There was no mistaking the twister’s approach.
It reached high—higher than the eye could see—into clouds Olivia could only trust lay beyond the green-lit sky. Raucous thunder leapt from its impossible crown. Every roar furthered the locals’ agitation and excitement. They broke pace often to pump their fists or clutch one another in triumph. The twister lashed and writhed defiantly, but could not escape its invisible tether.
They’d bound it to their will.
“Quick now! It’s coming down!”
The two men nearest Olivia carried her off her feet. They raced to their fellows, who hastily worked at the city gate buried in the earth. The doors were thrown wide, and the plains-folk charged in. Down the stairs they hurtled, kicking pebbles loose from soft, foot-worn spots and scrabbling at the narrow walls to keep themselves right.
Olivia counted maybe forty steps before her palanquin-esque handling ended, and she was discarded to the floor. They were in a corridor just higher than a tall man and wide enough for three. Striations in the walls glowed like a web of twilight. The plains-folk hastened ahead and latched a coarse curtain across the corridor’s gaping mouth.
Rushing air howled beyond, and in seconds the curtain whooshed full. It strained at its clasps, potbellied and wild. Then the action passed. The curtain sagged, and only a soft patter-plop could be heard behind it.
Olivia stood. That sound was precious yet alien, the hushed words of a lover imagination fashioned for a yearning girl. Could it possibly be? Her legs no longer trembled from weakness and exhaustion. Did the miracle of the plains lie beyond that flaccid cloth?
“Care to have a look?”
While others removed the curtain, the man who’d introduced himself as Hector addressed Olivia. Like most of the plains-folk she’d met, Hector was lean but not starved: his body appeared solid with well-toiled muscle. She noted embers of cleverness in his face, a little fire waiting to be fanned.
“With pleasure,” Olivia said, “if the view can alleviate my wonder.”
“It can help, and I will do the rest.” Hector spoke a short order to his companions, and they carried the curtain away tied like a sack. “Come.”
Olivia did, and gazed through the cleared portal. It opened into a towering chasm like the dimple from a skyscraper pressed into pliant earth. She smelled fresh air. The acrid, electric scent pervaded from above, where the chasm split the plains. Below Olivia’s vantage a thick weave of dirty metal spanned the gulf.
“Is that…”
“Mud?” Hector said. “It is. Amazing, no? It was lost to the world so long ago—but not here. Not on the plains.”
The old wives’ tales were true then, Olivia thought, and not just hope’s exaggeration. By some magic or divine beneficence, these people conjured water. Fresh water they kept to themselves, hoarded away beneath the scorched heath everyone else died upon.
“You suspected this, didn’t you, schoolteacher? Why else journey to the plains after you fled your metropolis?”
“I confess I heard rumours.” Olivia pushed a shaky palm across her cheeks, though it’d been weeks since she could shed a tear. “Please don’t call me schoolteacher.”
“It’s a noble duty.”
“The schools have closed,” Olivia stated, hollow.
“And you’ve abandoned your home for a new life. I understand.”
Hector fell silent, for which Olivia was grateful. Faced with such patient sympathy, she felt her earlier cynicism may have been unwarranted.
“So,” Olivia said, “you squeeze water from the mud?”
“Yes, through loosely woven cloth.”
“And the twisters? How are the storms connected?”
Hector looked up the chasm to the green sky that overhung his land. “The storms birth twisters, and twisters cool the air. Its hidden water condenses. The shamans…”
“Bind the twisters and pull them here,” Olivia interrupted. “The twisters die, and the remaining earth and water mix.”
Hector smiled, appreciative. “The mud falls, and the sieves filter. At the bottom we harvest.”
So the shamans were the key. Without their mystic power, the city would be little more than an early grave. The men and women would feel the dryness in their mouths first, and then their skin—like the surface—would heat and crack. Regardless of rations, they’d barely manage to piss. Sweating would be the severest torture. Then their limbs would curl and seize. Madness next, and if death wasn’t soon merciful their neighbours would be.
