I’m in our bedroom. I drop my earring onto the floor; it takes a stray bounce under the bed. I crouch to look for it. Under the bed is a trap door.
At first, this seems interesting in a rational sort of way. The Imperial Palace at Vuernaco is full of hidden passages. Why shouldn’t there be some here at Court Emmere? It’s just odd that I never discovered it as a girl. I’ve only been living in this room half the year for seventy years, more or less.
I pull the mattress from the bed; the door is visible below. There should be gravity control generators running between the exterior beams of the bedframe which would make it impossible to lift the door, but for some reason, they aren’t there. I can go through the frame and the door unhindered.
The door leads down to a tunnel, but there should be guest suites located directly beneath the ipsissimal suite. Besides that, the tunnel is natural, not manmade. It’s a winding passage carved out of the rock by an underground stream.
There’s a slight bit of moisture beneath my feet. As I follow the passage, the water flow increases. It’s now several inches deep. I can no longer see light from my bedroom, but surprisingly, there seems to be a light source ahead. It’s a strange illumination, not like daylight or the usual kinds of interior lighting, a gentle glow, not at all glaring. The word light doesn’t seem to really fit – it’s more like an irradiant darkness.
Oh, it’s nul-energy. There’s a passage to the nul-universe beneath my bed.
The light source is a large cavern. The stream ends here, flowing beneath the rock into an underground cenote. The pool emits the light. When I look into it, it seems like it is full of stars deep in the water, and on the surface is a frisson of blue flame.
Kneeling, I stare into the pool, my hair just brushing the surface. Since the light isn’t light, I can’t see my reflection. However, my image gets into the water somehow. Suddenly the stars are rising, surfacing like a school of tiny fish, burning and dancing in the water. They look happy.
They remind me of something. Of Vassali. Then these must be Cu’enashti sparks.
I plunge my hand into the water. The sparks rush towards it. Wherever they brush against my skin is a warm spot filled with emotion: adoration, joy, protectiveness, resolve. The light in the room seems to be getting considerably brighter. Then I realize that there is light coming from above.
I look up. Far above my head is a mosaic of swirling stars.
I know them.
It’s Ash.
This is my husband. I want to say it’s his true form, but that’s wrong. Are the trees in the grove a facade? Or the human bodies of his emanations? No, maybe the accurate thing to say is that this is his hidden form. It’s like I am able to look at his spirit, to look at the souls composing his composite nature.
I can recognize them! The big magenta one is Aran, obviously, but I can immediately pick out some of the others – Ailann, Cillian, Patrick. If I look closely at each one of them, I find that I know exactly who it is. They are colored sparks of non-light, but each has a personality. The pattern of Lorcan’s energy isn’t a bit like Mickey’s. If I close my eyes, I can see them even better.
Then the ones in the pool, the ones swarming to me are…
I stare down into the water at the unemanated ones, the husbands I haven’t met, the rest of my harem. A small spark of kelly green flickers, presses against my skin. I can’t quite put the emotion into words – new life, hope, a tiny leaf pushing through cracked asphalt.
Time must have passed; it’s difficult to tell inside of the pleroma. It’s hard to tear myself away from the fascination of looking at them, the ceiling and the pool, the pool and the ceiling. I feel happy, safe and loved. But something moves in me, some curiosity, and I decide to explore further.
There’s another cave adjoining the one with the pool. It’s impressive and atmospheric, stone platforms carved into the wall to hold candles which throw their flickering light onto cave paintings of animals and trees, onto writing which is difficult to decipher. Then I realize that somebody lives here; there’s a small nook to the side where a bed is strewn with thick furs and comforters. A fire burns in the fireplace, but there’s no visible source of fuel, and it produces no smoke.
I move closer to the writing on the wall. It’s a numbered list; I recognize it. A list of prophecies I’d made when I was high on Gyre, living on Volparnu. I’d thought it was nonsense, ripped it up and thrown it out. Then I found the first part of the list, with 44 of the prophecies. They all related, in an oblique way, to Ash’s emanations.
The entire list is here. I read the prophecies for the emanations since Rand. Some are so appropriate they make me giggle: “Every star demanded,” for Rainier, or “Faster,” for Stephen. Some are curious: “The road, the loom, the compass,” for Briscoe.
There is a total of 102. The last emanation is Nash, the 57th: “The true captain never loses sight of his star.” It’s followed by one which reads, “Soul-diver.” That will be my next husband.
At the far end of the cave I notice a hole about three feet from the floor. Light is streaming from the hole, real light from interior lighting.
I stick my head through. I’m looking down on a bed. I’m looking down on a bed holding three naked men in an erotic situation. Precisely Daniel, Malachi and Hurley. I could say something, or I could watch.
I think I’ll watch.
« Tara! » Suibhne yells, rising from the floor. In an instant, Davy, Axel and Tannon, who were playing a board game with him, also turn and rise. Then everyone is staring: Ailann, Ellery and Cillian from the huge leather couch, Constantine and Ross from their seats at the periphery, Patrick and Rand from the recliner, Mickey, Valentin, Lens and Lucius from the card table. Daniel, Malachi and Hurley are looking up into my face, clearly embarrassed.
« Carry on, » I tell them.
« How did you get here? » asks Ailann. « I thought you were taking the amrita with Dermot. »
« That was before I discovered the trap door under our bed. Did you know it leads into a cave, and into another cave, and into here? »
« I’m fairly certain there isn’t really a trap door under our bed, » says Mickey, helping me through the hole. Daniel, Malachi and Hurley scramble to get out of my way.
