Tunguska Preview

  Chapter 1

  Annat Vasilyevich was home for the first time in many months. She was pregnant and about to give birth to her first child; and she was, though she hated to admit it, bored. As if the past year had not been exciting enough! Annat lounged on the terrace, wearing a dress without stays let out to accommodate her growing belly. She felt like a small, fat, wobbly toy, and it was a warm May in Masalyar; she fanned herself with a woven palm fan. Inside her, the baby grumbled. He knew he would have to quit his comfortable nest soon; and it would be at least thirteen years before he was old enough to say anything intelligent.

  Shaman babies often talked in the womb; Annat’s grandmother had told her how her father and aunt talked before they were born. But those two never stopped talking; if they were not arguing out loud, they quarrelled in their thoughts, with eloquent hand gestures and facial expressions.

  Annat’s domestic arrangements were unusual, even for a shaman. The father of her child had died last year, only to be resurrected by the notorious Necromancer and Magus, Kaschai the Deathless. Kaschai himself had copied Annat, who had gone into the underworld to bring back her father at great personal cost. These revenant shamans had acquired a name: Repha’im, the word for ancestral spirits.

  Everyone knew this was perilous. So many undead shamans could destabilise reality, with unknown but probably unpleasant results. But Annat’s father had found a solution; the Repha’im moved into the Greenwood, a forest dimension that existed throughout the universe, and which could be accessed in any place where trees had once grown.

  Masalyar, a large port city with a substantial population, had no trace of any forest, but there was the Jardin des Plantes or Botanical Gardens; Annat had taken to walking there when she wanted to feel close to her father and his companions. Not least Semyon Magus, who had fathered her child. Annat thought of him with affection rather than love, but they shared a bond: Oscar, the baby conceived in a thunderstorm.

  Annat lived in the townhouse she had shared with her former lover Eugenie de Bouget. Eugenie had left upon learning that Annat had betrayed her with a man –worse still, Semyon, whose dubious morals were notorious. Annat did love Genie; she could not help these occasional lapses. Most shamans were bisexual, with a fluidity that made them change lovers, and even their skin, sharing their identity with a spirit animal.

  One other person lived in the house: Planchet, Annat’s butler and man-at-arms. He was as good at wielding a battle-axe as serving drinks on the terrace. He had been to war with Annat last year, and he followed her faithfully. But he knew, as did Annat, that as she got nearer to her time, the house would fill up with her relatives, friends – and ghosts. The only one they were not expecting to see was Eugenie. Annat was not expecting any visitors today; she had left off the eyepatch she used to cover one eye when she went out in public: an eye that looked silver or iridescent in the light, and enabled her to see much that was hidden even from other shamans.

  Eugenie let herself in; she had taken her key when she left last year. Annat imagined the unexpected visitor must be her aunt Yuste, who had her own door-key, and called out, ‘Auntie! I’m on the terrace.’

  There was a pause; and the person who emerged from the French windows was not her aunt but her beloved Eugenie, dressed more plainly than had been her wont when they were pupils at Madame Mireille’s Academy. She was not even wearing a crinoline; she had adopted rational dress, like the clothes Annat preferred to wear. Annat would have leapt out of her chair to greet Genie but she floundered on the chaise, making Oscar grumble.

  ‘Don’t get up!’ said Eugenie; she ran to where Annat lay and bent over her, pressing her mouth to Annat’s. Her bonnet fell off her head, and Annat wound her arms round Genie’s neck, sobbing as she realised her friend had come to stay.

  Eugenie perched on the edge of the couch. She laid her hand gently on Annat’s stomach.

  ‘How’s the babe?’ she said.

  - Who’s that? said Oscar.

  ‘He talks to me,’ said Annat, and they giggled in spite of themselves.

  ‘That must be so odd,’ said Eugenie.

  ‘Genie – what have you done?’

