CHAPTER 35
~Date Unknown~
The sound of the final gate opening was deafening, the grind of the rust-choked gears producing a muscular noise that reverberated in Storyteller's ears. The space beyond was filled with a blackness that seemed beyond nature. Somewhere on the other side of that wall of shadows was Middle Market's inner ward, the seat of the Fireproof Empress, the heart of her power. Storyteller could see none of that - only a collection of hazy, spectral shapes that defied his ability to comprehend them. So consumed was he by the darkness that he barely noticed the hand on his shoulder, spurring him onwards, beckoning him to advance.
"Why do you wait?" said Lieren, giving him a gentle shove.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand this at all," said Storyteller. "Have I broken some law, some rule? I merely wish to know."
"No more questions," said Lieren. "Huangdi will tell you what you need."
"Could you at least tell me what waits beyond these doors?"
Lieren didn't speak a word in response, instead seizing Storyteller by the arm and jerking him through the gate. A moment later, there was a thunderous noise as the gate slammed shut behind them, plunging them into the heart of the shadows with only a single point of light in the far distance to provide guidance. All Storyteller could make out in the darkness was Lieren - more a sense of his presence, a figure standing to his side and guiding him through unseen halls. Lieren was hardly bothered by the lack of light, and Storyteller did his best to keep pace.
As Storyteller's eyes adjusted, he could make out more details of the space around him and before him. The hall was a massive one, far too large for the area's sole occupant and stretching so far into the distance that Storyteller took it for some manner of illusion. Every surface - walls, floor, even the ceiling - was covered with murals or carvings, but until the ones in the other wards there were strange, almost mystical images. There were dragons in flight, scarring themselves with their claws and bleeding dense mist that settled into the valleys below. There were armies of women clad in brilliant red garments, some holding rifles aloft, others swinging massive scrolls unfurled to the skies. There were great ancient trees, their branches heavy with deep purple apples, masked monkey-like creatures darting through the branches to snatch them. Storyteller wished to pause and study them, but even a moment's hesitation brought a rebuke from Lieren.
After one break too many, Lieren grabbed Storyteller by the arm and yanked him forward, nearly pulling him to the ground. "Move, baigui. We do not have time."
"Why are you so incensed?" said Storyteller. "Surely I have done nothing to harm any of you?"
"Yes you have," said Lieren. "Now I know you, yes, now I know your name. Zhengfu Zhe marks you. You are his prize! You will bring war to our city!"
"Is this why Orchid summoned me? She is afraid?"
"Huangdi fears no man. She is a slayer of beasts like Zhengfu Zhe. No, this is my anger. She does not tell me why she wants you." Lieren stopped at a narrow passage in the hallway, the source of the light. "Here. Go in."
Lieren delivered one final shove and Storyteller stumbled through the passage and into the dazzling light of the chamber beyond. This room was a great cylinder, the ceiling brushing against the sky. Whatever tiny electric sun was illuminating this room was suspended somewhere above, shining with a steady, clean light. An old spiral staircase ran around the edge of the room, terminating at a nook halfway up the chamber. The place was curiously empty, no one apparently present save Lieren who stood just inside the doorway, watching Storyteller's every move. The room itself was opulent by Storyteller's standards, but it seemed that it saw little use. There were tables and chairs enough to serve a banquet for dozens of people, all of them white from layered cobwebs. The only part that was clean was the wall along the staircase, which - as with the hallways before - was covered in murals. These were less abstract, more like the ones outside, but the story they told was incomplete. Part of the wall was concealed in a moth-eaten curtain - another mural, Storyteller thought, perhaps unfinished.
Storyteller mounted the stairs, not climbing them but merely drawing nearer the walls to study the murals, but there was little time before his thoughts were interrupted by a sound at the top. Orchid appeared at the edge of the nook, staring down at Storyteller, the cold fire in her eyes palpable even at a distance. The crown and robes were gone, replaced by an outfit more conductive to movement - a close-fitting robe, exquisitely made from what could have been genuine silk and embroidered with the mark of the lotus. Her left hand was wrapped tightly around Storyteller's notebook, fingernails digging shallow gouges into the leather binding.
"Who the hell are you?" said Orchid, waving the notebook at Storyteller. "Well? Answer! Who are you?"
"I don't understand," said Storyteller. "I am but a wandering storyteller of no importance, you know this."
"Enough of your games. You will come clean now or I will extract the truth from you and believe me, I will have it." Orchid stomped down the stairs, stopping just above Storyteller. "How do you know who I am? Who told you about me, who fed you these lies, who spreads this slander? Answer!"
