‘Mela. Thank Perseus. Vitae said you must come through this way. I looked for you …’

  She’d found her father.

  His Magistrate’s gown filthy, torn. Blood on his forehead.

  She grabbed his arms. ‘Father, are you—’

  ‘Have you seen Ish?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘She said she would follow you. I came to find her. She might have gone to the Perseid shelter—’

  ‘The Guards broke up the shelter, and charged the people. Staff and patients, all scattered. That was before the Guards fell back to the gate.’ He shook his head. ‘Quite a disciplined manoeuvre. What they have trained for, I suppose—’

  ‘Oh, Father, can’t you ever stick to the point? …’

  And then Mela heard two sounds, almost simultaneously.

  Her sister’s voice, distantly calling: ‘Mela! Father! Mela, Mela …’

  Mela looked around wildly.

  And there was a great crack, like thunder. Thunder brought down from the sky. The ground under her feet shook.

  Everything changed again.

  All around Mela people stumbled now, ran, called out. The Guard line before the gate was crumbling, and the pressing mob was making inroads into the city, she saw – already a few people had made it through the line, despite the huge chaos, the noise.

  And there was Ish, stumbling through the outer crowd. Trying to get to Mela, their father.

  But now the land beneath Ish’s feet, the solid Earth, seemed to be shuddering and rocking, like a raft in rapids.

  People screamed. A man yelled, ‘The Perimeter! It is here, here …!’

  Now more aftershocks reached Mela, the ground surging under her. All around her people fell, clattering against each other like toys on a table tipped by a wilful child.

  Struggling to stay standing, clinging to her father, she saw that the tilt was real.

  The land itself was breaking up.

  A jagged rift had opened up, spreading out from the fence and past the Guard line, opening up beneath the swarming, excluded crowds. And now, with a chthonic groan, a rumble of cracks, a great slab of the land beyond that split was tilting, tipping away from her, a tremendous platform with one ragged edge rising up, up. And where that edge crumbled she glimpsed the land’s deeper structure, its geology, the layers of earth and rubble over a basement of almost featureless rock, all cracking, splintering.

  People, dwarfed by this huge uplift, scrambled back from the sudden chasm opening before them. The groan of shattering rock all but drowned out their screams.

  It was just as her father had said. The advance of the Tide could stall – or it could surge dramatically, wrecking landscapes, just as she saw now. This wasn’t even a major surge compared to the great pulse that seemed to have brought the Perimeter suddenly so much closer to the town.

  And now, shining from beneath this great slab, through the ground’s foundation layers of earth and rock, she saw a pale, silvery flicker. The light she had seen once before: the light beyond the Perimeter, a light she had seen beyond doomed Rigel and Capella and Arcturus, a place once days of travel south of here.

  Substrate light. The silver light of the Tide itself had come to Procyon.

  Again the land shuddered. That rising slab split, fractured, and much of it tipped back, to reveal its upper surface to Mela. And on that tilting ground, high in the air, Guards and those they had tried to control were jumbled together now, slipping, falling down the increasing slope, clinging to each other for support.

  And Ish was among them. Falling like the rest into the glow of the Tide. She was unmistakable, her clothes, her hair. Her face, as she stared down at Mela. Her mouth wide open as she screamed, inaudibly to Mela.

  Falling, sliding down.

  The people fell into the light, until they were extinguished, one by one.

  And Ish was gone. Lost to the Tide – not interred as Aunt Vaer had been, not through a deepshaft to the Substrate, not under solemn Perseid prayers – lost, her whole body just a flash against the Tide.

  Gone. Without hope of eternity.

  Father was screaming too, and shoved forward. ‘Ish! Ish, oh Ish!’

  Mela held him back, buried her head in his shoulder, as Father wept and wept.

  32

  An unknown time later, Vitae the Perseid found them.

  Still they sat by the fence. They had moved to the town’s eastern side, to get away from the mobs by the south gate – away from the Perimeter, which had stalled after the surge which had taken Ish. Father was sleeping now.

