Matriarch’s Journal: 2nd Battleday of the Month of Restoration, 3617, pt. 1
I could see that Malachi didn’t want me to ask about Lorcan, so I didn’t. I figured I’d start fresh after a good night’s sleep. It was hardly a good night. My dreams were full of soul-sucking centipedes; I woke up clinging and crying for you.
I had to do something to shake myself out of it. After all, the plan was working, which should be cause for celebration. I helped myself to a refreshing glass of 15 (Driscoll), and was immediately inspired to choose upholstery for our quarters. It was something I had planned to do sooner or later; the Hreck really weren’t much for decorating.
Malachi had gone to confer with the Bhavashti about the orchard. When he returned, he reported that the Denolin were fine with the idea of waiting for a second generation. “The Bhavashti believe that they can produce the needed seeds relatively rapidly,” he said. “Oh, Spidey is now a Bounder. It’s improved his charisma enormously.”
“A pale, somewhat dusty blue, with taupe accents,” I suggested, showing him some fabric samples. “Relaxing colors for a bedroom.”
“Why are you going through all this trouble? The way things have gone, we could be out of here in a few weeks, maybe less.” He paused; understanding settled into his eyes. “You intend to set up house here.”
I nodded. “Stripes or florals?”
“Tara, this is a horrible place.”
“It’s a matter of perspective. Let’s start with the name. Tucana is silly. We just call it that because from Earth’s perspective, it’s in the constellation of Tucana. But this place has nothing to do with Earth – or, for that matter, human perspectives. The Eer-gaaani name is more appropriate, but a bit long-winded.”
“It translates approximately into ‘Darkness.’ I think that sums it up reasonably well. But you’re correct that this place is not for humans. You don’t belong here, Tara.”
“Do you think I’m going to abandon Yggdrasil? I told Ari that wherever there was an Ashtree, I’d make a home.”
He was quiet for a moment. “When Yggdrasil grew, we all knew it would be in exile.”
“I’m supposed to accept that? I know Atlas. I know Goliath. They aren’t just trees. It’s like saying you’re just a hunk of meat. Maybe you’re right about the mothman pre-existing. But if the nau’gsh change, mutate or something when the mothman touches them, it isn’t just one way, is it? The mothman changes too.”
“You’re talking about a kind of symbiosis. I suppose you have a point – that is the way we live. What the Yggdrasil emanations call Self is in a state of symbiosis with you. I don’t suppose it’s too wrong to suppose that the mothman could be in a state of symbiosis with the nau’gsh as well. Your destiny called the Mover, a moth to a flame, just as Ernst Sider’s destiny called the whole Cu’endhari species into being.” Malachi looked surprised, as though he had just come to that realization. “Just like these seeds did, the choice was made at the beginning.”
“It doesn’t matter. Well, it does, but not in a way that affects my decision. Whether the mothman is the sentience of a nau’gsh, or a sentience inhabiting a nau’gsh, Yggdrasil is a part of Ashtara. I won’t abandon it.”
Malachi looked away, so very melancholy. He always has the demeanor of a serious child, but his wistfulness seemed deeper than usual. He was a child of Eden, of Goliath’s perfect beauty, and he didn’t want to stay here, in this stark and lonely place. But you will stay because it has become your burden to be the savior of the monstrous Denolin. “Maybe Neliit is right,” I said. “Maybe we need to change perspective. In some regard, the Denolin Turym must be considered beautiful.”
“The Bhavashti love them. The absorption was an ecstatic joining.”
Now I had to ask. “And Lorcan?”
Malachi fell silent. “I believe that I’ll follow Lens in maintaining my silence.”
“Do you think for a moment I’ll allow that? Lens was worried about something he saw in the future. That’s entirely different from telling me about Lorcan’s condition right now.”
He sat on the side of the bed, staring down at his hands. “Lorcan wishes he were dead.”
“Then why…?”
“We don’t know why. I wish I had a better explanation.”
Malachi looked absolutely miserable. I took his hand between mine. “Why don’t you round up Rivers?” he suggested. “It’s about time for his treatment.”
In other words, Malachi didn’t want to answer any more questions about Lorcan. “Will Lens be back?”
“Perhaps,” said Malachi. “If not, I can manage. I lack Lens’ vision, but my ability to manipulate matter is somewhat better than his.”