« The cave that you came through is actually the upper level of the Goliath treedominium, » says Valentin. « It’s the mental space originally created by Ari. Ari’s not there now because he’s up in Tommy’s room. »
« That’s Ari’s cave? Leading back into the cave with your sparks? »
« Wait, what? » says Valentin. He jumps onto the bed and disappears back into the cave. A few seconds pass before he returns, popping his head out of the hole like a gopher. « Fuck me, » he says, « fuck us all. Ari’s cave is connected to the cavern at the center of Mt. Ouroboros. If we’d have known that, it would’ve saved so much time. »
« That doesn’t make any sense, » says Mickey.
« Does it make sense for Ari’s basement cave to connect directly to the second floor? » asks Valentin.
« Or for that matter, » says Rand, « does it make sense it’s half an hour by boat across the channel to Ashvattha Isle, but you can walk through the tunnel in five minutes? »
Cüinn comes in from the hallway. « I have a theory, » he says. « Wormholes. »
« That’s the most half-steamed compost I’ve heard in months, » says Cillian.
« No, seriously. Or rather ra’aabit holes. It’s the pleroma’s representation of the passages we’ve constructed between the roots of our trees. »
« Mt. Ouroboros isn’t a tree, » says Malachi. « It’s the central accumulation of our nul-consciousness. »
« But there has to be a physical location for that, » says Cüinn.
« I’d assumed that it was in the trees, » says Ailann.
« If those energies are kept solely in the trees, they’ll never mingle, » says Malachi. « Obviously, some of the energy has to be in the physically manifest branches, and also in the human forms when we emanate. But the templates for what we are must be stored somewhere else. »
« Like where? » says Cillian. « And that’s not a fucking rhetorical question. If we don’t know the exact location of our consciousness, we’ve got a honking huge security risk. »
There’s a moment of silence before Rand says, « Assuming that we don’t know, how would we find that out? »
« Tara, you should check the cards, » says Suibhne.
« Cards? » I murmur, realizing that this world of strange dreams and beautiful lovers is fading. « Why can’t I stay here forever? »
« Security risk, » says Cillian.
« I think Benbow was right about finding a better universe, » says Valentin. « If we moved to a universe without death, we wouldn’t have to worry about an attack from outside. »
« We’re going to have to move to another universe eventually, » Cüinn replies. « This is a metastable universe, and it will probably collapse into stability in a few trillion years, wiping out life as we know it in the process. »
« Talk about long-term planning, » says Mickey. « I notice that the Combine of Sentients doesn’t seem too worried about it. »
Wynne sticks his head through the door. « It’s just a question of probabilities, » he says. « I’ve got it sussed. »
The last thing I hear before waking is Cüinn’s voice saying, « Oh good. There are advantages to a heavy Higgs boson. »
“I don’t know what Cüinn is talking about, but it probably isn’t relevant,” says Dermot, after I explain my vision to him. “There are more important things to explore. The reactions the sparks had to you. The list of prophecies.”
“Wasn’t the whole point to figure out why the power grid is wonky?” The problem wasn’t major; however, our grand tour of the IndWorlds and the Alliance was at the end of the week, and we would need to deal with the anomalies before leaving. This diplomatic visit was overdue since I’d ascended the throne of the Matriarch thirty years ago, and part of a grand celebration of three decades under the rule of the 2nd Archon and 6th Matriarch. In truth, I was excited about the tour and didn’t want it spoiled with distractions. I so rarely got to travel outside of the Domha’vei. There were only my studies on Earth, and the times I’d been to Nightside and Shambhala. Well, I guess being the first human to visit another galaxy goes a long way in being considered well-travelled, but it was a bit pathetic that I’d never been to any of the IndWorlds.
“The trading card!” I exclaim, remembering Suibhne’s comment. According to what Suibhne has told me, there will be a new card whenever Ash plans a new emanation – a new husband. The deck is sitting on the table next to the bed. I pull the top card. “Hollis Aquifolia,” I read. “Height 1.85m, cock size 17.45cm when erect. Apparent age 31, hotness 7, deep sea diver.” He is a handsome man, broad chested, dark, with aquiline features. In Driscoll’s portrait, Hollis seems to be wearing a wetsuit. I think about the list of prophecies. “Soul-diver” – was that to be taken literally?
“A Canopus emanation,” murmurs Dermot. We go onto the verandah to check the penjing. Nothing has changed. “You’re going to have to use the candle to force a new branch.”
“But why now? It’s not exactly a good time. I mean, if he goes on the trip, Lord Danak will cough up a sucksow. We were hoping…” Hoping that Patrick or Ailann would show up to handle the diplomacy, but I don’t exactly want to say that. I was enjoying Dermot’s company – I don’t get to see him a lot, probably because a philosopher isn’t the most practical emanation for, well, anything.
I’m not quite seeing how a diver will be useful on a diplomatic mission.
“Davy says there’s something Hollis needs to do.”
“But he won’t be recognized by the pleroma. He’ll emanate with no ability to access the shared memories stored in your branches. He’ll have to complete one of those stupid quest achievements, and we don’t have a lot of time right now.”
Then I remember my vision, those sparks of light eagerly swimming to meet me. “Was Hollis one of the ones I saw in the cenote?”
“No. The Canopus emanations are kept in jars, remember?”