  With a jolt of surprise, Mela realised it was dusk.

  Vitae sat beside them. He moved carefully; he was an old man. He offered a flask of water. Mela drank a little, passed it back, then took it back for more.

  Vitae smiled. ‘That is a good sign. You are healthy. Your father will be better after escaping into sleep.’

  ‘Perhaps. I lost my sister.’

  ‘I know,’ Vitae said gravely. ‘I think I saw her myself. She was coming to the shelter, wasn’t she? But was caught in that sudden advance of the Perimeter.’

  ‘We knew that the advances could be like this. Irregular. Sudden surges. Ish and I. We travelled down the River with our parents when we were kids.’ A lifetime ago. ‘We saw it for ourselves. I think we never really imagined it would come here.’ She glared at the broken land, huge slabs beneath which that eerie, silver glow shone bright.

  Vitae sat with them. ‘It should not be like this,’ he murmured. ‘Not according to the legend of Perseus. Oh, the crumbling of this Earth, yes – the exposure of the Substrate, that is, what we call the Tide, the light that swallows all things. But the legends also speak of Avatars, higher beings who would watch over such transitions …’

  ‘Avatars,’ Mela said dully. ‘That means nothing to me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. They aren’t here, are they?’ He glanced around. ‘It won’t be safe to stay here for long. Even if there isn’t another Perimeter surge … We must be practical. You must think of yourself now. You have your papers?’

  Her hand went to her jacket pocket, and she thought back.

  ‘We have only one valid Permit now. Between us. My father and I. For the Immigration, you see.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Our family were issued four. My father issued one for himself. My mother took one; she left before I had returned home, after the warning. My brother didn’t need one; he is a Guard.’ If he’s still alive, she thought. ‘My lost sister had one Permit. That’s gone. And one for me.’ She stroked her father’s head. ‘Stamped by him personally. He has his own. I checked. But I have no valid Permit.’

  Vitae thought that over. ‘Ah. Because you exited the city twice. So you can’t go back in and join the convoys.’

  These were the parties going up to the northern towns by river boat, by carriage along the river-bank paths. The big, organised, provisioned parties, already leaving by the city’s north gate. She remembered her encounter with the uncharacteristically patient Fence Watch who had made sure she understood the choice she was making. The parties would leave without her.

  ‘You know,’ Vitae said, ‘your father came here in part to make sure he delivered my own Permit. Such kindness. He knew I could not leave here to collect it. I would give it to you if it were transferable. Ah, but a Permit is transferable within families, is it not? So you could use your father’s Permit—’

  ‘He needs it. You know that. He could never survive … Immigration.’ She had trouble saying the word, applying it to her father, her own family. Herself.

  ‘Could you?’

  ‘Well, I must.’ She faced the Perseid. ‘Vitae, would you help him? Father. When he wakes. Tell him I have gone. I’ll find my own way … another way. Make sure he doesn’t try to follow. He isn’t strong enough to protect me. Make sure he joins the convoy. His Permit should get him into Vega – the first major riverside town north of here.’ She forced a smile. ‘Perhaps he will find my mother, on her journey to Sirius itself. Perhaps she will care for him.’

  The Perseid considered this. ‘While you join the Immigration, as you must. I will do as you ask, of course.’

  ‘Good. You can start now. Please, come over here …’

  Taking care not to wake her father, Mela stood, stretched, dusted herself off. ‘As for me, I suppose I have a difficult journey ahead.’

  ‘They probably won’t let you in,’ he said softly. ‘Not any town north of here – not any town deep in the Hinterland or Provinces. Not as an Immie.’

  She thought that over. ‘They will have to let us in. I will make them. I will survive in any case.’

  He looked at her. ‘And then?’

  ‘And then I will bring Ish back.’

  There. She had said it.

  Vitae nodded. ‘Very well.’

  And she noted that the Perseid hadn’t protested that was impossible.