It was frustrating that you still wanted to keep secrets. I know your desire was to protect me, but the silence made me even more worried about Lorcan. Or maybe you wanted to keep me from meddling until Lorcan could work things out for himself. Lorcan isn’t exactly the kind of man who relies extensively on a social support network.
Clive, it seemed, had almost entirely forgotten about his treatment. “I know the real cure is what Lens is doing, but I’ve been feeling much better since Ailann worked on me. I don’t see the harm in doing a little research. How many chances will I get to explore another galaxy?” He was actually smiling. It had been such a long time since I had seen him smile without bitterness, probably since he stopped being Edom St. John.
Was Edom the source of this excited curiosity, or was it an element that had been shared by both men? Remarkably, it cheered me. Perspective again. “I’d forgotten about it,” I said, “but you and I and Johannon, we’re the first humans ever to go outside of the Milky Way. That’s got to be worth something.”
“Let’s take out one of the flyers,” he suggested. “I want to circle around that slit into the nul-universe, take some readings. Apparently, the SongLuminants know a lot more than we do about trans-universal space.”
As we flew, I looked over his shoulder at his equipment. “Strange, isn’t it?” I said. “Not at all like a wormhole. More like a chasm.”
“The original was a hole, clean as a laser drill. And it’s totally stable. Wormholes aren’t stable in this universe.”
“But the Dolparessan rip is stable.”
“Maybe more stable than this one. Look at that.” He pointed at a tiny pinprick at the left corner of the screen. There’s an anomaly there. If I didn’t know better…”
“Clive, we’ve got bigger problems,” I said, grabbing his arm. He looked up at the viewpane. Barreling down on us was an enormous Denolin. It was still quite far away, but coming at us with gnashing teeth and flailing tentacles.
“I thought they were friendly.”
“I think they are. They just suck at congeniality. You know something? I don’t think it would be a bad idea if we were to establish the Aion. No reason to put it off. We don’t really need to connect this station to the power grid – it’s got plenty of access to nul-energy. But establishing the Aion will make an Archon…”
“And it would be nice to have an emanation with that kind of power locally – just in case.”
I nodded.
“Drop me here, why don’t you?” he said. “I want to take more readings. You can take the flyer back to the Eer-gaaani ship.”
I left Clive in one of the domes on the far side of the station. I didn’t want to say it to him, but besides the business of the Archon, I wasn’t comfortable flying with him. I had a feeling that the Denolin Turym knew I was off-limits, but I wondered if that one had been reacting to Clive. Despite what Malachi had said, could the Bhavashti really speak for all the Denolin? We would both be safer with Clive under cover, I reasoned.
I retrieved the Staff from Neliit’s ship. Graysal offered to take me back to the surface of the platform, or to send an honor guard with me, but I declined. It had been years since I had an opportunity to fly around on my own. Danak never would have allowed the Matriarch to be unprotected, but here I had no enemies. How could I resist the lure of seeing an utterly new starscape in solitude?
As I retraced my course, I noticed the Denolin – several of them now, and moving in an intercept course. I changed trajectory slightly. They did not follow. They kept on the same heading, no longer aiming towards me, but at an empty space behind me.
I toggled to rear view just as a comm klaxon rang – no, two comm klaxons.
Suibhne said, “You need to initiate the Aion right now.”
“Suibhne? What happened to Malachi? And why the hell are you here?”
Clive said, “That’s no instability. That’s a wormhole. Are we expecting anyone?”
“Tara,” said Suibhne, “you need…”
Then I saw what was emerging from the wormhole. A small fighter of CenGov make. Before I could even think about evasion, it fired at me.
“Initiate Aion,” I said. I was the Matriarch of Skarsia. I didn’t really want my last words to be “Oh shit.”
*****
Everything goes white.
Aion is established
But my ears didn’t hear that.
He offers his hand. The hand is not really there.
Till
Till what?
He laughs.
He’s made of nul-energy, except that the energy is red.
He spreads his wings, crackling with fire. And then they are solid, like feathers, like flowers.
*****
I awake in my bedroom at Court Emmere. I push back the comforter. My hands seem different, my arms thicker. It feels strange to me, my own body. What a strange dream. It’s slipping away from me, the content of that dream. It feels like it was important, but also upsetting.