  Eugenie made a dismissive gesture. ‘It was dreadful. You don’t want to know. I had a succession of dreary suitors. Handsome but dull. And I cannot like the male sex. I mean to say, I like them, but I cannot be doing with their fumblings and fondlings. And the male member! Though I hasten to add that I was not acquainted with one. I fear I am a true malkita, Annat, and can love only my own sex. I could not stay another minute under my parents’ roof, listening to my mother talk of retreats, and balls, and Fetes Champetres. After I had assisted at the coronation of the King of Lefranu! I missed you, and dear Planchet, and even your terrible relatives, right down to your aunt.’

  Annat took Genie’s hand in hers. ‘I’m afraid they are likely to arrive soon,’ she said. ‘My aunt will insist on being here for the birth. The Repha’im may come too. They will want to make sure nothing shows up to attack me or Oscar.’

  Genie paled. ‘Who or what are the Repha’im?’ she said. ‘Is this some new thing you have found since I abandoned you?’

  ‘We have not been exactly idle, Genie,’ said Annat. ‘We had a little adventure at the end of last year. I will have to tell you about it. Repha’im is the word for my father and his companions. He and Huldis have been joined by her brother, Sarl, and…Semyon.’

  Genie pursed her lips. She shook her head. ‘It’s no good, Annat,’ she said. ‘I can never be fond of Semyon after he stole you from me.’

  ‘He never did, Genie,’ said Annat, fiercely. ‘You are the one I love. It was a folly of mine, a moment of desire when we were in danger. Which does not excuse it.’

  Genie looked into her face. ‘I thought you were lying to me,’ she said. ‘To betray me with a man – and Semyon too!’ She made a small noise of disgust. ‘He has a beer belly.’

  ‘My aunt lectured me at great length on my deplorable conduct,’ said Annat.

  Genie laughed in spite of herself. ‘I can imagine!’ she said. ‘No doubt with relish. I am not sure I like the thought of meeting Semyon’s ghost. Or any other ghosts.’

  ‘Well, Genie, as you remember, they are not exactly ghosts,’ said Annat.

  ‘I have not forgotten,’ said Genie, with a shudder. ‘I had to tell myself it was nothing but paint and wax, like the prosthetics actors wear in the theatre. But though magic is untidy, I think one gets used to it. And then to be surrounded by people who have no notion of magic, and are terrible snobs to boot…it was when I read of your return in the paper that I made my decision.’

  Annat had returned in the New Year, but the piece in the paper to which Genie alluded had only appeared a few weeks ago.

  ‘I’m so glad you made your decision,’ said Annat. ‘You are the one I want beside me when I give birth.’

  ‘I may not be much use,’ said Genie.

  ‘I think you’ll be a great deal of use,’ said Annat. ‘You have worked as a nurse, remember?’

  ‘And are you having a midwife to deliver the baby?’

  ‘I’m having to fight them off! I chose a shaman midwife. Someone my aunt approves of. She’s a Shamanka – a tribal shaman from Sklava.’

  ‘Will there be chanting?’ said Genie, with a look of such horror that Annat laughed.

  ‘I think my aunt would have something to say if there was chanting. But it’s considered good luck to have a tribal shaman, even amongst Wanderers.’

  - I’m not going anywhere, thought Oscar.

  ‘I’m afraid neither of us will have much choice, Oscar,’ said Annat, out loud, before she realised she had done so. Genie looked startled.

  - But i
t’s such a bore. To be a helpless, puking infant so many years.

  ‘What is he saying?’ said Genie, leaning forward.

  Annat pursed her lips. ‘He doesn’t want to be born,’ she said. ‘He does not look forward to being a baby and a child. I think Oscar would rather be fifty straight away.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Genie. She put her hand to her mouth.

  - Little mother, I wish you’d explain who this is. It’s rude not to introduce us.

  ‘Oscar, this is Genie, my lover. My wife!’

  - She can’t be your wife, she’s a girl.

  ‘Can you hear him, Genie?’ said Annat.

  ‘I would swear I could. And I am no shaman, you know that!’

  Annat patted her belly. ‘Oscar is determined to be different. I wondered whether there would be magical … side-effects. I spent seven years in the underworld after he was conceived. And though I got the time back – I wonder.’

  ‘Have you asked Sival about it? Or your aunt?’

