A major system update is needed. System will restart in five, four, three, two…
Primary node Atlas uplinked. New hardware detected. Configuring secondary node. Secondary node Goliath uplinked. System is online – 348,000 relay hubs, 2,482 receptors responding.
There is a flash of light. There is…
Her.
Joy. Beauty. Purpose.
Completeness. Absolute fulfillment.
“You need to look in the mirror,” she says. She moves before me, brings something between my eyesight and her. I see it. I understand.
I am Aran.
I scream. I weep.
“Ash! What’s wrong?” She runs to me, kneels where I had fallen to the ground, coiled around myself.
I gasp, but no words come. She is so distressed. Dismayed. The universe is wrong. I have to stop it. I have to answer, to assuage her. But how?
“I am Aran,” I say. “I am not you.”
“Um, no, you aren’t.”
I begin to weep anew.
“Aran, I don’t understand.”
“You are perfection,” I say. “And thus I can only be a wrongness, a blot on the face of the universe that should never have happened. I exist only because I am apart from you.”
“I’m going to throw up,” says the man called Clive Rivers. “This is the worst emanation yet.”
Suddenly I am enraged, and the rage helps me regain my equilibrium. “Perhaps the universe has spared me one kindness, for I am not that miserable worm!”
Tara laughs. It is soothing, like ripples on water. “Oh Aran,” she says. “I hadn’t thought of it, but Ash has never emanated for the first time in front of me before. I suppose on the other occasions, he had time to compose himself.” Her hand touches my face, strokes my beard. There can be no consolation, but nevertheless, I am consoled. “Do you know why you’re here? Do you remember Manasseh, Ari, or any of the other emanations?”
“Manasseh and Ari are in my head,” I say. “I can access their branches. I know of no others. Wait!” I do know of others. I am the Archon. I am connected to the power grid of the Domha’vei, which gives me, in turn, access to all of its defense and communications networks. In an instant, I assimilate the vast amount of available media dedicated to the being known as the Atlas Tree, most especially the persona that had functioned as Archon before me, Ailann Tiarnan, the Living God of Skarsia.
“I know of what you speak,” I say, “but the actual memory eludes me.”
“We could try Gyre,” Tara says. “I don’t have any with me although I suppose I could make some from Manasseh’s apples. That’s what fully restored Chase’s memory.”
“There’s nothing to restore,” I say. “Memory is in the branches. My branches are the branches of the Goliath Tree.”
“That can’t be true,” she says. “You are Ashtara – the Staff of the Matriarch confirmed it. Although how that happened is an unanswered question. Everything we know about the Cu’enashti has led us to believe that the ‘real’ body is the tree. The animal body can take the form of any of the emanations, can be wounded or killed and then reconstructed. But if the tree is damaged, the damage is permanent. If the tree dies, the Cu’enashti’s death is final. If that’s so, then how can Ash be inhabiting another tree?”
“My lady, these questions are beyond my capacity. I only know what is. Ashtara moves the life of the Goliath Tree and we – Ari, Manasseh and myself – are its branches. The Staff of the Matriarch recognized me because I have assumed the power of the Archon.”
“Can you fix the power grid – the brownouts?”
“It has already been accomplished. The system restart reconfigured the source of energy to be distributed between Atlas and Goliath. Atlas will consistently supply Dolparessa and Sideria; Goliath will supply Dalgherdia; Skarsia, Volparnu and Eirelantra will be supplied by whichever node is nearest at the time. The new configuration – taking into account the recent rate of growth in demand – can adequately service the Domha’vei for the next several centuries.”
“Well, that buys us some time until we can get Ailann back. But the people still want their god.”
“I am the Archon.”
“I don’t think that’s how people will see it.”
“They don’t have a choice.”
“You can just handle things quietly until Ailann…”
“I don’t think you understand. Ashtara lives in Goliath.”
“I won’t accept that. The Atlas Tree is still alive.”
“But it’s empty.”