It was probably about him again, the bearded man I’ve dreamed of ever since Wyrd Elma made that prophecy. How long ago was that? Eleven years. I was only a child. What a thing to tell a little kid. Other children don’t have to put up with that kind of shit. One more benefit of having the blood of the Matriarch, along with the endless battle-exercises and the ostracism.
I think that man I dream about is supposed to be the man in the prophecy, but it’s hard to believe. He doesn’t look the kind to sacrifice himself for love. And he’s so much older than me.
If he is the man in the prophecy, well and good, because he isn’t idiot Merkht, and he isn’t Daniel.
I throw on a riding skirt and boots because I like to remember that I have a pony, even if I haven’t actually ridden in six months. Also, it will make it seem almost like I’m looking forward to the next visit to Vuernaco because I get to ride. The trick never quite works. This time, it will work much less well because I’ll remember that I won’t see Daniel all the time I’m there. It’s fucking depressing.
Not nearly as depressing as the thought that I’ll never see him again, ever, once they take me to marry Merkht next year. Daniel knows, but he doesn’t say anything. I don’t think he’s said a cross word to me, ever. Outside of Lady Madonna, I think he’s the only person who has been kind to me since my parents died. I guess Lord Danak is okay, but he really works for my uncle.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Someday, Daniel is going to pressure me to marry him – which is impossible – or to give him a lot of money, or something. People aren’t kind out of the goodness of their hearts.
Maybe he just wants sex. But he’s a cute boy, and a lot of girls would fuck him.
Maybe he loves me, which is just really hard to believe.
Well, it’s Archonsday, which means that my tutors won’t come. I’m supposed to go to church, but no one will really notice if I slip away to Daniel’s flat after the service. They’ll think I’ve gone up to my tree again. Amat’i Archa, Amat’I Ailann, Ama Ama Skarsia, I repeat to myself. What a meaningless liturgy.
And then I laugh, because what did I just say? “The life of the Archon is the life of Ailann, is the eternal life of Skarsia.” That’s not how it goes! It should go, um, Amat’i Archa, Amat’I Suibhne, Ama Ama Skarsia.
No, wait, Suibhne? What name goes in there? Oh God, I’m going to hell for sure. Um, Aran? No, it’s Till.
Till what?
That does it. I’m not going to church. If I’m a damned soul anyways, I’m just going to see Daniel.
Then I notice the door in the far left corner of the room. That wasn’t there before. It looks a lot like the back door to Daniel’s flat. I used it one afternoon when I had to sneak out before the landlady saw and told my uncle.
Why does the back door to Daniel’s flat lead to my bedroom now?
Oh fuck it, it certainly is convenient.
I open the door. Daniel is lying on the bed, and the room is full of men. I mean packed. There must be at least twenty of them.
Shit, I wish I had a weapon. It isn’t a great idea for a girl to be alone with all of these men. Some of them look like they have issues. There’s a guy in the corner absolutely stoned out of his mind, and another one on the floor playing with toy soldiers. For a minute, I think about ducking back into my room and barricading the door. But I really want to be with Daniel. I should at least get an explanation.
“Daniel, who are all these people?” I ask.
They all look up and stare at me in shock.
Daniel gets off the bed and nearly trips over some guy playing cards. He’s wearing a red velvet jacket and vlizaard loafers. He looks like the kind of man my mother would warn me about if she were still alive. I’ll just bet he’s a pervert.
And then somebody says, “How can Tara possible be here?”
“I came through the door,” I say, tempted to add, “obviously, moron.” I look for the source of the voice and…
…it’s HIM.
I point and start making weird noises which were meant to sound like speech. “You’re the man in my dream,” I finally manage to spit out. “The one in Elma’s prophecy.”
And then some guy sticks his head through a hole in the wall above Daniel’s bed. The guy looks nice, but really, there’s a hole in Daniel’s wall. “Have you told your landlady about that?” I ask.
“I think we’ve figured out what’s going on,” he says.
“That’s good,” I say, “Isn’t it?”
“Do you remember what happened?” he asks.
“Yesterday, Claris called me a sullen bitch, so I hit her. That’s the extent of the excitement in my life.”
“I remember that,” says Daniel.
“I messaged you when it happened,” I reply. “I suppose I should be glad that you’re paying attention.”
“It happened 46 years ago.”
“Amnesia,” says the man in the wall. “I suppose something like this was to be expected.” He climbs down from the wall and descends over the bed and onto the floor. “Tara, you don’t remember me at all, do you?”