  ‘Sival has returned to Inde to consult the Masters of Shamanism. That doesn’t mean they are all men, Genie! The Masters worry that so many shamans have returned from the Dead. I brought two back, Kaschai resurrected two more, and the Masters have noticed. They wanted me to accompany Sival, but I was too far gone. They sent Kaschai a summons, but he didn’t reply.’

  ‘I don’t suppose a deathless Sklavan Magus would pay much attention to some old holy men in Inde. Are you in trouble, chérie?’

  ‘I didn’t break any rules. Last time, father turned up of his own accord. He came to my aunt’s house just before the winter solstice. He showed up on the doorstep in the middle of the night.’

  ‘I am not sorry I missed that. If dead people appear, I like to have time to prepare myself. To have them showing up unannounced is deplorable.’

  ‘They are not likely to send a message. Ghosts seldom send telegrams.’

  ‘It is hard to believe such things, here in the comfort of Masalyar. Though when the unborn child in your womb talks and I can hear him – that is out of the ordinary.’

  Annat laughed out loud. ‘I am so glad you are home, Eugenie,’ she said. ‘I think even Planchet will be glad to see you!’

  Chapter 2

  Despite his protests, Oscar could not delay his arrival. Annat went into labour a week later, and Planchet was despatched to summon the Shamanka – a keen and solemn girl who wore her hair in plaits. Once she had arrived, Planchet refused to stay near the room where the Mistress was lying in. To Annat’s surprise and dismay, Genie too was suddenly indisposed when the contractions started.

  Annat was not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. She remembered how selflessly Genie had served as a nurse in the field hospital during the siege of Yonar. It was disappointing to find her squeamish when Annat needed her, and would have loved her company to distract her from the pains. She told Genie to take a hansom cab across town to fetch her aunt, hoping that fear of meeting the formidable Yuste would change Genie’s mind.

  To her disappointment, Genie was delighted with the plan. Annat knew it would give her a chance to do what she loved best, admire the fashions on the Canebiere, the grand boulevard that led down to the harbour. Annat could have insisted that Genie take a bicycle, or even the tram, but she thought this would have been mean. Masalyar was a big city and her aunt’s office lay in a remote and rundown quarter beyond the station.

  When Genie had left, Annat and the Shamanka were left alone together. Annat did not know the girl’s name, and it was not unusual for a professional Shamanka to be known by her title. It meant she was a tribal shaman who had undergone the full initiation, unlike a city shaman who happened to have been born with powers. At the moment, Annat was sitting up in bed, having contractions; when she was not in bed, she was walking round the room, leaning on the wall, and complaining. The Shamanka was sitting in the chair beside the bed, knitting.

  ‘Have you truly come all the way from Sibir?’ said Annat.

  ‘Not for today. We come here for the season. It’s a long journey, Missis!’

  ‘I’ve never been to that part of Sklava. I’ve done more travelling out of this world than in it.’

  The young woman nodded. ‘They told me how you spent seven years labouring in the underworld for the right to bring your father and his apprentice back from the dead.’

  ‘I did,’ said Annat. ‘This baby should be seven years old. But only a few hours had passed in the mortal world.’ She grimaced.

  ‘How are the contractions going?’ said the Shamanka.

  ‘I think they’re getting closer together,’ said Annat.

  ‘I’m not sure your aunt will be here in time for the birth,’ said the Shamanka, sucking her teeth. ‘Just you and me. It seems Oscar is in a hurry to arrive.’

  ‘He was always complaining that he wanted to stay inside me!’

  ‘Well, what he wants is one thing, and what your body dictates is another. A short labour is to be preferred.’

  ‘You seem very down-to-earth for a Shamanka.’

  The young woman nodded. ‘It doesn’t stop me being down to earth. Like you, I have spoken with spirits and gods. And if you want me to perform a ritual, now is the time to do it.’

  ‘Will it stop the pain?’ said Annat.

  ‘No. The ritual is to ease the passage of the child from one world to another. And to protect you. I hope it will call up any benevolent spirits that you need. I have a shaman drum.’ Quick as a flash, she put down her knitting and produced a small skin drum, like a large tambourine, from her valise. There were pictograms painted onto the skin surface. Annat had never seen anything like it before. In spite of the discomfort she was feeling, she felt an extra level of excitement, instead of the fear that had been coming and going between the waves of pain.

