Purpose:
An innovative design overhaul is proposed to solve a longstanding problem with brand identification. The idea is tested on the target market.
Rand is a nau’gsh cheesecake. Driscoll is a shortcake with sweet and sour pickled nau’gsh and hard sauce. Callum is a parfait of whipped cream topped by nau’gsh fruit and panna cotta. Suibhne is a nau’gsh Tarte Tatin – that is, an upside-down fruitcake.
We are interrupted by Dermot. « I’ve come with invitations. We were assigned the virtuous vice of pride. It was more difficult than expected. Pride is problematic for us. In the broadest sense, Cu’enashti, centering their existence completely upon the Chosen, have no pride at all. They have only n’aashet n’aaverti. And when I and I is confronted with the conception of pride, it makes no sense to him. When he considers that he is Archon, responsible for the lives of billions, that he has helped Tara take the throne, that he has protected the system from invaders on multiple occasions, all things which might make a human feel pride, he feels nothing. All these accomplishments were just steps to be taken to assure Tara’s destiny. On the other hand, there are a number of emanations who are quite prideful. Cillian, for example. Or Driscoll. Or even Callum, who takes pride in his service. This is not unique to us. Tarlach has noted prideful action in a number of other Cu’enashti emanations, even the Cantor. The truth is that no matter how many times humans say they value humility, it isn’t sexy. Proud people have more friends, make more money, get laid more often. Humans want their enemies to be humble, but their lovers to be proud. We struggled with this. Is the pride displayed by the emanations nothing but a façade, a game that we play to charm the Chosen, with no real investment in it, or is it possible that the emanations can contain a trait that has no place in the Self? Our entertainment tonight is an exploration of this. »
He hands me a card. It reads “The Honor of Your Presence is requested at a Fancy Dress Ball to be held in the White Column Room immediately.”
« Fancy dress? » says Tommy. « I’m going to have to remember where I left my clothes. »
« Fancy dress is this era’s code phrase for cosplay, » I tell them.
« We need a costume? » asks Beat.
« I knew we should’ve held a masque, » mutters Axel.
« We were thinking of something more elaborate than cosplay, » says Dermot, « but less scripted than a masque. The emanations should dress formally, and Tara can choose from the gowns in the Princess’ dressing room. We’ll provide masks at the door. »
Malachi consults the guidebook, and we make our way to the dressing room. « It’s a pity. I was enjoying that everyone was nude. »
« You should’ve said something, » says Malachi. « We could’ve worn the masks with nothing else. »
« That has a certain kinky angle, but it’s a bit dehumanizing. »
Malachi looks puzzled.
« If you’re naked, and I can’t see your faces, then you’re reduced to nothing but flesh. »
« Is that how you see the Mover? »
« I…not really, but…»
« It’s something we aren’t quite sure we understand, » says Malachi. « Animals place such importance upon the face. From one perspective, it makes sense – of course you want to protect the locus of your sensory organs and central processing system. But the meaning of the face in terms of identity, selfhood – pride, I suppose – is elusive. Trees don’t have faces. Neither do SongLuminants, StoneStolids, Quicknodes or the Twist. »
« It’s a useful form of identification. It allows us to recognize each other. »
« Nor really. The molecular composition of your body, or the electro-chemical signature of your mind are much more reliable indicators than something that can be changed so easily through genework or cosmetic surgery or even normal aging. »
« If the face means nothing to you, how can you think I’m beautiful? »
« The question of beauty is something entirely different, but the supposition that the face means nothing to us is false. Perhaps that’s the answer to Dermot’s riddle. Because an emanation has a face, it can also have pride. »
We reach the dressing room. « These ball gowns are lovely, but they look damned uncomfortable. They’re also not made to be donned alone. You’ll have to help me. »
There are over a dozen, of all moods and materials. I finally choose a sober black gown, constructed of a stiff quilted velvet with diamonds inset at the points where the stitches cross. It is trimmed with a bodice insert connecting to a high collar in back, and wrist-ruffles, all of burgundy silk. The sides of the bodice are patterned with silver piping.