I shake my head. He looks like a nice man – cute, a bit boyish for his age. He has kind eyes that make me want to trust him.
Then I notice that they are all staring at me. They all have kind eyes. They all have the same eyes.
My good sense tells me that I should be afraid, but for some reason, I feel totally calm now. Like nothing bad could possibly happen, ever.
“My name is Malachi,” he says, removing his hat as he bows. It’s so oddly formal under these circumstances that I have to smile.
“Exactly what happened?” says the bearded man from my dream. Man, he scares the crap out of me. But then again, I trust him. I feel like he’d back me when no one else would.
“The amnesia should clear up, once she emanates,” says Malachi.
“Once I what?” I ask.
“Once she what?” roars another man who had been sitting in the center of a gigantic leather couch. He’s dressed in an admiral’s uniform. Either Daniel has a surprising diversity of friends and/or relatives, or it’s some strange kind of cosplay.
The uniform is sexy, though. In fact, all of these guys, even though quite a number of them look very questionable, are extraordinarily hot.
My god, maybe Daniel is gay.
“Close your eyes,” Malachi says.
“Um, no.”
“Tara,” says Daniel, “you have to trust us.”
“Who is us? Seriously, who are these people?”
The dignified, bearded man steps forward. “We would never harm you,” he says, “or allow any harm to come to you. You need to close your eyes so you can feel the source of the energy.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but there’s something about him that’s authoritative – reassuring, and yet unable to be resisted. I hope I’m not getting some weird kind of father complex.
He doesn’t remind me of my father so much, though. More like…God. The way I picture the Archon in my mind when I’m praying to him. Maybe my idea of the Archon has been subliminally influenced by that dream. Or maybe it’s some weird psychological symbolism. “You look exactly the way I picture the Archon,” I say. “I hope that doesn’t mean I need a therapist.”
“That explains a lot,” he says.
“I’m a therapist,” another says. I glance over at him, and I can’t stop laughing. “What’s so funny?” he says, obviously hurt.
“I’m sorry, but you look exactly the way I’d picture a therapist.”
I think I finally get it. “I’m still dreaming. This is all some kind of weird dream.”
“Tara, please just close your eyes,” says Malachi.
But if I want to wake up, shouldn’t I open my eyes? Ah, never mind.
Something’s coming, like the shadow of a bird. It’s glowing with a neon blue darkness. It passes over and through me and gives me a little shove. I extend and solidify, like frost crystals on a windowpane.
*****
I can feel my body now. I can feel everything.
Everything.
The flattening heaviness of air. The humming of electrons in the metal beneath my feet. The stench of the sun. I’m afraid to open my eyes; I bite back a scream.
Something touches my shoulder. It’s warm, solid. It feels good, so good, and I want to follow it back to its source. Of all the things in the universe carelessly spilled before me, this is the one I desire, the grain of sand which becomes the cornerstone of the pearl.
I’m standing in the Yggdrasil dome with my arms folded. Somehow I know the giant tree is behind me. I open my eyes, and they fill.
I’ve never seen him before. He’s handsome.
And then I see his eyes. “Ash,” I say. “My god.”
“I’m Till,” he replies. “The new Archon.”
I’m looking at him; he’s looking at me. I can feel the pounding of his heart, the blood rushing through his veins, the oxygen bonding with the iron-rich hemoglobin in his blood.
“It’s all right,” he says. “You’re still a little disoriented. Soon you’ll slip back into your human perspective.”
There’s an odd sound, distant. Someone clearing his throat. “I hate to interrupt this tender moment,” someone says. “No, actually, I’m taking a great sadistic pleasure in it. The two of you are sickening. Anyway, I thought it might be good to inject that we have a problem. A big one.”
Only then do I realize that Till and I are not alone. Clive is there, and Neliit also. “The problem,” Clive says insistently, “is that the Staff of the Matriarch was vaporized along with your flyer.”
“My flyer?” Flashes of memory were starting to come back. “There was a CenGov ship?”
“Eaten alive by the Denolin Turym,” says Clive, “that were trying to protect you. Unfortunately, they couldn’t move fast enough. Neliit was right – they know who their friends are.”
“But how did the ship get here?”
“We don’t know for sure,” says Neliit.