  ‘I haven’t witnessed a Nenets ritual,’ she said.

  ‘They aren’t often performed in a city,’ said the Shamanka. ‘I shall need some room to dance. You may see – unexpected – things.’

  Annat laughed. She thought it would be rude to say that she was always seeing unexpected things. The Shamanka looked at her with a grave face.

  ‘I need to dance round you,’ she said. ‘This is a ritual of protection. And you need protection.’

  Annat got into the bed, though she was no more comfortable there than she had been when she was standing. Planchet had moved it into the centre of the room before he disappeared, as the Shamanka had specified. As Annat watched, the young woman shut her eyes, crouched down and began to hum.

  She used the traditional overtone singing of the Nenets people, where the voice produced harmonics; this had an eerie effect, as if she had more than one voice in her body. Despite Annat’s knack for languages, she could not hear enough to pick up what the Shamanka was saying. In her bones, she felt the summoning ritual as raw magic. It danced its way round her and through her, weaving her into its web. Trying to concentrate, she focussed on the young woman, watching her dance with the drum uplifted in one hand and a beater in the other.

  The words the Shamanka sang made patterns like smoke in the air. The smoke was sweet-scented, like sage-brush; it seemed to drift through the room and fill Annat’s nostrils with fragrance. The scent of warm summers burnt and distilled; leaves plucked from the scrubby, thorny hills outside Masalyar, where plants had to be tough to survive in the hot, stony ground. In this part of the world, they called it the Garrigue. It would be different to the forests of the taiga, where the Shamanka lived. Forests dark and cool, and in winter starkly cold, with a layer of deep snow.

  ‘Don’t think about that!’ said the Shamanka, pausing in her dance. ‘Don’t invite the cold in. That’s bad.’

  Annat opened her mouth to retort, but what came out was a cry. Suddenly the pain was worse; it seemed to start as high as her head, and she was sure she had no contractions there. The Shamanka looked at her, and shook her head.

  ‘Hang on, my dear,’ she sa
id, though she was younger than Annat.

  ‘What do I do?’ wailed Annat.

  ‘I will finish the ritual. It won’t take long. But we can’t leave it unfinished. That’s worse than not bothering at all. Remember to breathe – and to pant!’

  ‘I wish Genie was here. Why hasn’t she come back?’ cried Annat.

  The Shamanka put down her drum, hurried over to Annat and gave her a hug. Annat felt the infusion of warmth from the other woman’s touch, and the lessening of the pain.

  ‘It’s just you and me,’ she said. ‘All I have to do is sing and deliver a baby. You have to give birth to the little sprout.’

  She found a clean handkerchief and dabbed at Annat’s face. Nodding to herself as if pleased with what she had done, she returned to her chant. Annat noticed that she reworked a phrase as if to make sure it had been properly finished. Not unlike knitting, in a way; except the pattern she wove – or knitted – stretched across time and space.

  The rhythm and calmness of the words worked itself into a shawl round Annat’s shoulders. She closed her eyes –

  - and found herself alone on a bare hillside. Shivering and naked, with no-one nearby. She did not know where she was, but the cold and shock told her it was not this world. She cried out in the dark, and found that the pain had come with her. It was not the ordinary pain of giving birth; it seemed designed to destroy her, to tear her apart. Annat opened her mouth to yell; and she surfaced in the room, in the mild sunlight of the morning.

  Her father climbed in through the window as if it were the most natural thing in the world and knelt on the bed behind her, supporting her with his arms wrapped round her shoulders. Annat felt the racking, tearing pain slip away from her, but better than that, she felt his love enfold her.

  - How are you, Missis? he thought.

  Annat did not answer him in words. She was so glad he had come, and she knew she could trust him with her life. He had done the same for her mother when she was born; it was part of the fierce flame that burned all the way through him.

  The Shamanka came to stand by Annat’s head. She reached out to touch Yuda and jumped back.