Storyteller was dumbstruck, but he forced himself to speak. "I afraid I don't understand. Do you speak of the notebook? It's but a dramatized record of my own memories."
"Bullshit!" Orchid's royal composure fell away, replaced by sheer rage. "How do you know my name? How do you know my father?"
"Your father?" Storyteller paused as he searched his mind. "Of course, I've been blind. You must be Lidia Zh-"
Storyteller was interrupted by the back of Orchid's hand, a blow strong enough to drop him to one knee. "Don't you dare use that name as though you knew me!" she screamed. "Don't you dare speak as thought we have a history, as though you know a goddamn thing about my life!"
"I'm sorry," said Storyteller, holding up a hand to protect himself.
"You're sorry?" Orchid's words were fire, her porcelain flesh turning a fierce crimson. "Don't tell me that, don't you dare, not after what you wrote here, not after what you said about me, about my family!"
"I swear, I have invented nothing!" said Storyteller, grasping blindly for something to steady himself.
"How dare you! You wrote that my father had my fiance killed! You made him out to be a criminal and a murderer!"
"It was only what I heard, I swear! I never meant my words to cause harm, I only wrote those things to deal with my own loss!"
"You want to speak of loss? Do you want to know what I gave up?"
"I know," said Storyteller. "The man in the mural. I understand."
Orchid lifted her hand to strike Storyteller again, but stopped. "How did you spot that?"
"I notice things that others overlook."
Orchid put a hand over her face. "Don't act like you understand. That was just the start of it. You couldn't possibly fathom what I lost."
Orchid lifted the notebook above her head and swung it hard at Storyteller's head. Storyteller flinched at the blow, grabbing the edge of the curtain as he fell backwards, drawing it back by a foot. He could make out a few details of the mural beneath, spotting three incomplete figures on the other side. One was Orchid - or rather Lidia, the woman, not the deity, lacking the divine fire or wings. The second was the man he had seen in the earlier mural cowering beneath the dragon's coils, here standing proudly alongside Lidia. Between then was an infant, a girl, a child of another time.
"I'm sorry," said Storyteller as cowered. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't say that, not again, not one more time. You're sorry? I lost everything on that day, more than a worm like you can fathom. I lost my family, my love, my..." Orchid's free hand curled into a fist before her abdomen as she fought back tears. "Who the hell are you? What's your name?"
"Samuel, ma'am. Samuel Scarborough."
"You wrote yourself into this trash?" Orchid placed a hand against her face. "No...no, I do know that name. Will Scarborough. The trivia contest, that was it. How could I ever forget him? He was like a child, making a scene, acting out, shouting, screaming. And you're the brother? I should have known. Who else would try to cast that buffoon as a hero?"
"He wasn't a buffoon!" said Storyteller, his voice cracking. "He protected me, he even saved my life! I lost everything that day too!"
"You lost nothing," said Orchid. "You lost a dead weight who would have pulled you down your entire life."
"No..." Storyteller pressed his sleeve to his face to dry his skin. "...Don't say that, please don't say that."
"Or maybe you were the dead weight," said Orchid. "Such a pathetic liar. You claim that this is the product of your memories? Then why am I even in this? I was never in Patmos."
"But you were," said Storyteller. "I was there."
"Then you are a bigger imbecile than your brother. I was headed into the country on that day, not leaving it. Look around you. The plane crashed before we touched down in O'Hare, while I was coming in. You couldn't have seen me."
"But I did..." Storyteller ran his fingers through his hair, clutching his scalp. "...I remember it. It had to be..."
"I could have you killed for this insult. By all rights I possess, I should have you strapped to a stake and kindle the pyre with your pages of lies." Orchid tossed the notebook at Storyteller's feet. "But because you are clearly as much of a failure as your brother, I will show you far more mercy than you are owed. You are no longer welcome here. The scout and the girl can stay, but you're gone by daybreak. I see you after that, you will regret it." She gestured to Lieren, still standing just inside the doorway. "Out of my sight."
Lieren did not wait for Storyteller to regain his footing, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him away with such force that it nearly pulled his arm loose. Storyteller only had time to snatch the notebook from the ground before his unplanned departure, cramming it back into his satchel. Then they were moving again, Lieren always at Storyteller's flank, twisting or squeezing his arm in an undisguised attempt to cause pain. The hallway gave way to the gate, and then the middle ward, the murals, and the old apartment buildings that made up the living quarters.
Lieren stopped before one of the buildings, flinging Storyteller to the ground before the main entrance. It had been a respectable if not luxurious apartment once - now it was merely one of many places for the denizens of Middle Market to sleep. The electric bulbs were finally dimming as night closed in, with only a single light visible in the building that rose before Storyteller.