“We have a few theories,” Clive continues. “I’m pretty certain that they were after me. Even here, it seems, I can’t escape my past. I wonder how they knew where I was going.”
I know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too – Johannon. That’s why he’s not with Clive and Neliit. But it doesn’t make sense. Johannon never wanted power as much as immortality, so why betray us? Then something else occurs to me, something even more troubling. “Wait. If the staff was vaporized, then how did I escape?”
“You didn’t,” says Clive dryly.
“Congratulations on your apotheosis,” says Neliit cheerfully.
I don’t quite like the sound of that. “Till, is it possible that you could explain this plainly, in fifty words or less?”
“You noticed that Lens could see something that was upsetting him greatly. It was a vision of your death. Of course, the emanations in the pleroma did everything they could to stop it, but they found it was impossible to interfere. Then Lorcan noticed the odd contradiction that your death didn’t change the vision of your destiny. Suibhne kept saying that he knew what to do when you died, and, as it turned out, he did. But it would never have worked if you hadn’t been drinking our juices, which gave Self a constant subconscious access to your life-force, and if Lorcan hadn’t allowed himself to be absorbed by the Denolin Turym. Lorcan’s sacrifice was essential: Self had to understand how the Denolin functioned before Self could replicate it. It’s similar to the way Lucius was emanated to communicate with the SongLuminants. I was emanated to emulate the techniques of the Denolin Turym.”
“That was more than fifty words, and I’m still not sure I understand.”
“At the moment of your death, we absorbed you. We were then able to recreate your body alchemically and emanate you again.”
“This is like one of those strange dreams when you think you’ve woken, but you keep waking into a different dream. You know, I did have a strange dream. I was seventeen, but when I went to visit Daniel there were all these men I didn’t recognize hanging around his apartment. Except now, thinking about it, I do recognize them.”
And it was right after the dream where the flyer exploded.
I close my eyes. When I open them, I will be back on the flyer with Clive.
The minute I close them, I become aware of an overpowering odor. I open them. “Till, I can smell the stars,” I say. “It’s a nasty stink, kind of musty.”
“It’s because this galaxy is so old,” he says. “Patrick says to tell you that focusing on a nebula is much more pleasant. It has that refreshing new star smell.”
I open my eyes. The smell is fading; the universe seems more and more definite. And then it hits me: I died.
“Would you excuse me please?” I say as I jog across the platform, jumping on the hilift.
*****
Till has enough sensitivity to leave me alone for a while. I examine myself in the mirror. I look exactly the same, with one exception, and only if you know what to look for – my eyes. Behind the brown is a shifting red-gold light, like the flash of color in a rich, black opal.
I’ve changed. I’m not human anymore. I died. I sit at Axel’s desk and place my hands upon the surface to keep them from shaking. It’s a smooth synthetic compound, but I can feel the gaps between the molecules. It seems to me that I could fall between them if I’m not careful.
I died and I was absorbed. Absorbed by you. Does that mean that I’m somehow a part of you now, another one of your emanations? Did you grow another branch?
There’s a viewer which is capable of monitoring the station. I call up an image of the central column with Yggdrasil jutting above the surface. It’s the same, seven major branches.
But I do seem to have some enhancement of my senses. Can I perform alchemy? I stare at the table, willing it to turn to stone. Nothing happens.
I laugh at myself. How silly of me. Also, Till was right about my perceptions stabilizing. My senses aren’t nearly as acute as they were back on the platform, and I seem to be getting used to the improvement that remains.
Till stands in the doorway. I motion for him to join me. “There’s good news and bad news,” he says. “The good news is that Archivist kept illegal records of the Flaxxshi. It should be possible to recreate the Matriarch’s Staff. We’ll do it as soon as possible so we won’t need to worry about the power grid needing recalibration, or putting the Draco project on hold.”
“That’s great.”
“You sound less than enthusiastic.”
“Is the bad news worse than, say, dying and reincarnating in a galaxy full of flying centipedes?” I’m surprised at my sudden hostility. I’m thinking now, and the pieces I’m putting together aren’t adding up to a pretty picture. “Lens knew this was coming. Couldn’t you have figured out another way to rescue me? Disintegrated the attack or something?”
“How do you disintegrate a laser beam?”
“Well, what about the ship?”
