walk a little."
"Can you walk for a mile?" said Storyteller. "I can see the pain in your eyes from here."
"No choice, we've got to get there. It's closer than the last settlement, that's for sure." Pathfinder scanned the horizon - for the first time she seemed disoriented, taken aback by the sudden change in her plan. "Oh, hell...not my best showing today."
"Surely you're not lost?" said Storyteller.
"Not exactly," said Pathfinder. "The Great Lotus traders put up false markers and change their routes, makes it hard to find the place. It's around here, but I might have to leave you two for a few minutes to find the exact location. You okay with that?"
Then there were sounds from the ridge above the group, dark blotches moving against the fading light. Storyteller barely had time to take stock when he noticed more movement, this time to their flank. There was no immediate attack - the assailants took up positions among the rocks surrounding the trio, hiding for a moment and then bolting forward again. Any escape was fully cut off - they were surrounded on all sides, at the whim of whatever group of bandits had chosen to target them.
"Damn it, of all times..." Pathfinder covertly nudged Storyteller. "You have a knife, right? I know you don't want to fight, but we need to at least look like a threat."
"The knife was taken from me," said Storyteller. "I have nothing."
"Damn it." Pathfinder grabbed her walking stick firmly in both hands, brandishing the heavy end before her. "We'll have to try and run. Wait until you see a break, then grab the girl and get out."
Pathfinder scarcely had time to take a breath when the men stormed the group, swooping down onto them with terrifying speed. They were visible now - half a dozen at least, all well-armed with weapons drawn and ready. Pathfinder, dazzled by the fast assault, was barely able to put up a fight at all. One of the men was upon her in seconds, knocking the walking stick clear, dropping her to the ground with a kick to the shin and pressing the flat of a machete against her shoulder. Storyteller could only stare in awe, oblivious to the man at his own flank. There was a blow between his shoulder blades and he was on the ground beneath a heavy boot. Archivist, now lacking support, fell to the ground with a whimper as more men surrounded them.
Storyteller could see little from his position, but he could hear barked orders: "Ni shi shei? Ni cong nali?"
Archivist screamed and curled into a ball in the dirt. "Augh! We can't understand you! You can't kill us just for not understanding you!"
"Damn it, we're not raiders," said Pathfinder. "We're here to see Fanghuo. Can anyone understand me?"
"Shenme?" The men glanced back and forth at each other. "Nimen ting de dong ma?"
"Tingzhi." The men stepped back, lowering their weapons while still keeping all eyes on the three intruders. Another figure approached, gesturing for the others to hold their ground. He was a lean, dusky man with short dark hair, small in stature but covered in ropey muscle. His garb was similar to that of the redeemers, topped with a short cape embroidered with a large flower - a symbol not familiar to Storyteller, who had previously assumed that he had a reasonable knowledge of trading companies. He holstered a small revolver as he approached, tucking it into his belt alongside a large knife. "Outsider, how do you know this name?"
"I'm a scout, I've been in the Market before," said Pathfinder.
"Most of your people know our empress by another name," said the man.
"I've met her. I once made a personal delivery to Middle Market and your people introduced her as Fanghuo Huangdi. Now, we have an injured woman here and we would appreciate some aid." Pathfinder peered down at her feet. "May I pick up my stick?"
The man glared down at her, his iron features displaying little emotion. "You are called?"
"Pathfinder."
"I see." The man crossed to Storyteller, crouching next to him, letting his stern eyes scan the prone man's face. "And this man?"
"Storyteller, sir." Storyteller tried not to tremble. "I assure you, I am no threat to anyone."
"Gushiren? Bu keneng..." The men returned to his feet. "I am called Lieren. You say that the girl is injured?"
"She can't walk much," said Pathfinder.
"Very well." Lieren took a step back, then signaled for one of his men. They spoke for a moment, then Lieren turned back to Pathfinder. "We will take you to Middle Market and you will see Huangdi. If you lie, then you will burn."
Pathfinder picked up her stick from the ground. "Come on, let's get moving."
"What's happening?" said Storyteller. "I don't understand."
"We're heading to Middle Market, and that's all you need to know," said Pathfinder. "Now don't speak, just walk."
Storyteller, not eager to return to his place beneath the foot of a hostile guard, meekly complied, and the group resumed its trek in silence. They were joined by an armed retinue that flanked and surrounded them, Lieren at the front casting glances back as though he still didn't fully trust his captives. Archivist kept up as best as she could, but the pace was relentless and Storyteller was forced to carry her part of the way. Finally, with the light growing dim as the sun fell beneath the towering ruin, they neared a settlement - if, indeed, such a term could be used to describe a place so developed. There were signs of construction here, visible plainly even from outside of the city's high walls. A single narrow passage, barely wide enough to accommodate two men walking shoulder-to-shoulder, provided the only passage into the bastion and through to the settlement.
