The last house at the end of the cul-de-sac had almost been swamped by vegetation from its own garden which had been untended for years. Trees from the backdrop of woods were slowly reclaiming the land that had once been cleared for lawns and ornamental beds, advancing the forest in a tide of luxuriant growth, with fresh saplings shooting up closer and closer to the house's moss encrusted walls.
She could just make out the bottom of the force field now, suspended twenty metres from the ground. From her angle it looked as though the spiky treetops were holding it up. Cressida had said the gap was guarded, though not how. Araminta had no intention of finding out; she certainly couldn't see any Ellezelin capsules, not even using her nightsight function. Unfortunately, her Advancer heritage wasn't up to supplying her with infrared. Lack of knowing what was lurking among the trees made her very conscious of what could be watching her with enriched senses, laughing quietly as she blundered about.
Crumbling enzyme-bonded concrete beneath her feet gave way to grass and the wide indigo fans of whiplit ferns. Araminta pushed her way forward into the dark spaces between the dapol trees. There were no thoughts impinging on the local gaiafield, no human ones anyway. The gentle thoughts of the Silfen Motherholm were somehow stronger. More so in one direction. She turned towards it, and pushed sharp branches out of her way. Dense whiplit fronds pressed against her legs, their curly strands damp from the night, making progress difficult.
She caught a glimpse of blue and red laser fans sweeping through the tangle of trees and froze. She was ail-too familiar with the strobes on Ellezelin support capsules by now. This one was just outside the force field, flying slowly along a shallow curve. Some patrol scanning for citizens seeking escape from the invasion.
The minds of the crew and paramilitary squad inside emitted a dull glow of thoughts into the gaiafield. All of them were tired, emotionally and physically, they hated Colwyn City and its resentful inhabitants.
Araminta kept still until the capsule had glided away. She was close to the force field now, maybe just a couple of hundred yards away, but the trees must have shielded her from the capsule's sensors. Her legs were soaking from the moisture on the whiplit fronds. Hands and cheeks had been scratched by dead twigs. And she was beginning to feel somewhat foolish floundering round in a forest at night, looking for a path that was actually some kind of alien wormhole which she was supposed to be able to sense because her ancestor was a friend of elves and the magic passed through the female bloodline.
'Makes perfect sense to me, she muttered to herself. I wonder what the me of a week ago would make of all this?
Thankfully, she stumbled out into a narrow animal track, and started along it. The fronds didn't accost her so much, though she still had to ward off the branches.
Dear Ozzie, was it really only a week ago I was living a perfectly ordinary life? And I haven't called Bovey for days. He must be worried sick. Cressida will be worried too, and cross that I haven't confirmed my ticket offplanet.
The trees were spaced further apart now, the path easier to perceive. She couldn't tell if that was because of a weak dawn light starting to rise, or if her mind was illuminating the compressed trail of loamy soil that had borne so many feet before hers. But she did know she was walking the right way, a knowledge that came in the form of cold relief. That newfound buoyancy faltered after only a few yards as she instinctively accepted the path was truly taking her away from her homeworld.
I'm being forced out, she thought bitterly. I haven't even said goodbye to all the people I love. Not that there are many of them, but I should be allowed that. Even though she was more confident about using the gaiafield, she still didn't dare access the unisphere. That would be the first thing she would have to fix when she reached whatever world she was heading for. Araminta wanted to know who the hell Oscar Monroe was, and why he would help her. If he was telling the truth about working for ANA, and ANA wanted her to be free, there might be hope yet.
It was definitely getting lighter, even though Araminta knew it was still a couple of hours before dawn. She didn't recognize most of the trees she was walking through now, either, the old familiar dapol trees were becoming few and far between. The newcomers were taller and thinner, with slimmer branches and silver-green leaves. Strange lavender star-flowers peeped up through the wiry yellow-tinged grass as the ground started to tip down. There was no sight of the force field through the upper branches of the new trees. And the gaiafield was fading out, allowing her tense thoughts to expand, calming the deep worry contaminating her body. Somewhere the Silfen Motherholm smiled in compassion for her.
The trees were thinning out, and Araminta shivered in the cold air gusting past the white and green striped trunks, rubbing her hands along her arms and pulling up the front of her fleece. Then she walked out of the treeline and stopped dead.
'Oh Great Ozzie, she murmured in astonished delight. She was halfway up a steep valley wall. The grassy mountainside beneath her feet swept down towards a broad meandering river. On the other side, maybe twenty or thirty miles away, the opposite side of the valley climbed upwards, its summits coated in thick fields of snow. Above that—Araminta shielded her eyes from the orange sun peeping over the jagged peaks. A quartet of tiny moons were racing across the sky, twisting round each other as they went. She was sure one of them must have been made from blue crystal, glints of sunlight flashed off its facets as it spun round and round.
Viotia didn't have moons like that. In fact she'd never heard of anywhere that did.
Somewhere beyond the river, lurking among the spinnies and tracts of woodland, Araminta could sense the beginnings of another path. She set off down the mountain, laughing joyfully at her liberation.
Inigo's Twelfth Dream
The summer sun rose through a clear sky to illuminate one very excited city. It was election day in Makkathran. At last, after all the turmoil, the Sampalok riots and the banishment, followed by a fortnight of increasingly bitter campaigning by both mayoral candidates, and equally lively mud-slinging by the district Representatives: this was it. The day everyone got to make their opinion known on events and promises.
Edeard jogged over the Brotherhood Canal bridge and into Jeavons as the dawntime's dew began to evaporate off the grass. It produced a wonderfully fresh scent in the air, triggering a completely unjustified sense of optimism as he reached the streets of Jeavons. Unjustified because the city's mood was impossible to determine. So much had happened. So much to take in. So many rumours and whispers from the candidates and their allies to believe or ignore. Nobody knew what the result was going to be.
One thing was for certain, a lot of people were going to vote. As he ran down Golfice Street, Edeard could sense whole families rising early for breakfast. Election day was always a holiday. Businesses that were normally preparing to open as he ran past were shut for the day, market squares were devoid of stalls.
A holiday, then, but not a carnival. There was too much tension for that. Not helped by the fifty banished who'd made camp in the trees beyond North Gate and refused to budge.
Relatives and friends and the politically motivated kept taking food out to them and making public collections. Keeping the cause alive and visible.
Edeard arrived back at the tenement and hurried up the stairs to his maisonette. Dinlay was waiting on the walkway outside. They grinned at each other and went in. Breakfasts together had become something of a ritual since the day in Sampalok.