This stops me cold. Yes, I remember Ailann telling me how they’d seen Nash emerge from the container when Manasseh freed him. But so much was happening at the time; the implication didn’t really sink in. “Kept in jars. That’s pretty…awful…”
“I’m going to go into the bathroom,” says Dermot, pointedly ignoring my distress. “You can light the candle to summon him once I close the door.”
Dermot does this to prevent Hollis from seeing me before he sees his own reflection. It had happened to Aran with disastrous consequences. Because of that, a number of them had emanated in the bathroom – I think that Valentin was the first. It’s not terribly dignified for an emanation of the Living God to be born in a bathroom, is it? There should be some kind of special emanation chamber, some pomp and circumstance. Kept in jars. Is that any way to treat my future husbands?
Mithras, this is inconvenient, but Ash knows best what he needs. Some women have husbands who travel on business a lot, and some have ones who are obsessed with sports, and some have husbands who spontaneously generate more husbands at random intervals.
No, really, in the Domha’vei, it’s more common than you’d think. Although Ash is a little excessive. I locate Hollis’ candle – a dark green icosidodecahedron – among the hundred others in the cabinet and hold it in my hand, considering. If Ash wants Hollis to emanate, then why not just do it? Since I can use the candles to summon any emanation I want, I could just call Dermot back. Or Ailann, or Patrick. But I try to avoid doing that – Ash should get to choose his own emanations. Maybe this is his way of asking my consent?
I light the candle.
I go onto the verandah to look at Canopus. And there it is – a branch which hadn’t existed half an hour before. It belongs to a species of tree I don’t recognize. I pull out my datapad and run the identapp. “Ilex aquifolium, the holly.” I vaguely remember the plant – it had a symbolic importance on Earth. It had never been brought to the Domha’vei in the gene banks. I reach out, gently touching the fresh leaves extending on the new branch. It was difficult to imagine that this tender sprout could alchemically generate a human being.
The Cu’enashti – those sparks – symbiotically bond with a plant, and then emanate in animal form to better interact with their new universe. Why did they choose to model themselves on humans, with all our secrecy and perverse selfishness, instead of communal entities closer to themselves like the SongLuminants? Perhaps it was just circumstance, their bad luck that the rift between the universes was near Dolparessa, near the nectarine planted by Ernst Sider. Thinking about it, I suppose it’s entirely possible nul-entities have emerged someplace else in the universe and manifested as a completely different form of life. To an extent, we’ve seen that happen with the Bhavashti and the Denolin Turym although that was a situation we engineered ourselves.
Thankfully, Hollis isn’t wearing the wetsuit when he comes out of the bathroom. He isn’t wearing anything special, just a simple pair of trousers and a tunic made from a high-quality synthetic, the sort of thing any member of the leisure class might wear on an informal occasion. Once again, Ash has done a great job of mimicking an attractive human male. I wonder if he can keep it up for the remaining forty-four expected emanations. The thought is mind-boggling.
“Hello,” he says, a little tentatively. “I’m Hollis.”
“I’m Tara.”
He nods solemnly. “Yes, I know. I’m afraid I don’t know much else.”
“Let’s have a drink,” I suggest reassuringly. “We’ll sort you out, don’t panic.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that I was actually afraid,” he stammers. “You’re here. Nothing else matters.”
Maybe a little too intense, too sincere right out of the gate. I hand his card to him. “Here’s some information, for what it’s worth.”
“A diver. That sounds right.” He glances up, looking straight into the sun, into the star we call the Domha’vei, something no human could do. Then he says, “It’s prettier under the water. Gentler, and it ripples.” He closes his eyes and said, “The sun is better in the dark. Warm and not so bright.”
I mix him a rhybaa and tonic. Of the last five emanations, I’ve gotten a pirate, a captain and now a diver. Why is Ash so interested in the water?
“Tara, I’m sorry, but that drink will have to wait,” says Hollis. “I just have a sudden impulse to do this.” He stretches his arms, and then we are in the pleroma, for real this time.
« We know the timing is bad, » says Lugh, helping me through the hole and into Ari’s cave. « Suibhne’s insisting, and you know how he can be. »
Poor Hollis. He’d barely had time to take his first breath, and now he is here with no explanation. But when Lugh shows us the diving equipment, his eyes light up. « Something I can understand, » he says, picking up the flippers.
I’ve never been diving before, but why the hell not? I examine the eyerings. « How do these go? »
« Just place them around the eye sockets and they’ll adhere. They generate a force bubble when you’re under water, » Hollis explains.
« Would you rather have a tank or oxypills? » asks Lugh. « I’d recommend the tank – pills are supposed to be a little tricky for beginners. You keep forgetting that you don’t have to breathe. »
I decide on the tank, but Hollis takes the pills – of course. If he were recognized by the pleroma as one of its own, he probably wouldn’t need them. We don the wetsuits, and Lugh leads us back into the room with the cenote. I should’ve expected this – where else would we dive?
Briscoe is there, kneeling at the edge, staring into the water. « I can’t stop watching them. » he says. He looks transfixed, obsessive, and I don’t know whether this is normal for him. I’ve got too many husbands, and some I don’t know well at all. I shoot a glance at Lugh, who shrugs. Briscoe continues, « I keep thinking that not so long ago, I was like them. They’re going to be branches, emanations like us. »
« Like us, » Hollis repeats. « Like me. »
« Actually, that’s you, » says Briscoe, pointing to a deep green whorl of light.