“We couldn’t get there in time. We weren’t certain of the exact circumstance of the vision until the ship appeared. Alchemy can’t affect something in another universe, Tara, and the mothman can’t fly faster than light. They fired the instant they came out of the wormhole – which brings me to the bad news.”
“I know,” I said. “There has to be a traitor among us. I don’t want to think about that just yet.” I rest my head between my hands. “But you knew, you all knew it was coming…” Well, of course Till didn’t know personally, as he didn’t even exist when these decisions were made. And he was probably right when he said earlier that the emanations couldn’t stop it. But Till is still a part of you, and you never make mistakes.
I stand, pulling away from him. “You did this on purpose, Ash,” I accuse. “You let me die so that you could absorb me. This is some sick way of assuring my fidelity. You saw what the Denolin could do, and you wanted that kind of relationship with me.”
“I don’t know,” Till says miserably. “I can’t answer that. But I can feel that Self didn’t believe you’d object. You said you wanted your destiny. You said that you wanted to understand us.”
It was true. If you had asked me if I wanted this, I probably would have agreed to it. Maybe it was possible that there was no way to avert my death. Or maybe you allowed my death to happen because you saw that it would make this possible, and this would make my destiny possible.
This change would’ve been difficult no matter what, but under other circumstances, I would’ve embraced it. The problem was that I died. It stood in my path like a cold, stone wall. I’m human. Death has meaning. Death makes us what we are.
Except I’m not human anymore, and death is no obstacle to my destiny. “I’m so sorry, Till. I’m just afraid. I’m fucking terrified.”
“I know,” he says. I turn to face him, and see the concern in his eyes. Your eyes, the kindest eyes I’d ever known. And I know for certain that you never meant to hurt me, have never done anything you didn’t think was in my best interest.
I take a deep breath. I realize that I don’t like the air here – there’s so little that’s organic. There’s a faint smell of seaweed: Hreck breaths that have yet to be recycled by the atmo-gen. I ask the big question. “You absorbed me and remade me. How do I know I’m still me?”
“You’re still you.”
That wasn’t an answer. “The Panic-droids think they’re her, too. Because I think I’m me doesn’t mean that the real me isn’t actually dead.”
“If that were the case, wouldn’t that matter more to us than to you?”
That was a logical, if disturbing, statement.
“Believe me, Tara, we thought about that,” he continues. “When we first confronted the possibility of your death, we decided absolutely that a substitute was unacceptable. That’s why Lorcan went through that horrific experience with the Denolin. With that knowledge, I was able to take the subtle bioenergy that comprised your essential self and give it physical form. Alchemy gave me the ability, but I learned the technique by understanding what the Denolin were doing when they absorbed people.”
“Lorcan,” I murmur. “Is he all right?”
“Tarlach says he’s much better. Once Lorcan was able to contextualize his perverse desire to be consumed by the Denolin as an affirmation rather than violation of his n’aashet n’aaverti, he was well on the road to recovery.”
“At least that’s good.” Then something else occurs to me. “Can you read my mind?”
Till laughs. “No.”
“But you can see all my memories. You must have.”
“Yes and no. The Denolin method of absorbing consciousness is different from the way memories are stored either in the human brain or in our branches. In some sense, we have to preserve your memories or we wouldn’t be able to emanate and withdraw you. But we can’t access them in the way we access our own. Your privacy is safe.”
“From the emanations – but probably not from Ash. Wait – what did you mean by withdraw?”
“There’s a connection between us now. We can withdraw the emanation so that you can exist only within the pleroma, as the non-emanated branches do. It’s incredibly useful – for example, if Self wanted to transport you somewhere, we could withdraw your emanation, and you could ride with us. Or if in the unfortunate event you were killed again, you’d probably just wake up in the pleroma.”
“So if you wanted, you could take my body away.”
“That’s paranoid. You might as well say that all those years, Ailann could’ve killed you with a thought.”
“I suppose you have a point. But killing me wouldn’t get what you want. Keeping me prisoner inside of your head…”
“Do you understand at all what Dermot and Davy were trying to do when they made Goliath? And even when you’re inside, you can still have your privacy. You can go to your room.”
“My room?” For a moment, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. Then I remember. “It was my room when I was seventeen, but now that same room is our bedroom at Court Emmere. I’d feel funny keeping you out of our bedroom.”
“I doubt you want forty of us in your bed.”