  She bent, kissed her sleeping father’s brow, gravely nodded to Vitae, and walked away, forcing herself not to look back.

  33

  So Mela began to walk, along a track that headed east at first, following the curve of the town fence. Soon she would reach the north gate, and she would join the Immigration party, and take the track from there that led onwards, ever north, towards the Heartland Mountains and fabled Sirius itself – ultimately. North, her destiny, and that of everybody who survived the collapse of Procyon, she supposed. North, north, as long as she survived. Until—

  Until, in twenty years’ time, there was no more north.

  Deal with that when it comes, Mela. For now: one step at a time, while there are steps to be taken.

  She plodded on, determinedly alone, despite the loose column of refugees following the same track.

  Why not alone? Her sister was lost, and her brother had betrayed her, betrayed them all – and, she thought wistfully, her parents had betrayed her too, neither of them capable in the end of putting the interests of the family ahead of their own, in this great rolling-up of the world.

  Alone, then, she told herself. No need for forgiveness. She had no other duty but to herself. Head down, walk on, north, north, as far as she could go—

  ‘You’re her.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it’s her.’

  ‘Please, madam, uh – Ish, is it? …’

  Slowly she paid attention, swimming up out of the depths of her own head.

  A family stood before her, anxious-looking parents with packs of goods on their backs – just tied-up blankets, really. Two little kids wearing what looked like several layers of clothes. Mela couldn’t tell their sex.

  For now the parents seemed more bewildered than anxious. This wasn’t far from the east side gate, itself locked and barred.

  She said, ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘No, no,’ the man said, nervous, talking fast. ‘No reason why you should. But we met the Magistrate a few times, and we saw you. We had issues over a boundary line with our neighbours. About an extension they wanted to put up, right up to the line, and we thought—’

  The woman put her hand over his. ‘That doesn’t matter now,’ she said, reasonably gently.

  And Mela started to understand. ‘You recognise me. I’m the Magistrate’s daughter.’

  ‘Ish, Ish,’ the man said, grinning, as if all his troubles were over. ‘I knew it was you. Your father talked about you—’

  ‘Mela.’ She shook her head. ‘That was my sister. Ish. I’m Mela. Ish is dead. She was caught by the Tide surge, the Perimeter advance—’

  The woman’s hand went to her mouth. ‘When was this?’

  Mela shrugged, feeling numb. ‘Not an hour ago. I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, so sorry we bothered you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Mela glanced around at a gathering stream of people, all walking the way she needed to go, around the fence and to the north. The town itself must be emptying now. And here were these people holding her up. ‘Look—’

  ‘We need the Magistrate’s help,’ the man said desperately. ‘Please – we were supposed to get Permits for Sirius itself. Residency Permits, not just temporary shelter. The paperwork we submitted was all in order. We got a note from the Magistrate’s office to say so, but we had to wait for the Permits to be signed off with everybody else’s—’

  ‘The Permits never came,’ the woman said, more calmly. ‘We waited and waited. Finally a Fence Watch came. You know, in one of those red and blue costumes? We thought she was bringing us our papers. But she wasn’t. She told us we had to go, now, get out at the nearest gate, and make our way north. We tried to get her to let us stay, in case the Permits turned up late—’

  ‘You can’t get anywhere without a Permit,’ the man said. ‘They won’t let you join the official convoys on the river barges, or the caravans, or into the cities upriver. Everybody knows that. We didn’t know what to do. We just grabbed what we could, we hadn’t even packed up properly. Next thing you know we were pushed out here.’

  ‘Just waiting,’ the woman said. ‘Waiting for somebody to tell us what to do.’ She forced a smile, Mela thought for the benefit of the children. ‘And then we saw you, thank the living stars.’

  Mela was floundering. The flood of people heading around the city fence and flowing north was gathering, thickening visibly, as if the city were disgorging its human contents as quickly as it could.

  She had nothing, no power, no resources.