I stick my hand into the water, and the sparks cluster around it. « I thought he was in a jar? »
« We brought him here once he was released, » says Lugh. « We couldn’t let him run around loose until he ascended into the mandala. Remember what happened when Vassali escaped? »
« Ascended? » Hollis asks. Lugh points at the ceiling, and Hollis gasps.
Hollis’ spark draws close to my finger. I poke at the center of his spinning energy. He gasps again, louder this time.
I pull my hand from the water. « Don’t stop! » he exclaims. Both Lugh and Briscoe start to laugh.
« You’d better get going, » says Lugh. « I don’t know why Suibhne is so insistent, but he’s usually right. »
As I slip into the water, the sparks swarm towards me. It’s that same feeling I had in the dream, of being warm, safe, loved. I realize that Ash is revealing himself to me in an unimaginably intimate way, a non-human way.
Hollis follows, diving down, down, further than the sparks, further than their light can reach until almost all is blackness. It isn’t warm anymore, but it isn’t cold either. Temperature is nothing more than a measure of energy, and the energy here is of a completely different order. After a while, we can spot a light below us. As we approach, it becomes clear that we’re looking at a dome. An enormous dome – an entire city. And not just any city, but a reproduction of the space station Eirelantra, the Skarsian capital.
Hollis gestures towards what seems to be a hatch on the apex of the dome, and we swim toward it. It opens; once we’re in, it closes automatically and adjusts oxygen and pressure. The floor is a hilift, and we’re conveyed to the ground level of the city.
As I pull off my diving mask, I can hear a voice saying:
“His Royal Highness Hollis Aquifolia, Lord of the Oceans. 58th to emanate, 13 in the color scale, resonates to 41. 1.85 meters tall, cock size 17.45 cm when erect, apparent age 31. Deep sea diver. Totem is Ilex aquifolium, the holly, fixed star is Nunki, of Enki, the Star of the Proclamation of the Sea. Esoteric symbol is the Archimedean solid icosidodecahedron. Dessert is nau’gsholi sea foam candy. Function is facilitative attainment, proto-conscious tendency is immersion, designated Holly. Blazon is argent, on three piles dark green, two in chief and one in base, charged with a fountain, an escallop, argent.”
Hollis freezes, for a brief moment his eyes burning with blue-green energy. « Wynne says that I completed achievement #3, “Locate the secret entrance to the underwater dome.” He says we’re in Atlantis. »
Ah, this makes sense. Suibhne knew the quickest way for him to earn the achievement and recognition by the pleroma. « Congratulations, » I say. « Are you all right? »
« Processing all this, » he replies. « There’s so much more to it than I ever expected. »
« I really can’t imagine what it would be like to get all the knowledge, all the memories of a whole life at once. »
« They’re showing me where the most important things are located – a lot seems stored in these things called chatburls, deliberately constructed memories in our wood. It’s fortunate that I seem to be able to absorb it pretty quickly. » Suddenly, he grabs my hand. « We’d better hail a taxi. »
The taxi takes us through the expanse of parkland equally as extravagant in the middle of an ocean as it is on a station in the middle of airless space. Around us are the glittering spires of Eirelantra, among them our ipsissimal quarters in the tallest tower. Like the simulacra of Merenis surrounding the Atlas Tower, Atlantis is deserted.
We reach the edge of the dome. Above us is the darkness of the empty sea, strange where I’d expect the brilliant sky – the stars, the orb of nearby Skarsia and its attendant moons. But Hollis points out at the ocean floor.
There’s a nau’gsh tree growing at some distance away from us. A large nau’gsh tree with three branches. « Malachi says that it’s Ophion. »
Ophion is the sixth of the trees in Ash’s grove, the one I had never seen. « But isn’t that supposed to be located in the Circinus Galaxy? »
« It’s Cüinn’s theory that we went through a ra’aabit hole. He says it’s the same as when, if you go to Ashvattha Island, you can emanate at Shambhala Colony. »
For real? Holy crap. It’s a nau’gsh, and it’s underwater.
Hollis indicates the datapads fastened to our forearms. « We’ll communicate with these, » he says. « Let’s swim out there. »
« I guess this explains Ash’s sudden interest in the ocean. But why grow a tree under water? »
« There’s just so much we don’t know. Why did I grow on Canopus? Wouldn’t I have done better as an aquatic plant? »
« Canopus seems a lot simpler. I can’t figure out how this one can pollinate. »
Hollis glances quickly away. I like to fancy myself a scientist. Sometimes I forget that not everyone can be so detached about sex.
« Tarlach says that nobody knows the answer. Vassali is a virgin, and he didn’t respond when Benbow was receptive, which is just weird. Tarlach says that he was the only one to pollinate Benbow, by using fokkerflies. »
« Artificial means, » I muse. « Since Vassali didn’t respond, I wonder if Ophion can only cross-pollinate. »
Hollis looks really, really uncomfortable, so I decide that it might be best to get back into the ocean. There’s an airlock nearby at the base of the dome, and soon, we’re moving towards the gigantic tree.
The tree indeed has three trunks, which doesn’t make sense with only two Ophion emanations. From a distance, they look like they are covered in Cu’enashti bark, but it is hard, like coral. Nevertheless, the tree is warm, radiating a faint turquoise glow which illuminates the dark water. Ocean creatures swim past, weird animals that aren’t like anything from either Terra or the Domha’vei. I spot a creature which resembles a bird, but with four flippers in the place of two wings. It looks at me directly, and I can see that it has compound eyes.
