Razor Mountain — Chapter 33.2

Razor Mountain is a serial novel, with new parts published every week or two. For more info, visit the Razor Mountain landing page.

Christopher blinked. The sun had fallen behind the mountains while he was lost in thought. The sky was filled with stars, and he couldn’t look at them without feeling an unbearable ache in his chest. He rose unsteadily and took the crystal tumbler inside to refill it.

There were many amazing things about Sky-Watcher. She had shocked him into loving her, long after he thought he had lost the capacity for it. She had constantly surprised him. Nothing had surprised him more than her acceptance of her own death. He knew she must have felt some fear. What lay beyond death was unknown, even to God-Speaker, even to the voices beneath the mountain. She accepted that fear too. She was content to let it happen.

Christopher poured slowly, the thin stream of amber liquid cascading over the ice, slowly filling the glass. Despite the numbness imparted by the alcohol, he felt hyper-sensitized. The colors and shapes of the world were sharper and brighter than they had ever been before.

He thought about his parents. They had put so much of their lives and energy into protecting him, keeping him safe, and this was how it all ended. They could never know the truth. They would always think Christopher had died on that plane. They weren’t far off the mark.

He pressed his palm against the rich wood paneling on the wall behind the shelf of decanters. All of the decor was for nothing. Although it gave the impression of an ordinary building on the surface of the world, Christopher could feel the stone behind the decorative shell. He could feel the weight of the mountain, suffocating him.

Why was this place here? Why all these tunnels and machines? Why all these people, scurrying around like ants, following collective instincts that no individual understood. The mountain had one purpose, and everything else flowed from that. It was made to keep God-Speaker alive, so why did it feel like a vast tomb?

He took the tumbler in one hand and a decanter in the other and began to walk with the over-careful gait of the intoxicated. He stepped through the double doors at the entrance to the apartment and began the long descent down the gently curving, wide-stepped stairs. He followed the back hallways, now so etched in his mind that they required no thought to navigate. Though it was night and the lights in the main caverns would be dimmed, the lights in these hallways were still bright. He arrived at a door, and like all doors under Razor Mountain, he could open it. He set down the decanter for a moment and fumbled for a key card. Soon, he would have a new chip implanted under his skin. For now, the card was necessary.

He entered an apartment somewhat like his own, though on a significantly smaller scale. It was dark inside, so he flicked on the lights that illuminated the entry, then a dining room, then a hallway. He had never been here before, but he found his way.

When he reached the bedroom, he did not turn on the lights, but he opened the door, and some of the light from the hallway filtered in. He slid a chair across the carpet, next to the nightstand, facing the bed. He set the tumbler on the nightstand and poured himself another drink.

Cain sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

“Why did you work so hard to bring me back?” Christopher asked.

Cain blinked against the light. He took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blew his nose. He showed no surprise to find himself in this situation.

Christopher waited, wondering if he would have to ask the question again.

“At first, I didn’t,” Cain said, at last. “I had no idea what to do. Like everyone else, I muddled through.”

He rubbed his eyes.

“Time passed, and I saw how the cabinet ran things. Endless squabbling and petty disagreements. I hated it. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do something. I wanted justice for Moira. I wanted everything back the way it used to be.

“I knew this place wouldn’t implode catastrophically. You built it to last. But it would fall into a long, slow decline. Eventually, cracks would form. Then, someday, something would fail and that would set off something else. It would all come tumbling down in a matter of weeks or days or hours. Maybe not soon. Maybe not for generations. But eventually. I didn’t want to be responsible for the first cracks that brought the whole thing down.”

“Why would it be bad for it to all fall apart?” Christopher asked.

“For one thing, if it happened on our watch, we’d be responsible. We’re the ones in charge. Or at least we were,” he said, nodding toward Christopher. “This place is my home. Despite everything that has happened, I’m happy here. I’m happy doing this job. I think this place really is important. We are a backstop against disaster for all of human civilization.”

“I thought you were worried it could all fall apart,” Christopher countered.

“Without you,” Cain replied. “It would all fall apart without you. The whole thing only works because there’s a single, strong vision. Empires fall because they lack consistency. A chain of successive humans running the show eventually fails, and it only takes one bad link to break the chain. The good king grows old and dies, and a bad king takes his place.

“But not here. Here, the good king lives forever. That’s why Razor Mountain has lasted.”

“You’ve never been in the outside world,” Christopher said. “Why do you think it’s better in here?”

“I’ve seen quite a bit of the outside world, even if only through screens and reports,” Cain said.

“It’s no utopia.”

Christopher sat next to the bed, lost in swirling, half-drunken thoughts. Cain rose, unabashed in his tee-shirt and boxers, walked to the bathroom and filled a glass from the tap. He returned to sit on the bed.

“You know, I think I might be the perfect vessel for God-Speaker,” Christopher said. “All he thinks about is staving off death. He does whatever he can to avoid every risk. It just so happens I’ve been doing the same things my whole life. Obviously with less expectation of long-term success.”

“Why is that?” Cain asked. Christopher got the sense that he was playing a part, acting as therapist for the stupid, inebriated king. Christopher shrugged off the feeling. Who else could he talk to?

“When I was young, my brother drowned,” Christopher said. He wondered when he had last spoken about it.

“After that, I was my parents’ only child. They didn’t let me bike to a friend’s house. They didn’t leave me with a babysitter. They never let me do anything remotely dangerous. Not that I was much inclined to. They never talked about it, but it was obvious that they were afraid they’d lose me too. I couldn’t very well blame them for it. I felt like I was obligated to outlive them, so they wouldn’t have to feel that pain again.”

Cain nodded. “And now?”

“They’re still alive,” Christopher said. “And as far as they know, I’m not.”

“That must be difficult.”

“A dozen times a day, I remember it. It feels a little bit like being stabbed in the chest.”

Cain was silent, calm and apparently content to just sit with Christopher. Christopher sipped from his tumbler.

“Doesn’t it worry you that your good king is so desperate to live forever?”

“Not really. Everyone is afraid of death. It keeps you going. It keeps the city running. It doesn’t really matter why you do it. It just matters that you keep doing it.”

“What about me? How is that fair for me?”

“It’s not. None of it is. Not for you, or me, or anyone else under the mountain. Reed wasn’t wrong about everything. It was only his conclusions that were wrong.”

“What if I just give up? What if I quit?”

Cain shrugged. “You could. I can’t stop you. Like I said, none of this works unless you’re running it.”

“You don’t care?”

“Don’t be shitty,” he said, suddenly irritable. “You know how much I care. I’ve dedicated my life to you and this city. I’ve done everything I can possibly do, and now I’m dead tired. It’s on you.”

Christopher sighed. “It’s on me.”

“You told me yourself that this transition, this change from Christopher to God-Speaker might be rough. I can’t even imagine. But I know this city pretty well, and even though I can only guess how old this place is and how old you are, I have some faint idea of how much work it must have been to build it and keep it secret. I don’t think you’d spend so many lifetimes doing that, just to throw it all away.”

He put his hand on top of Christopher’s hand and gave it a strangely patronizing squeeze.

“You’re just scared about what’s going to happen. And you’re drunk. Go get some sleep. Let the change happen. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

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