Quennel bursts into the room. « Forgive my interruption, but this whole thing has been botched. They didn’t even specify what sort of tuxedo to wear – black tie, white tie, cutaway, Aldebaran placket? »
« I was going to go with a cutaway, matching my cravat to the burgundy in Tara’s dress, » says Malachi.
« It’s not appropriate for evening, » says Quennel. « But I’m only assuming that it’s evening. Time means nothing here. The invitation should’ve specified. »
« It’s midnight in the basement and late afternoon in the kitchen, » I inform him. « Who knows what time it will be in the ballroom? You should probably go with something that can transition day to evening. »
« That attitude entirely defeats the purpose of formal dress, » sulks Quennel. « I’ll bet money that someone shows up in a horrid pink tux. »
« Maybe I should’ve demanded that everyone go naked. Callum is going to be pretty damn uncomfortable. »
« At least I can fix your dress, » says Quennel. In an instant, the silks are richer, the velvets softer, the patterns of the piping more refined and elaborate. Even the diamonds shine brighter.
« I replaced them with moissanite, » says Quennel. « The optical properties are superior. The only reason to use diamonds is to impress people with your wealth, which seems pointlessly tacky when everyone already knows how wealthy you are. »
« Just don’t tell Suibhne, » I reply. « He’ll get upset that the dress isn’t authentic. »
« I hardly think that he had these monstrosities hand-sewn, » Quennel says, indicating the rack of dresses.
« He probably had penguins do it, » says Malachi.
« If Suibhne is running a penguin sweat-shop in the attic, I’m pulling the plug on the whole thing. »
« I’m trying to envision a petite main with flippers, » says Quennel.
Quennel is helping me into the dress when a note falls out of the bodice. « Where did that come from? » I ask, surprised. And then I realize – it is Ellery’s note. It was in my original dress, the one I’d left in the room with the wood paneling. The fact that it has reappeared means that Ash wants me to take it seriously.
It says, “I want to meet with you alone on the boat.”
« Is there a way to get out the other side of the building? All the exits I’ve seen lead into the courtyard. I need to go down to the swan boat, just for a little while. »
« I’ll take you, » says Quennel.
Quennel waits for me on deck while I go below. I knock tentatively at Ellery’s cabin door. There’s a moment of silence, and I wonder if he changed his mind about seeing me.
The door opens a crack. Ellery’s hand beckons, and I duck through.
His cabin is small, and the decoration bohemian. There is embroidery, sometimes with inset pieces of mica, glass or mirrors; through a heavy arch of curtains tied back haphazardly with silken cords, tassels and ribbons, I can see a clawfoot tub painted blue. Most of the space is consumed by an enormous mattress covered with blankets, comforters and pillows. The colors are red, orange, pink, yellow; all sorts of batiks, prints, silks and brocades. Ellery sits in the center of all that spectacular fabric, reminding me most of a priceless object swaddled to keep it from being smashed. « I can’t go out yet, » he says.
I nod encouragingly.
« I’m on the sixth ring, » he says. « The sixth ring is the heart of Ashtara. Not many of us have emanated yet. Just Ari, the extraversion of I and I’s ability to love, and Lugh, the introversion of it. And me. I’m the secret place where His heart speaks. That’s why all of the emanations want me. Everyone wants the truth of his own heart. But it has to come at the right moment, at a moment when they’re willing to listen. Otherwise it will be crushed, or caged, or left to die of neglect. The heart is a fragile thing. »
« You wanted to talk to me, » I say quietly.
« I have a riddle for you: in what way are a tree and a moth the same, and in what way are they different? »
It only takes a moment to figure out the first half of the riddle: they both move towards the light. The second half eludes me. There are so many very obvious ways. I can’t catch the trick of it.
« A tree evolves by generating a new layer, » says Ellery. « A moth evolves by sloughing off an old one. You need to keep that in mind. »
Ellery stares at his hands. « I’m afraid, » he says.