Then there’s a shock through the water, and for an instant we are in the same liquid that filled the cenote, with swirls of energy lighting up the darkness. Before I can react, we’re back in that alien ocean again. Hollis taps frantically at his datapad; the words appear as a holograph illuminating the water: “This is nul-matter.”
Nul-matter? Then…
We’re hit by another wave of liquid darkness. When it washes over us, my body tingles. I look down to see that my form has turned into red Denolin energy. I’m not with Hollis, either – I’m with the mothman. He grabs my hand and we are flying through ocean, far into the depths of the nul-universe. Ophion has vanished. It’s disorienting, numbing, claustrophobic – I wouldn’t call it cold, but there is a positive absence of warmth. I understand viscerally why Ailann panicked so badly inside of the nul-chamber. I understand why the Cu’enashti view their place of origin as a living hell.
Then Hollis is back, and it’s just water again, and my body feels like a dangling cord of rubber. I can see Ophion, but it’s distant, and Atlantis dome is farther still. We’ve swum a good way, and I wonder why. I just want to be safely back inside of the pleroma.
Another wave hits, and the nul-ocean is back. This time, it’s not dark. At first, I think I’m looking at bioluminescent plankton carried by the current, and I wonder absurdly whether the Floatfish would like them for breakfast. Then I realize what they are. They’re sparks. Thousands and thousands of them, floating free in the nul-water, burning and yet frozen. They’re so beautiful, I almost forget to be afraid, even when I see that the current is carrying them towards us.
Fortunately, Ash has more self-possession. He stands behind me, wrapping his arms around me protectively. I can feel the low vibration of the energy in his chest pressed against my back. His enormous wings illuminate the black liquid surrounding us. Somehow, I know that Ash is afraid. And I know that the fear increases his resolution, the emotion which can not entirely be translated into human language – n’aashet n’aaverti.
They’re coming towards us. Too late, I realize that we must be an enormous source of pudge – pseudo-gravity -and the sparks are headed towards us like asteroids sizzling in the atmosphere. The mothman’s wings flicker with all the colors of the pleroma. Then we are pelted with sparks, a dust devil of energy raining against us. The mothman quickly shields me with his wings, which act like a screen as hundreds, thousands of spirals ram against us in an undersea hailstorm.
Then, it’s over. The screen is not impermeable, and several dozen have lodged within his wings before the ocean became water again. Now they’re panicked, and most of them vanish immediately, making a wild dash back into their own universe. Others linger, spinning in the water. Shakily, I reach towards them. A spark of pinkish-orange pokes tentatively, curiously against my hand. I notice a pale blue-green one tangled in my hair. A third of elegant reddish-brown floats to eye level and seems to meet my gaze, challenging me to something.
I’m not one to back down on a dare. My hand moves quickly, scooping it from the water. Then Hollis takes my arm and we swim, moving back towards the dome and upward at a rapid rate. The orange spark is clinging to my oxygen tank, the blue-green still caught in my hair. We’re back in the pleroma, I can feel it. It’s a very good thing, because if we were in the real ocean, we would’ve gotten the bends.
When Hollis and I surface, the cave around the cenote is filled with curious emanations. « Fuck me with a tuna! » Cüinn exclaims. « I can’t believe that I never predicted this. We knew that the nul-universe is the opposite of this one – almost everything is matter, and there’s very little space. And we knew that our proto-consciousness formed in the space between the rocks. We were just being stupid. We were thinking of this universe, of space between rocks, which is usually air, or in outer space, nothing. But in the nul-universe, there’s almost no nothing. The space between the rocks is liquid. »
« That’s why the sparks surface in my sacred pool, » says Ailann. « That’s why the crèche is a cenote. »
« Let’s have a look at these sparks, » says Malachi. « That brown one is a good match for terra rossa, number 88. Tamarind is 37. And the one that got caught in your hair is 86, bhotweed. »
« So that’s what all this was about, » I murmur. Ash was recruiting to fill the missing spaces in the pleroma. It would’ve been nice to warn me – and Hollis – of that. We went fishing, and I was the bait.
The sparks in the crèche approach the newcomers. Then the new arrivals start to change their frequency. Tamarind slows dramatically while the reddish-brown one speeds up so much it seems to shake with vibration. The bhotweed one, already quite fast, increases its speed slightly. The blue fire on the surface of the water leaps up with a roar.
« Tamarind is Diego, » says Davy. « Terra rossa is Bastien, and bhotweed is Templeton. »
« This puts a whole new spin on picking up men, » I reply.
“That’s what they wanted me for,” Hollis sighs when we’d returned to Court Emmere. “I’ve got a really strong sense that I and I wants to gather the sparks He needs to complete His pleroma.”
“You mean we’ll have to go through that again? Now I understand why you guys want out of the nul-universe.”
I gesture at Hollis to sit next to me on the bed. I remember the warm, protective feeling of his arms around me when we were in the water. His chest is broad and strong, designed, I think, for an expanded lung capacity suitable for his vocation. “Both effectively and attractively made,” I murmur.
“Davy makes us,” Hollis replies.
“Davy? Really?”
Hollis shrugs. “Our bodies have to come from somewhere.”
“I just thought…well, I don’t know what I thought. That Ash made them up when they emanated, which is clearly wrong since the cards appear before the emanation. But what happened before Davy emanated?”