"Sam!" Pathfinder dashed from the building, kneeling to help Storyteller back to his feet. "What did you people do to him?"
"By dawn, he leaves." Lieren moved in close to Storyteller. "You hear me, dog? I find you here, I will cut out your tongue!"
"That's enough!" Pathfinder wrapped her arm around Storyteller and walked him into the building. "Don't tell me that you just got kicked out of another city? What happened?"
"I must depart immediately," said Storyteller. "There is no time."
"Not yet. Come on."
Pathfinder guided Storyteller back into the building, down a shadow-traced hallway and into a small room at the back of the building. The decor was utilitarian but comfortable - a bed with a threadbare comforter, a few chairs, a small desk and a single light bulb, the controls wired into a panel somewhere outside of the room. Archivist reclined on the bed, her bandaged leg elevated by a pile of straw, a half-burned textbook resting on her chest.
Archivist broke into a smile as Storyteller entered the room. "You're back! This place is amazing., isn't it? Look, they have books here too! Oh, I wish I could walk around and see more. Hey, when I can walk again, will you show me around?" Archivist's smile faded. "Is something wrong? What's wrong?"
"I have to be gone by morning," said Storyteller. "Now might be a good time to make our goodbyes."
"I don't understand," said Archivist. "What happened? Why do you have to leave?"
"Something Orchid saw in my notebook upset her. She thinks I'm a liar. She..." Storyteller turned his face away. "...No, her assessment is true. I am a liar."
"Don't take what she says so personally," said Pathfinder. "Look, give her a few hours to cool down. I don't think you're a liar."
"Then you're a fool!" Storyteller slammed his hand against the wall. "It's all bullshit. Everything I've said, everything I am. It's all a lie."
"What are you talking about?" said Archivist.
Storyteller pressed his face to the wall, sheltering himself from the judging eyes behind him. "I couldn't even admit it to myself until now...that's why I never figured it out, because I didn't want to. It was all another story, I talked myself into believing it."
"You're talking nonsense," said Pathfinder. "Look at me. What did Orchid say?"
"It was the kids...the children in the shelter, that's how it started," said Storyteller. "They lost everything, they even lost their identities. They had...they had so many questions about the world that they'd barely had a chance to explore. So I started to tell them stories, stories based on things I heard, about people I'd met. But that's all they were, just stories, not real life. How many years did I do it? I just...after all that time, after telling those tales hundreds of times, I believed them myself."
"But that doesn't make any sense," said Pathfinder. "You had to know something. Your brother told you-"
"He was the source," said Storyteller, wiping tears from his eyes. "Everything I knew came from him, I believed him - why wouldn't I? But I didn't see it all, I must have started filling the gaps with rumors and fiction, and...oh God, how much of it really happened? What's even real?"
"Sam, I'm sorry." Pathfinder rested her hand on Storyteller's shoulder. "What now?"
"I'm going on to Scrapland," said Storyteller. "Please keep an eye on Archivist until she can walk."
"You're going by yourself?" said Pathfinder. "You don't even have any supplies!"
"I'll be fine." Storyteller looked down at Archivist. "I'm sorry I couldn't take you the whole way."
"That's okay. Hey, you should take these." Archivist shoved the backpack towards Storyteller. "The discs, remember? I know you'll find a computation machine out there. When you do, you'll come back and get me, right?"
"Of course I will." Storyteller shouldered the backpack. "...There's no point in wasting time. It's as fine a time as any to go."
"Like hell you are!" Pathfinder jumped in front of Storyteller. "Don't you get it? If you go there alone, you'll die. The raiders there are all heartless killers, and there are lots of them, and they're coordinated! Even a scout wouldn't have a chance alone - Wayfinder didn't even manage it! Not to mention Conqueror is still after you! What you're doing is suicide."
"The risk doesn't matter. I've defined my life by a lie. If I want redemption, I need to learn the truth." Storyteller laughed bitterly. "I've owed a debt to Thanatos since I escaped from Pinnacle and the desert. If my fate is to repay that debt on the end of a raider's knife, so be it."
"What about me?" said Pathfinder. "I lost you to the wastes once. I'm not doing it again."
"You don't need a wretch like me."
"Don't talk like that!" Pathfinder embraced Storyteller, whispering into his ear. "All those years in the wastes, I lost part of myself, an important part. I was numb until I met you. I know you don't believe this now, but you have something that everyone else threw away years ago. You can't let that die."
Storyteller pushed Pathfinder away. "You don't need me. You lost yourself in a moment, fell in love with a phantom. Nothing more. Goodbye."
Storyteller walked out of the building, the hazy twilight greeting him. The sun would rise in a few hours over what he was sure would be his last day.