« Is it the prophecy of war that frightens you? »
He averts his eyes. « The war is going to be horrible, but there’s only one thing we’re truly afraid of. » He grabs hold of my hand. « We’re risking so much. But we need so much. Every time you fall in love with one of us, it’s different. »
« That’s true. Each one of you is unique. »
« To I and I, your love is the most powerful drug in existence. He can taste how your love for Rand is different from your love for Ailann. He savors it. It intoxicates Him. He wishes He could create new colors, but He’s limited by the energy of which he can be composed. But it’s selfish. How you love us is not nearly as important as how we love you. »
Not to me, it isn’t. I’d like to touch him, to comfort him, but I’m a little hesitant. But then I remember that this is Ash, he’s a face of Ash. I place my hands on his shoulders. « You have to be strong, Heart of Ashtara. You belong to me. »
« Everyone is waiting for you, » he says.
Quennel is looking out at the eternal sunset. « It’s my fault. Because of me, he was forced out into the light before he was ready. »
« It’s a common horticultural practice to start your tender seeds in a hothouse, and only bring them outside once they’ve been established. Ellery will be fine. Shall we go to the ball? »
Despite his earlier protestation, I notice Quennel is wearing a black tie – appropriate for either day or evening. Malachi stays with the cutaway, caring much more about matching my dress than what anyone thinks of him.
I wish I had a holo of Quennel’s appalled reaction upon our arrival. There are black ties, white ties, ties in every color imaginable, cutaways with cravats. Callum is wearing a dress kilt with a jabot; Mickey’s bowtie is garishly patterned with fruit. And yes, Lens has chosen the Aldebaran placket with bolo.
But Quennel’s greatest horror is reserved for Wynne, whose tux is entirely made of powder blue velvet, and Axel, who has worn a kind of formal jumpsuit popular among the Zero-G ravers. It is made of deep red metallic fabric, its jodhpur legs meeting silver glitter boots which match the gloves and jumpsuit belt. There is no shirt, but a bow tie which glows with a phosphorescent light worn around a bare neck.
Till wheels out a massive metal trunk. « Everyone pull out a mask at random, » he says.
« Wait, » says Malachi. « We’ve already seen what everyone is wearing, and if we put on the masks in front of each other, they won’t hide anyone’s identity at all. »
« That isn’t the point, » says Till.
The masks are black papier-mâché with silver trim and inset faceted hematites. They cover the eyes only, and extending from the eye area, they burst into a blaze of feathers. The only difference between one mask and any other is the color of the feather plume – which, quite remarkably given the random distribution, always turns out to be the one assigned to that particular emanation in the color space.
These aren’t costume masks. They’re Carnival masks.
The massive ballroom has windows along one side which look out at the mirage of Merenis. Beneath the windows is positioned a banquet table containing the remaining desserts, along with the cases of wine ransacked by Tommy’s group. I sample a slice of the bombe.
Aran is at my side immediately, pouring a glass of champagne for me.
Evan and Valentin are playing a duet, Valentin on an elaborately carved harpsichord, and Evan on the Stradivarius. So enchanted am I by their melody that I fail to notice the emanations have taken all the masks. When the song finishes, the trunk is empty.
« Where’s mine? » I ask.
« Do you like them? » Aran asks.
« They’re quite beautiful. »
Dermot and Till join us. « You aren’t afraid of them? » Till pursues.
What a peculiar question! « Why should I be? »
« Our faces are partially concealed. »
« Well, I wouldn’t want you to wear them always, but for tonight, it’s amusing. They’re exotic. »
« It was Solomon’s idea, » says Dermot. « Solomon seems to be good at coming up with solutions. »
« Solution? To what? »
My question is cut off by Tommy, who is clinking a fork against a glass. « Our evening revelry is drawing to a close. But first, I would like to propose a toast to those who planted the seed. To Ernst Sider, fathering the fate of human and Cu’endhari, and to Tara, whose strength and beauty drew us from our prison of eternal loneliness! »
« To Tara, » they say as one. « To destiny! »
A hand touches my shoulder. It’s Ailann. He’s not wearing a tuxedo, but rather the ceremonial robes of the Archonate. He removes his mask, and the others follow suit.
« We need you to know that every one of us put his heart into this, » he says.
Result of Stress-test 9:
Production of the final model is greenlighted.
Conclusion:
When I returned from the pleroma, Axel was waiting – and Lady Magdelaine, hands planted firmly on hips. “I stopped by earlier to start packing for our return to Dolparessa,” she said. “I walked in on Princes Whirljack and Blackjack stroking that little tree – quite naked! I’ve never seen such goings-on.”