Hollis furls his brow. “Nobody really knows, but Davy has always been a part of I and I. So it’s probably like He delegated his powers of creation to Davy as a way of bringing them into consciousness – like delegating the power of choosing component elements to me, again, because the search is now conscious and deliberate.”
The power of choosing his components – it hits home exactly what we had been doing on that dive. Those sparks we found were the life energy which would serve as the core for another branch, another man like Hollis. They would become part of this strange and wondrous entity I call my husband, part of that mandala of glowing power on the ceiling of the cave. I place my hand on Hollis’ chest. It rises and falls with his breath, feels the pounding of his heart, just as it would for any human. He is solid; he is real.
His heart is pounding so fast. Like all of Ash’s emanations, he was born desperately in love with me. And beyond that, in the depths of those eyes, n’aashet n’aaverti, Ash’s own unshakable loyalty to my destiny. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go to bed.”
I wake up as usual in the middle of the night, calling for Ash. You’d think it would get better over the years, but it’s actually gotten worse. A new emanation exacerbates it – my body not quite used to an unfamiliar form, an unfamiliar scent. If I’m sleeping with Patrick or Ailann or any number of the older ones, I barely stir in my sleep.
“I’m here,” says Hollis. “I love you.”
I move closer to him, resting my face against his chest. So strange to think this warm and passionate man had started his existence as one of those little sparks in the water. “Do you remember what it felt like?” I murmur.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Being in the water.”
“The water is second nature to me. Of course, I remember – I think in some fashion, I remembered before we dove into the cenote.”
I raise my head, leaning on my elbow. “That’s not what I meant. I meant when you were a spark. Or do you remember being in the jar?”
Hollis looks surprised, then confounded. “It’s not like we remember much,” he replies. “There’s not really anything to remember. Just a sense of…dryness. Under Yggdrasil is only rock, which is why we were put in jars. Dermot is telling me that the thing I said – I said something? I said, ‘Like moving through water.’ Nobody really knows what that means, or why I and I thought, out of thousands of sparks, that I should be admitted based on that.” He falls silent for a moment, touching my hair. “The rocks and the water were all I knew. When I saw you, it was the only way I could conceptualize…I didn’t know what love was. I didn’t know anything except that I wanted to be back inside the water, and I wanted…”
He’s suddenly embarrassed. I wrap my arms around his neck, laughing. “All right,” I tell him. “Dive.”
In the morning, we sit out on the verandah. The sun is low in the sky, the air is just starting to warm. Canopus is near us, the leaves belonging to Quennel and Ellery, Briscoe and Nash, stretching their faces to the sun. But Hollis is like Tannon, evergreen and unchanging. It makes me wonder how much they are alike in other respects. “Do you sense primarily through smell or hearing?” I ask.
“Hearing,” he replies. “Sense of smell isn’t as useful under water. Would you like something to drink?”
“Give me some of that Seville orange juice and sneak a little champagne into it. Should I call Lady Lorma and ask her to bring breakfast?”
Hollis ducks inside into our suite. I can hear him getting the juice from the stasisstorer. “That sounds nice,” he replies. “I’ve never actually eaten before. Can we have fritters? I’ve heard that fritters are good.”
I’ve been down this road many times, but there’s still always something so amusing in discovering what they like – what they are, really. “How about fritters and bacon? Bacon[1] is in season, so we can get some that’s freshly harvested. You don’t mind eating tubers?”
Hollis laughs. It isn’t an idle question – the emanations are more or less sensitive to the old Dolparessan taboos, and root vegetables can be a touchy topic. “I’m not that squeamish,” he says. “Is it true that everything tastes better with bacon on it?”
“My favorite is a quadbee taco: bacon, pancetta, rasher and fatback – with lots of mayonnaise and a good insurance policy, as they say. Of course, the best insurance policy is to marry a Cu’enashti.”
“That reminds me, Ailann says I should check your cholesterol level.”
“Ailann worries too much.” I wave my hand over my datapad, sending a message to Lady Magdelaine Lorma, Mistress of the Bedchamber. She’d watched over me since my parents died in my childhood, and, among other things, was a ferocious bodyguard. But she’d been a bit distracted as of late with her upcoming marriage to Lord Danak. The two of them had rediscovered their youth – quite literally, thanks to Ash resetting their telomeres.
Hollis sits down, handing me my drink. I decide to breach a topic which has been bothering me since yesterday. “Hollis, are those emanations in the pool and the jars all right?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It seems like they are, I don’t know, isolated? If they have the capability of becoming emanations, then maybe it’s a little cruel?”
“They don’t really think,” says Hollis quickly. “Their sentience, if it exists, is very limited, and they can’t perceive the passage of time.” He takes a quick sip of his drink. “Ailann thinks it’s okay. Probably.”
Lady Magdelaine appears on the verandah with a breakfast cart. “Spoiled rotten, that’s what you are, missy,” she scolds. “Tacos for breakfast! The last time I had tacos was at Baroness G’tele’s wedding. And fritters, too? Do you want caviar with your bubble gum? If the media got wind of this, it would be at the top of the push – decadent practices of the Matriarch.”
I don’t think she’ll ever be able to get over the fact that I’m not six years old anymore. “If that’s all they have to complain about, let them. It’s been too long since I’ve entertained them with a scandal. Also, this is a special occasion. I have a new husband this morning.”
Lady Magdelaine assesses Hollis with a critical eye. “With the number of husbands you have, I’d hardly call that special enough for tacos.”
“Don’t be rude to Hollis!”