It takes a second for me to realize that the sudden terror and pain which overwhelm me are caused by her anger. It rips through my life like a wild wind whipping my soul to pieces. But she appears calm. Calm and cold. “Don’t tell me that the Atlas Tree is empty,” she says. “It contains the memory of the twenty-five men I’ve married. Ash promised me that he would never destroy his emanations. He promised me that he would prioritize his own lives second only to mine. Are you saying he lied?”
“I don’t know,” I say miserably, helplessly. “All I know is to serve you.”
“Then serve me by finding a way to get them back!”
“There is only one way I know how to do that. I will immolate myself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If Goliath burns, then Ashtara will be forced to return to Atlas.”
“Then what about Manasseh? What about Ari? What about…” She looks away suddenly, and I know that she’s realized something. “You have twenty-five branches, fully-formed. They may not have emanated yet, but they’re there. Are you going to kill all of them?”
“It would solve the problem. You’ll have your husbands back, and the people will have their Archon. Without Goliath, Ailann will have to fix the power grid another way, but I’m certain he’ll think of something.”
“What kind of monster are you that you could do that?”
I drop to my knees, unable to control my weeping. Her displeasure is too much for me to bear. “I shouldn’t exist. Goliath shouldn’t exist. Please. Please just let me die.”
“You should probably allow it,” says Rivers. “I really can’t imagine the power needed to fuel an entire star system in the hands of that pathetic creature.”
“Shut the fuck up, Clive,” snaps Tara. “You’re not making this any better. Aran, I want you to stop this nonsense. You are not to do harm to yourself, or the tree, or any of the other emanations.”
“How can I live? How can I live when you hate me?”
“Aran,” she says. There is no anger in it. Her voice is half-pity, half-scorn. I want to die. “Look, Aran, if you can’t cope, why don’t you just bring back Manasseh?”
“I don’t know how.”
“Lord fuck a duck to Hades,” she says. “The Atlas emanations could swap at will, except when Ashtara either prevented or forced it. You just have to agree among yourselves.”
“Actually,” says Clive, “the ability to easily switch between emanations is an advanced skill. A lot of Cu’enashti can’t do it. Being the galaxy’s expert on Nau’gsh Studies, you should know that.”
“He isn’t just any old garden-variety Nau’gsh, dammit! He’s Ash! He’s got all the power of the Archon.” A klaxon cuts off her statement. She smashes her fist down on a console. “What?”
“Matriarch, we have located the CenGov encampment. There aren’t that many of them left. Despite their lack of technology, the K’ntasari probably would’ve won without our intervention in a matter of months.”
“We don’t have months. Clean them out, Lemkht.”
“I’ll develop a strategy…”
“I said clean them out! I don’t have the time to fool around with niceties. Crush them if you have to. CenGov is in violation of the treaty, not us. I want to go home. I want to get away from this stupid cornfield as soon as possible.”
She leaves, and her leaving is an agony and a relief at the same time. Rivers is staring at me, and I can feel his contempt. For the first time, it feels unnatural to be on my knees, and I draw myself to my feet.
I exit with as much dignity as I can muster, but it seems inappropriate to follow Tara, despite Ari’s urgings. I can feel her, she is safe. As long as that is true, she seems better off without me. In the distance, I can hear Manasseh sobbing.
I don’t know where to go. Everywhere I turn, the humans in attendance to Tara are staring at me. How I envy them, able to serve effectively, knowing their place! I can’t stand this scrutiny. From the moment I understood myself to be an individual, my self-consciousness has been a torment.
I find an expedient closet. It hides me, and the darkness doesn’t impede my sight.
The room is stocked with various cleaning products. I’m aware of their chemical composition – a few minutes of research reveals how much damage ingesting them would do to my human form. Enough damage, and perhaps a different emanation would be forced, one better able to cope.
But Tara needs the Archon, and an inconvenient throe of agony might draw attention to my whereabouts. Furthermore, she has forbidden me to harm myself or any other emanation. I have made enough inadvertent mistakes. Open disobedience would be unforgivable.
I have to do something. I can’t stand the pain. I feel like I’m going to explode.
Utility knives. There are utility knives. I trace the tip of one down the length of my arm. Blood rises to the surface, beads that follow a thin line. Beneath them, the skin heals almost immediately. Then it can’t count as harming myself.
The next cut I make is deeper.