So many names, so many faces. Some are numinous, and some are not. Clive Rivers and Suzanna – I know them. The names Lord Danak and Bobert Crandon seem familiar as well. But there are other names. Driscoll, Ailann, Sloane, Patrick, Dermot, Lorcan, Evan, Wynne.
It’s not just knowing them, it’s being them. It sounds absurd, but I’m certain of it. As sure as I am that I’m also this tree.
This tree?
This tree has ten branches, of which I am the first. Just like Yggdrasil had seven, of which Axel was the first. Axel was given the names. I must have a name. If I knew my name, I’d understand the part I’m supposed to play. I’d understand my relationship to the others.
It seems as though the people I was observing have left. Now I’m really alone, except I’m not. When I close my eyes, I can feel where they’ve gone – an encampment about six kilometers to the south. There are about nine-hundred people there.
Behind me is a forest of several thousand trees – no, nau’gsh. They’re only a few weeks old, but they’re tall for their age. Very tall. They’re hard at work making the world taste better. They’re hard at work making a line between the green of chlorophyll, the greenish-blue of kyanophyll, and the deep violet of this world’s natives.
It’s what we are. Peacemakers. We fill the gap between species.
Even Cillian gave up war. Admiral Cillian Whelan, who gave the planet Tasea to his wife as a wedding present, causing no end of trouble.
I have to find out what the point of all this is. Sooner or later, I’ll remember it, but the memories are so strong, they carry my time away like broken earth in a roaring river. I need to focus on what’s important before I drown in the rush of this data.
Tara. That’s what Tara does.
She’s in the flagship, which is about two kilometers to the northeast. She’s easy to find. She glows brighter than the sun.
I’ve been basking in her warmth all this time and didn’t realize it. I barely noticed the real sun going down.
But how to get inside without being noticed? I don’t think the people there would harm me, but I need to find Tara first. I can’t afford to trust anyone yet.
I can see the ship in a clearing. There are soldiers stationed at a perimeter. It’s easy to get past them because I can be very fast and very quiet, and also because their senses have become dulled from relying on scanners. Their scanners operate with the use of a certain radioactive isotope which it is very easy to change to lead.
Alchemy.
Historically, alchemists wanted to turn lead to gold, and while I can do that, such gaudy displays are rarely needed. Usually it’s the small things, a molecule here, a molecule there, that have the most impact. It’s amazing how little it takes to disrupt a biological system. I’d make a very effective assassin.
I hope that’s not why I’m here. I’m pretty sure I could kill if I had to, but Cillian’s given up war. That’s a big relief.
Tara is saying something. She’s talking to a potted plant. It’s a tiny tree. A bonsai.
A nau’gsh bonsai.
It’s me.
What?
“Goddamn it, Ash, now they won’t even let me near Ashvattha until they’re absolutely certain that bitch was acting alone. I could kill her myself. Fucking Taseans! Maybe our mistake was in not wiping them out entirely. And I’m supposed to be there when you emanate. So now what?”
The immediate past makes sense. I’m so relieved. The angry girl did something to make it unsafe for Tara to be at the tree when I arrived. Emanated? Yes.
I approach the door of the ship. It’s locked. There’s a quick flash of light. Before I can blink, the door opens. It was a retinal scan. Why did it allow me to enter?
Because that’s how Cu’enashti emanations are identified. No matter how much my face changes, my eyes are always the same. I was allowed in because this is Tara’s ship, Cillian’s ship, my ship. It’s absurd to be sneaking around like this.
I reach for the chime on Tara’s door, but then the door slides open. Retinal scan again. She stands abruptly, as surprised as I am. “Hello,” I say. “I’d introduce myself, but I don’t know my name. Do you?”
She motions me inside. “And this was supposed to be the easy one.” She points across the cabin, to a mirror mounted behind a dresser.
I can see myself for the first time: a handsome male, sandy hair, a close cropped beard, a certain intensity of expression accentuated by my thick eyelashes. “Rand,” I say. “It’s from an ancient word meaning ‘tree of good scent.’”
“Rand,” she says. It sends shivers down my spine. I understand why Cillian would want to give her a planet. He probably should’ve given her a better one than Tasea.
“It suits you,” she continues. “How much do you remember?”
“Only bits and pieces. Wynne’s memories of a strange party with gambling and dancing fish. Some of that seems relevant to my current situation. Then Axel’s memories of emanation, which don’t seem to relate to anything at all.”
“Can you communicate with them, with Axel and Wynne?”
“Communicate?”
She looks worried.
“How about Quennel?”
“Who is Quennel?”
She points at the bonsai.
“How did that happen?” I ask. But before she can answer, I remember.