“Forgive me Prince Hollis,” she says. “I meant no insult to you. It’s my job, and my appointed calling, to keep milady’s appetites in check.”
“I think it’s my job and my appointed calling to indulge them,” Hollis replies, grinning. “I hope we won’t have to cross swords, Lady Lorma.”
“Lord Danak will have a final schedule of events for your trip by noon,” says Lady Magdelaine. “Of course, you know that final schedule means ‘Not a damn thing like what will really happen,’ but that’s how these things work.”
“So we have a little time. Want a bath after breakfast, Hollis?”
Hollis looks rueful. “I wish. I’m getting a substantial amount of pressure from the others. We’re supposed to go diving again.”
“Diving?” questions Lady Magdelaine, raising an eyebrow. “I hardly suppose you have time for that.”
“Inside of the pleroma,” I explain hastily.
“You’re not going to disappear again?” I can hardly blame her for that worried look, considering how I had vanished without warning for an extended period during the telepathic attack.
“It’s fine. There’s no emergency – it’s just something that Ash wants me to do.”
Lady Magdelaine glares suspiciously at Hollis. No matter how long she has lived on Dolparessa, she is still a Skarsian. She doesn’t have the same instinctive trust of the Cu’enashti that Dolparessans do. She sees them as allies, some of them, perhaps, as friends, but ultimately, they are alien, and can’t be predicted.
“You really don’t want to do it?” asks Hollis, after she has left.
“It’s all right. I understand why Ash wants it done. It’s just that the nul-water was so creepy…but I’ll get used to Ophion like I got used to Nightside. I’ve said it before – everywhere there’s an Ashtree, it’s my home. I meant it. Let’s go.”
Having some concept of what to expect makes diving easier the second time. Apparently, the idea had been to swim out into the ocean so that we’d be deeper in the nul-universe when the tide shifted. It was supposed to give us more choice of sparks, but the amount proved to be overwhelming. Hollis suggests that we stay close to Ophion. The nul-water reaches that far, so we stand a chance of finding sparks that have drifted into its vicinity.
As we get close enough to see Ophion properly, I notice something surprising: there are three more branches.
Ophion’s growth pattern was unique – of all the trees, it grew its first branch after Vassali had already emanated, causing him no end of problems. However, if it were growing branches as needed – like Canopus, and, in fact, the normal manner for Cu’enashti nau’gsh – it should have two: Vassali and Benbow. If it had three, it meant that the silver spark I’d found in Ailann’s reflecting pool had grown a branch even though he hadn’t emanated. And six? Could the ones we’d found yesterday already have grown branches?
Hollis answers my unspoken question, typing into the datapad: “It grows branches immediately because it’s more energy-efficient. Ophion’s leaves are absorbing nul-energy directly from the water.”
I see a flash of light – an orange-red glow which seems to emit from one of the upper leaves. I swim towards it; Hollis follows.
It is a spark, a stunning little whorl. I watch it for a moment, amazed again that this little bit of life has fought its way into existence in the crushing lethargy of the nul-universe. Hollis nods at me, and I hold out my hand. It hops from the leaf onto my fingertip, still spinning.
We swim back down to the base of the tree. There, at the roots, I spot a green flash. But in an instant, it is gone, and I think perhaps it has fled back to the nul-universe. I have almost turned away when I catch it again out of the corner of my eye. I turn back, and it stays just long enough for me to get a good look before it ducks back into the roots.
Maybe it is curious. I swim towards it, but cautiously. I don’t want to startle it.
It pokes back out again, as if to see whether I’d reacted. Then it darts across the water to hide behind another root. It pops out again, then ducks. I reach the area where I’d seen it last, but it isn’t there. I can see Hollis pointing, and I turn quickly, only to see it pop out behind me.
It’s playing with me!
I swim out a distance away, keeping my back turned, with my arms folded. After a moment, it pops out again. It draws closer. I wait until the last possible moment to turn and tackle it.
Hollis signals for me to swim upward. He’d gotten a signal from Evan that we need to return if we are going to meet Lord Danak.
A number of emanations are waiting for us when we get back. « Are you sure that green one is all right? » asks Mickey. « He didn’t seem like a team player. »
«He’s fine, » says Hollis. « Just a prankster. We need that color. Look. »
The two new sparks are revving up, starting to synchronize with the ones already in the pleroma. The blue fire on the surface of the water burns a little brighter.
« This is amazing, » says Cüinn. « If Ophion can absorb nul-energy through its leaves…»
« The Ophion archon is going to be one tough droidfucker, » Cillian adds. « The sooner we can emanate him, the better. »
« But we don’t even know if any of the sparks collected so far are suitable to be Archon, » says Malachi. « Or maybe we’ll find one better. »
« I wanna try something, » says Davy. « But I need Tara’s permission. »
Davy never asks my permission to do anything.
« You know how Benbow managed to get himself emanated inside of the pleroma instead of outside? I’m sure he could do it because of his weird force-bubble thingy, but I think we could do it again. I want to try an experiment emanating a group inside of the pleroma. »
« That’s a bid mad-scientist, isn’t it? » asks Ailann. «Why would you want to do something like that? »
« Um, because maybe Tara’s right? That last guy, the green one…his name is Poole, by the way. The other one is Gwion. Look, those sparks are mostly like amoebas. You poke them, they move – it’s an automatic response. But Poole was playing peek-a-boo. Like a baby. »
« You’re saying he displayed sentience, » says Dermot.