“Well, now you have,” I said. “Isn’t it wonderful that despite our potential immortality, the universe still continues to amuse us?”
“I am not amused,” she said. “If I didn’t know that tree was your husband, I’d throw it out. It’s infested with flies. When we get back, Sir Kaman has to apply a pesticide.”
As if in reply, a tiny Fokker DR I did several impressive turns and spins before heading in hot pursuit of a tiny Sopwith. “They’re courting,” said Axel. “He’s trying to impress her.”
Lady Lorma swatted at a biplane, which easily eluded the blow, doing a few snap rolls as if to taunt her. She gave up, leaving the room in a huff. When I turned back to him, Axel had produced a plate of nau’gsh strudel. “It really does seem more effective than nagging you to drink our juices.”
“Delicious,” I say, licking my fingers. “Aren’t you going to have some? It’s quite filling in the real world, where my body doesn’t have an infinite appetite – thank Mithras.”
“Eating my own strudel…it’s so…kinky…”
“You seem like a kinky guy. Do you really have a thing for Suibhne?”
“Yes, if that’s alright with you.”
“I’m happy for you. I think that Suibhne is often underestimated.” I hold his hand. “I’m sorry it took so long for us to be together.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I’m just happy to be alive.” Axel’s hand touched the locket around my neck. “There was a time when this was my only source of light,” he said. A curious expression came over his face. “It’s changed.”
“Changed?” I said, puzzled. I had looked at it only this morning – it was the same as it always had been.
But when I opened it, I saw that he was right. Typical for a locket of its sort, it had always had the ability to alternate any number of holograms, but it had only held the one of me and Daniel. Now it was running through a program, images of me with all of the emanations. Some of them I recognized – the official portrait of Ailann and me, or the picture I’d had taken with Cüinn at the carnival. But most of them weren’t holos I’d had taken at all. They were images derived directly from the memory of the branches.
And then I noticed that the back felt different, no longer smooth. I turned it over; there was now an inscription on it.
It said, “For your love, I am becoming.”
Axel raised his arms, bathing the room in a vivid blue light.
“Ash.” I stepped towards him as his wings unfolded.
His body was similar to the way it had appeared in the first prototype, except that he had taken the trouble to cover himself with a sort of kilt that seemed to be woven from spun starlight and the silky tail feathers of the raven. The tail was gone, but the volume redistributed – a little more muscular, longer hair, more elaborate antennae, and long trailers fluttering from the bottom edge of his wings, like a luna moth.
He had a face.
His eyes were blank as a Grecian statue’s, sleek blue energy with no iris or pupil. They were surrounded by a crest, something like feathers, or flowers, or the scales of a moth-wing. It covered his brow, his cheeks, extending outward in tendrils of energy. It looked like a mask, but was physically part of him.
He had a mouth, and I waited for it to say something. As an answer, he placed his finger over his lips, and I knew it was a mouth made for kissing, not speaking.
He was enigmatic and beautiful. He had come so far to give me something I could understand, a face that belongs to none of the emanations, because the face behind the mask belongs to all of them.
Every one of them put his heart into this. I understood then – the experiments, the testing, why Ellery was so afraid. I understood what I was seeing. Ashtara had begun life as a symbiont, but had evolved into something much more dazzlingly complex, as a tree does, by growing new branches, as a moth does, by sloughing off old selves. He stood before me now, a creature not of matter, nor of this universe. I will never know anything more alien.
There will never be anyone as familiar to me, my changeling angel. “Axel will have to wait,” I said.
Future Investigation:
Between two penises, a small tentacle (but thankfully, no vagina), and Axel’s sprawling plethora of fetishes (memorable moment: screaming “Strafe me!” as the fokkerflies filled with Suibhne’s pollen descended), there is enough material for another volume. Perhaps I should apply for a research grant.
The end of the text of The Portable Grove. Several Appendices may inform and elucidate:
Appendix A: Arcanum Magicam Archontes
Appendix B: Yggdrasil Cafe Dessert Menu
On Skarsian Astrology: a Paper by Archbishop Seth del Eden’d