"We are here." Lieren dug into a nearby pile of scrap, pulling out a rickety but still usable wheelchair. "For the injured woman."
"How could you know that an injured person would arrive at your gates?" said Storyteller.
"Huangdi prepares for all things," said Lieren. "We must go."
Storyteller helped Archivist into the chair, and the group proceeded through the gates of the city. The passage was dim - Storyteller could see little but the man ahead of him and the polished walls to either side, walls that amplified the sound of footsteps and the rusty creak of the wheelchair into a deafening cacophony. His thoughts drifted back to Pinnacle, his escape - if things went badly here, there would likely be no similar opportunity, no flight against all odds through such a tiny egress. Pathfinder, at least, did not appear tense at all, marching confidently in step with Lieren and the guards.
Gradually the darkness of the narrow corridor gave way to an city square, the streets filled with an unexpected illumination. As Storyteller's eyes adjusted, he saw before him a place truly unlike any that he had seen since his childhood in the world that was. The light came not from torchlight but from electric lights, strings of bare bulbs strung high over the scene and powered by some unknown source. It was as bright as day and, despite the late hour, there was ample activity. The footpaths were lined with stalls selling everything imaginable - commonplace goods food and scrap material, but also books, artwork, furniture, and exotic products that Storyteller had dared not imagine could still exist. Most of these things were salvage, but there were also plenty of hand-crafted goods for sale, created in the workshops just visible in back of the stalls. At the center of it all was a massive stone obelisk, no less than thirty feet in height, its surface completely blank.
Archivist looked about in awe. "You have electricity here."
"We have many things." Lieren stepped towards a guarded gate leading deeper into the city. "I must consult with Huangdi. You will wait here until I return." He vanished through the gate, leaving the rest of the group to wait.
Storyteller surveyed the square. "Such a place...I hadn't imagined that anything like this might be in the wastes."
"Few do," said Pathfinder. "You're standing in the home of Great Lotus company, the biggest trading concern in the known wastes."
"I've not heard of this company," said Storyteller.
"That's all in the plan," said Pathfinder. "They send traders and envoys to Nexus on occasion, but the rest of the time they keep a low profile."
"So you know the person who runs this place?" said Archivist.
"Everyone knows her. The question is if she remembers me." Pathfinder took a seat on a set of stairs. "Most of the world...well, the people who know about Middle Market call her Orchid, but the people around here have a different name."
"Fanghuo?" said Archivist. "What kind of title is that, anyway?"
"It means 'fireproof' in their language," said Pathfinder. "The story is that Orchid was in an airplane when the disaster hit. The plane goes down, killing everyone on board - except Orchid, who emerges totally unscathed - no burns, no broken bones, nothing. I don't buy it, but they take it as truth around here. They worship her, she's more like some kind of goddess than a trader. And every year, a few more people find their way here, all of them looking for a place where their language and culture are better understood."
"I've heard of enclaves like that in the wastes. I've just never seen one." Storyteller gazed down the well-lit street. "And I can't imagine that many of them are this spectacular."
"The Fireproof one brought the gift of cold flame," said Pathfinder. "At least, that the way the people around here see it. Now, the city's split into three wards. This is the outer ward, where business takes place. The middle ward is only opened up for special visitors, and the inner ward...that's Orchid's place. Couldn't tell you anything about it because it's not for our kind."
The gates swung open, and Lieren emerged. "Huangdi has made a decision. You may stay here. She wishes to speak with the scout and Gushiren." He pointed to Storyteller. "We will take the girl to the living quarters for rest."
"She wants to talk to both of us?" said Pathfinder.
Lieren swung back to the gate. "Move quick, do not wait."
The guards wheeled Archivist toward a residential section, and Pathfinder and Storyteller shuffled through the gate. "This is unusual," said Pathfinder. "She shouldn't need to talk to you."
"Is this perhaps a positive type of unusual, or should I worry?" said Storyteller.
"I don't know." Pathfinder took a deep breath. "But you should be very careful. The people here worship this woman, remember. And Orchid herself is...not always so pleasant to deal with. Just watch what you say and do."