“That bed is big, but not quite that big.” My eyes fall on the bed in this room. Why not? It’s been a trying day, and I’ve got a new husband.
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door – well, the arch, actually. It’s Johannon. I shoot a concerned glance over to Till, who shakes his head. I don’t think he believe Johannon is the traitor, either, but at this point we can’t discount anything.
“We need to establish a ministry here,” says Johannon. “The Denolin Turym see Yggdrasil as their savior. They’re ripe for conversion to Archonism.”
What a thing to think of at a time like this! “Johannon, I don’t know that the Denolin even understand the concept of religion, let alone a religion which is sheer propaganda.”
“Tara, when I was a child on Descartes, I worshipped my family’s gods. We prayed for health, wealth, peace, life in eternity. The gods never answered. Instead, we got a Terran invasion, death and subjugation. Then I was taken to Earth and taught that there were no gods, which was why they didn’t answer. CenGov refused to accept religion as mystery or metaphor, insisting that it lacked validity because it wasn’t material and literal. At the time, it made sense of my utter despair. Then in the Domha’vei, I encountered a being who gave me health, wealth, peace and eternal life. It was a religion that was completely literal, a God who answered and kept His promises. I can’t consider that propaganda. Can you? You died, and he restored you! Can the Denolin, wretched creatures condemned to destroy the things they loved, sentenced to eternal exile, not consider the being who brought them eternal happiness their God?”
I was stunned. He bought into it completely. From his perspective, the rationale made sense. And in a way, I believed it too. If there was something essential, eternal in the human condition, hadn’t you touched it in me? Could I only believe in angels if they didn’t actually exist?
“It’s not the spiritual truth I question,” I reply. “It’s just that religion itself, as an institution…why do people need something to worship? Why do they cling to public protestations instead of private truth?”
“I’m amazed that you’ve survived politically for so long without understanding,” Johannon replies, a bit of surprise in his voice. “Most people are idiots. They like belonging to something. They like the pomp and circumstances. They like the reassurance that their neighbor believes exactly the same thing that they do. But it’s more than that. They want to feel connected to the divine.” He sighed. “It’s more than literalism, really. CenGov has missed the point – or maybe it’s that I’m still a barbarian at heart. But don’t you see that Ashtara gives them both? Ailann is the stupidly literal god people have always looked for, but when you see the mothman, you know you’re in the presence of something transcendent.”
He is probably right. “I admit you have a point about humans. But the Denolin?”
“Either they’ll convert it because it makes sense to them on an essential level, or they’ll convert because it’s meaningless to them, and they want to please Ashtara. In any case, it’s great propaganda: Ashtara descends into hell and redeems the Denolin with the power of love. It’s pure myth.”
“All right. Except how do you intend to convince them of this? They aren’t exactly easy to talk to.”
“I’ll do it,” says Till. “I’m capable of assuming a Denolin form to better communicate with them.”
I immediately envision Till turning into a giant tentacle-centipede. He senses my horror and grins. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Look.”
He holds up his hand. Rivulets of red energy run up the surface of his skin until the flesh becomes insubstantial, a momentary ghost of a glow. “It’s a good trick,” he says. “Takes a lot of power, though. That’s why the Denolin eat stars.”
“You don’t have to eat stars, do you?”
“Oh no. As long as we’re here, we have enormous resources. Those rips in the Domha’vei are like little springs of nul-energy poking through the ground. This area is more comparable to a petroleum mine. The SongLuminants figured out the most effective means to tap as much as possible. It’s a great technology, and it will be of invaluable use to us in the future.”
“Johannon,” I address him, “Abbott Deverre. I’ve had a rather trying day. Can we continue our theological discussion later?”
“I had a reason for addressing it immediately. Neliit is suggesting that you return to the Domha’vei as soon as possible. Since things seem to be working out smoothly with the Denolin Turym, she doesn’t see a pressing need for either you or Ashtara to remain here. She’s concerned about your well-being, and thinks that familiar surroundings would do you good.”
“I see her point.” After all that has happened, it would be so good to be home on Dolparessa. The interior decoration can wait.
“I was thinking, on the other hand, that I could stay here for a while and work on the ministry, if you don’t have any pressing need for me back home. I could be back in time for the big celebration at New Year.”
“That makes sense.” Then I realize that it makes sense in a more unpleasant way. If the transport were going to be attacked on the way home, he wouldn’t want to be on it.