I emanate again, which maybe isn’t so good, since I don’t have one of those sonic emitters, and I don’t have Beat’s talent for producing that noise, either. I do have a spacesuit though. At least I and I isn’t that stupid.
Lorcan, I’ve got an idea, says Davy. Just let it kill you.
Absolute genius, I say. What’s in it for me?
I’ll pollinate you, says Davy.
Oh, my leaves are all a-flutter. What, might I ask, is the point of my pointless death?
It’s obvious, says Davy.
We’re gathering data, says Malachi. The Mover has an idea.
We’re with you, says Beat. You can draw on my strength.
I can see it now, says Lens, I can see what Self has planned. The conflict with the Denolin Turym was a pretext to force Tara’s meeting with the Eer-gaaani. As such, it should be relatively easy to resolve this quickly.
What? Resolve this quickly? There are three hundred thousand of them…
And one of them is quite enough. It plucks me out of space with a writhing tentacle, sends stingers of energy through me to paralyze me. I can use alchemy to recover from this, like Beat did. Yggdrasil has a lot of resources. When we get an Archon here, he’s going to be a bad motherfucker.
But I don’t. Why struggle, if the point is my death?
Somehow, it recognizes that I’m allowing this, and I’m overwhelmed with its joy. Yes, it is joy, but it isn’t a good joy. It’s like swallowing molasses with bits of broken glass. It makes me want to vomit my own blood. And it’s overwhelming, stifling. My hand clutches instinctively for the locket – but I gave that back to Tara. I gave that back to her because I said I didn’t need it.
You don’t, says Tarlach. You have your memories. Reach back into your branch.
Memories. The second time I emanated, when Tara and I spent weeks together on Eirelantra. It was just after Patrick had finished writing his book. I couldn’t make sense of my life. Little wonder, since I was created to be the canary in the coal mine. I was intended to be expendable, but everything changed with Dermot’s covenant. Suddenly I was emanated. It was the most definite answer I could’ve hoped for – all sense, all meaning were in her. We ran around like a pair of juvenile delinquents, playing nasty tricks, making mean-spirited comments, getting all sorts of revenge on Tara’s enemies. We interrogated Christolea, which is a story for another time. Tara went along with all of it. I realize now that she wanted to create a world in which we played our own game, by our own rules. The Matriarch and Prince Lorcan – who was there to stop us?
And then I and I ended the games before Tara had dug herself in too deep, before her reputation was damaged irrevocably, before another level of difficulty was added to achieving her destiny. The others were relieved because at the time my emanation stood between them and Tara, a tinted window blocking the light. But I felt a sense of regret on the part of I and I when Cillian emanated. Tara was in love with me. He’d give her anything she wanted in order to preserve that.
Tara loves me. It’s the center. It’s everything.
And then I feel those memories being picked apart, examined by the Denolin Turym. It regards me curiously. Why would I allow my love to be thwarted like that? It could show me a better way of loving.
There’s a strange noise. It isn’t the noise that Beat was making. It’s my own voice. I’m howling in rage, in disgust. A part of me wants to give in to this; a part of me is struggling despite myself. The revulsion is just too strong.
It means the best for me. It wants me to be happy. I’ll be so happy when I’m not me anymore. That is, until it gets hungry again.
It’s just that Matek Lopen *click* Bar Treven *click* Sanis Poltra was right, says Davy.
What? How random was that? But for a moment it makes me laugh, takes my mind from the horror that engulfs me. High Chancellor Matek Lopen *click* Bar Treven *click* Sanis Poltra *clickclick* of the Ateher *hissclick* Masock, the species that…
I feel like little pieces of my brain are being gouged out with a spoon and put in a slingshot used to throw them against a neutronium wall. I must be losing my mind, because I have some glimmer of what Davy is driving at…
I’m losing everything. It’s all burning up in this acid bath of the soul. It’s getting so hard even to remember…
Tara.
Someone’s voice.
Tara.
It’s…Ross?
Tara. You can get through this. Just focus on Tara.
Ross? Help me.
I can help, too, says Callum.
The Denolin Turym reels a bit, stunned by the sudden presence of the others. Maybe it’s never eaten a communal entity before? I can sense that it doesn’t understand how we can exist as individuals. There’s a sudden resolve on its part to rectify the situation by digesting all of us.
It’s all right, says Davy. I’ve got what I need.
Then everything goes blue.