The gates to the middle ward were broader than the entrance, the guard heavier, their eyes filled with suspicion as they tracked the outsiders. This area was more organized than the outer ward, with buildings reconstructed with both tremendous skill and a remarkable eye for detail. This place was still crowded, but it was not the barely restrained anarchy of the markets they had just left but the peaceful transit of a neighborhood at night. In many ways, it reminded Storyteller of his old neighborhood, with the walkways cast in the secondhand glow coming from the windows and cracked-open doors. Here, the Great Lotus was impossible to miss, with the symbol emblazoned everywhere - murals, banners, carvings, etchings - but there were other symbols as well, figures that Storyteller dimly recalled from some presentation on world cultures a lifetime ago. At the heart of the street was a dais, some ten feet high, constructed from the wrecked fuselage of a jumbo jet. Somewhere above the dais was another building with another gate, this one with no windows and only a single massive gate granting entrance.
The gate made a grinding sound as it slid open, and immediately all eyes on the street fell on the dais. A figure appeared above him, slowly emerging into the strobing twilight. She was but a silhouette, all in shadow from the electric lights behind. Storyteller could sense a change in the very atmosphere, a sensation he had not known since his arrival in Pinnacle. It was not just him - all around, people fell to their knees and cast their eyes penitently to the ground.
"Follow me." Lieren led the pair to an unseen ramp leading to the top of the dais. "You stand before Fanghuo Huangdi. Offer your respect."
The lights before him dimmed, granting Storyteller his first true look at this figure. She was an older woman, Storyteller's elder by a significant gap, though lacking the wear and age of the wasteland. Her icy eyes were framed by a river of jet-black hair, broken by strands of silver, leading to her waist. She wore a long robe, finer than any he had seen since the disaster, embroidered with the flowers that symbolized her trading group. Perched atop her head was a crown painstakingly wrought from an aquamarine stone that Storyteller could not identify, adorned with symbols of birds and dragons. She possessed a certain cold beauty, but with a hint of cruelty that made her more terrifying than alluring.
She scrutinized Pathfinder for several seconds before speaking. "You are a trail scout, correct?"
"That's right, Orchid," said Pathfinder. "We met before. I delivered a parcel from Nexus."
"I don't recall you, but it is acceptable for you to be here," said Orchid. "I understand that you have an injured woman in your party. We will care for her until she can walk again. After that, her destination is her own to make."
"Thank you," said Pathfinder.
Orchid turned her gaze to Storyteller. "And this one?"
Storyteller withered before her stare, but maintained the strength to answer. "I am known as Storyteller, ma'am. I have come in search of answers."
"Storyteller..." Orchid fell silent, her eyes drifting to his satchel. "What have you brought into my city?"
"Merely my personal belongings," said Storyteller. "Surely, there is nothing that would be of value to a woman of your obvious power."
"I prefer to make those judgments myself," said Orchid. "Open the bag and pour the contents onto the ground."
Storyteller did as he was asked, spilling his belongings onto the floor in front of Orchid. "As you can see, I am no threat to anyone. I am merely a traveler, and I have every intention of departing once we are finished here."
"The notebook." Orchid extended an open hand. "Present it to me."
Storyteller grasped the notebook in both hands. "Please don't take this. I've sacrificed much to keep it safe."
Orchid's expression did not change. "Present it to me."
Lieren appeared at Storyteller's shoulder. "Do as Huangdi asks."
Storyteller took several deep breaths before resting the notebook in Orchid's hand, willing himself to turn it loose. "Please be careful with it."
Orchid flipped open the notebook and traced along the text with one finger. "Yes...I have heard about Gushiren and his notebook. The traders speak of this as though it were magical, a rare treasure. They also speak of its owner, who offered his life that the notebook not be damaged."
"There is some truth to this, yes," said Storyteller.
"Interesting," said Orchid, continuing to flip through the notebook. "This doesn't look like a journal. A work of fiction?"
"Not as such," said Storyteller, staring tensely at his notebook. "It's an account of the world as it was, dramatized for effect. I've been working on it for years. Perhaps you can understand its value to me."
"Yes, I can." Orchid flipped the notebook shut. "You'll get it back once I've had a chance to read it."
"Well, I had not planned to stay very long," said Storyteller. "I don't think anyone could read it so quickly."
"I can." Orchid rotated back to the inner gate. "They're your business, Lieren."
Lieren walked down the ramp, gesturing for Storyteller and Pathfinder to follow. "We go to the living quarters."
Pathfinder grabbed Storyteller by the arm. "Don't worry. You'll get it back, I promise."
"That's not what worries me," said Storyteller. "I don't know, something here haunts me."
"Well, maybe we can put our heads together, narrow it down," said Pathfinder. "After we check on Archivist, I'll show you around the city. There's plenty to learn here. You'll enjoy it."
"I can only hope," said Storyteller. "Maybe the ghosts bring good news this time."