It was worse for the children.
“Do you think you’ll stay?”
That was a surprise! Would the plains-folk accept a metropolitan into their grace? Olivia couldn’t quite believe it, and given the thoughtful expectation with which Hector assessed her hips, breasts, and face, the offer seemed more male fancy than policy.
“Is that even possible? Besides, I’ve barely seen this city.”
“Refugees are uncommon, but not unheard of. I would happily stake my honour in your support,” Hector said. “As for seeing the city, we can remedy that immediately.”
He took Olivia’s hand carefully, like a gentleman, and led her away from the chasm, inward.
“You would vouch for me?”
“I would be ashamed not to. You fled the metropolis, survived the wilds, crossed the mountain pass, and braved the storms to find us. Such courage demands recognition and admiration.”
“I can hardly live up to such flattery, but thank you. I’m happy for your support.”
Hector set a considerate pace, understanding Olivia was in no shape to labour. They encountered few others traveling the first level. Of the many doors, none were ajar or ill-fitted. Olivia thought the shut-up lifelessness reminiscent of a mausoleum; then Hector guided her into one of the rooms.
There were plants! Plants everywhere! It was a storybook jungle in long, ordered rows and pots dangled from poles. Skylights in the high ceiling provided the necessary sunlight, and a cistern stood full in the corner. Olivia greedily inhaled the vegetable pungency, and drank slowly from the water Hector ladled for her. Heavenly!
But such a multitude of hale vegetation and casual ease with water defied even luxury.
It was insanity.
They continued their walk, Olivia in silence.
Though she struggled inwardly, Olivia could still feel her hand in Hector’s, his gentle lead and support. And that was the problem. How did she reconcile his attentive kindness and apparent acceptance of this miserly wealth? It would be easier if his notice still seemed whimsical—she could dismiss it as the feigned courtesy of the amorous—but Olivia doubted that now. She was no prize for a lusty man. Was it attraction? Or perhaps even love?
Her lack of experience betrayed her.
“Here is our pride, our future,” Hector said. While his words failed to draw Olivia’s full attention, the sudden absence of his hand did not. He released her and took firm hold of the door before them. It was heavy: Olivia could see his muscles strain as he pulled. Then the door opened, and together they moved inside.
“Good god!” Cisterns lined the length of the chamber three deep on either side. They were tightly stoppered and stood to her knee. “These are all full?”
“The storehouse gives my people the confidence to live, to raise families and not fear for their longevity.” Hector caught her gaze. “It’s every man’s dream.”
Olivia could no longer mistake him. To her Hector’s unspoken plea was a chill lake wind or a walk in a forest: the sort of impossible dreams that made her unnervingly giddy.
It was also a shroud.
“Is there none for aid? For generosity and kindness? Even a quarter of such a store would save countless back home.”
Hector dismissed the notion. “We care for strangers, like you, who wander into our land. However, giving water to the metropolitans would be madness. Their callous invention and machinery burnt the earth and boiled the air. If they die out, so much the better. We will continue until the world heals.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and soothed her. “I’m sorry.”
Olivia kicked him hard in the balls.
Hector shrieked like a wounded beast, and fell to his forehead and knees, cradling his groin. Olivia snatched up a stone, misshapen and rough, and set upon him. She pummelled his head, blow after blow cracking and gutting.
“You’re no different! No different!” she wailed. Her eyes held lit matches behind them. “I tried so hard, nearly starved myself to give more to those children. I didn’t want them to suffer! I thought I was helping!”
Olivia’s limbs jerked; she toppled beside Hector, a painful convulsing ball. “Older students came,” she hissed. Said they wanted to help. They attacked my children for the extra water! Imagine innocent children biting ears and tearing lips, gouging their eyes and beating one another to death!”
Olivia forced a breath. Her chest burned beneath her ribs, and her convulsions slowed to a rigid paralysis. “Yo…your offer… You’re… no… different.”
“Neither,” Hector gasped bloodily before death, “are you.”