  And yet here were these people, these parents staring at her, utterly dependent.

  She ought to walk away, think of herself.

  A heartbeat.

  She stayed.

  She thought the woman looked marginally the stronger of the two.

  Gently she took the woman’s arm, pulled her away from the family. ‘What are your names?’

  ‘I’m Gine, he’s Rafo. Our children are Hael, the little boy, Aphe, the girl. The Magistrate might remember us, of course. He attended both namings.’

  A traditional, and pleasant, magistrate’s duty, for Mela now as for her father before.

  Gine patted her stomach. ‘Another on the way. Not very good timing, but these things happen. I’m a joiner, I work with smartwood to make—’

  ‘The Magistrate isn’t here,’ Mela said as clearly as she could. ‘My father. He’s joining a city convoy. My father did help with the planning of it all. But the Permits were distributed days ago.’

  Gine frowned. ‘He went without taking you?’

  Mela smiled. A flash of consideration from this desperate woman. ‘He didn’t have a choice. So, look – he can’t help you. Or me. We have to help ourselves.’ And saying that she thought she sounded like some pompous Perseid preacher.

  Gine seemed bewildered. ‘But what do we do? Who will give us our Permits?’

  Mela suppressed a sigh. ‘There’ll be no more Permits. Not issued from this town. It’s all – gone.’ And so it was, she thought. Procyon still stood physically, but everything human about it, all the systems of governance and maintenance and culture and all the rest, were already gone, collapsed. The city was a shell now, dead inside. And when the Perimeter came even that would be gone.

  ‘Then what do we do?’ Gine asked again, pressing.

  ‘You do what I do. Come with me. We need to get to the Immigration assembly camp, near the north gate, where people are getting organised for the trek. There’ll be resources there, food and water and medicine. Blankets and stuff. And then—’

  Rafo stepped forward, away from the kids. ‘Immigration? The assembly camp? Us, with all those Immies? We aren’t Immies! We were citizens of this town.’ He pushed his face at Mela, despite his wife trying to step between them, to calm him down. ‘We have rights. We were promised Permits, by your father. We have rights!’

  Mela glared back. ‘You have no rights, not here. I have no rights. Not any more. I’ll walk you to the camp. Come with me if you like.’ She glanced at the scared children. ‘Or not.’

  Rafo seemed set to argue some more. Mela imagined it was comforting to have somebody you could rage at, rather than face the huge abstraction of the collapse of the town, this relentless wave of disintegration. You’ve lost all the certainties in your life. Shout at the Magistrate’s daughter, if it helps.

  But Gine intervened, hastily. ‘We’ll come, we’ll come to this camp. Hael, hold my hand, and you hold Aphe’s. We’ll go with this nice lady.’

  Hael, the little boy, looked bewildered. Then he asked Mela, ‘Will there be soup? We have soup for breakfast. Will there be soup at the camp?’

  Mela bent down and smiled. ‘I don’t know. But I bet there’ll be something just as good.’ She straightened up. ‘Come on then, the crowding isn’t going to get any easier. Yes, hold each other’s hands tight.’

  She strode out, glancing back to make sure they followed.

  The husband took a couple of paces to keep up with her. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s OK—’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You don’t need to be.’

  ‘I was very unfair to you just now. Even if you had been the Magistrate yourself it wouldn’t have been fair. It’s just – you get used to having somebody in control. Somebody to sort stuff out for you. Even life and death.’

  That had always been an illusion, she thought now. In this world at least. If she hadn’t understood that before witnessing the advance of the Perimeter for herself, she did now. Nobody was in charge, there was no logic to their lives, save for the slow, grand mechanism of the world itself, and it cared nothing for humans. So it seemed.

  Rafo seemed baffled.

  But Gine caught her eye, nodded. I understand.

  34

  The preliminary Immigrant assembly camp was perhaps a kilometre north of the town’s gate. The rough trail that led to it ran parallel to the River, tracking its western bank.