« Ashvattha was completely sentient when Atlas met up with us, » says Rand. « We had our act together a lot better than either Atlas or Goliath at the beginning. »
« You’re saying that you’re not comfortable with leaving them in the pool, or worse, in the jars, » I reply. « I see your point. »
« But how will emanating them inside of the pleroma do any good? » says Ailann.
« Logistics, » says Ross. « If we emanate them one at a time into the physical world, it takes longer, takes a certain amount of energy, I have to do the paperwork, and then we have to get the whole PR machine rolling to announce another face of the Living God. »
« It might be better if they existed within the pleroma, and then we could emanate them physically when needed, » says Malachi.
« Tara could always come in here to play with them, so we wouldn’t have to worry about a new emanation taking up face time, » Davy adds. « And if Tara comes in here more often, it means more orgies. »
« But can you really do that? » asks Aran. « We’ve all been left in the dark about how this process happens, except maybe for Suibhne. »
« Oh, come up to my place, » says Davy. « I’ll show you. »
« No! » cries Driscoll, grabbing my arm. « You don’t want to know. Not really. »
« Sure, she does, » says Davy. « Why don’t you get the painting for Pallav, that Kelly green guy that Tara was playing with in the pool yesterday? »
« Tara, I don’t advise it, » says Driscoll.
« Don’t be ridiculous. Now my curiosity is up. »
« As is mine, » says Ailann. « I’d like to see this, too. »
« Suibhne told you that Davy’s apartment is weird, » says Suibhne. « Just don’t say that Suibhne didn’t warn you. »
I ride the hilift to Davy’s flat with Hollis, Ailann, Malachi, Aran, Dermot, Cüinn, and Rand. Mickey and Cillian didn’t seem too enthused about going, and Briscoe is still fixated on the crèche. It’s not like it really matters; the others can watch us through a slightly delayed branch memory. In fact, they probably will.
I feel a bit of trepidation. If Suibhne thinks Davy’s room is weird, I expect it to be like Magritte on Gyre going through a wormhole. But when I arrive, it’s honestly a little disappointing. Beyond the front door is a room made of wood. It is like being inside of a box where the walls are banded with timbers of differing colors and grains and connected with woodworking joints. The most surprising thing is the complete lack of furniture. Perhaps Suibhne was referring to the shock value of seeing all the corpses of dead trees like this, but then again, his palace is full of rooms with gorgeous woodworked paneling. Suibhne said it was weird, Suibhne, who took an axe to a forest of larch trees.
« This is the woodworking room, » says Davy. « The one to the left is for inorganics – in case I feel like fooling around with metals or synthetics. The one to the right is flesh. »
« Flesh? »
« Yeah, you want flesh, don’t you? Wood is great for trees, but not so good for men. »
Before I can process that, the door chime rings. It’s Driscoll, who has brought a painting which he hands to Davy. It’s an image of a street kid of extraordinary beauty, scrappy and a bit grungy; he seems desperate, maybe haunted by a past he can’t shake. His hair is long, a little stringy, dark brown with reddish overtones, a bit of scruff on his chin edging just past stubble into beard, and his eyes are an unmistakable opalescent blue.
« I know the type, » I murmur. « If he were human, he probably wouldn’t live very long. It makes me want to save him. »
« That’s the point, » says Davy, examining it. « Not bad…yeah, I’d fuck him. »
« Not to worry, » Driscoll reassures me. « If things go to plan, he’ll live forever. »
« Let’s get started. How tall should I make him? »
« Long and lean, » suggests Driscoll. « A little taller than Daniel, but not as tall as Cillian. »
« Come on, I need numbers. »
Driscoll rubs his chin, considering. « 1.825 meters. »
« How many molecules, doofus? » Davy asks, annoyed. « Never mind, I’ll do my own conversion. » Then he places his fingertips upon the wall and presses down. The surface indents beneath them, fingers sinking into solid wood. Davy grasps where he has made a handhold, pulls outward, and the wood deforms, stretching until a shape bubbles up like bread dough. This isn’t ordinary wood; it’s fleshiwood, the substance that Davy created to give his dolls the power of animate motion.
Soon a sculpture hangs parallel to the floor, the rough outline of a man who seems to be sleeping in utter disregard of gravity. Davy pauses, regarding Driscoll’s painting. Then he passes his hand over the face of the statue, and the wood melts away, forming a likeness.
Driscoll peers at it intently. Davy nods. Driscoll passes his hand over the painting, and the image changes slightly, becoming more detailed. One eyelid hangs slightly lower, and there is a tiny scar at the corner of the figure’s lips.
He turns to me. « Better? » he asks.
I agree. I share Quennel’s aesthetic bias: perfection looks cheap.
« That’s why every emanation isn’t a ten on the hotness scale, » Driscoll explains. « It would be gauche. »
« I was wondering about that, » Cüinn murmurs.
Davy turns away, all business. « Apparent age? » he barks.
« This sort of archetype is only attractive in the young, » replies Driscoll. « Not as young as Daniel though. Maybe 22. »
« Youth is appropriate, » says Malachi, « since Pallav literally means budding leaf. »
« It’s not like apparent age means anything anymore. Elma is almost a thousand years old and looks sixteen. Although I think that’s a little tacky. »
« The way you look may not reflect your physical age, but it creates an impression, » says Driscoll.
« Emanations never age, which is why we have to choose this carefully, » adds Davy. « If we make him 22, he’ll never look older than 22. » Davy turns to me. « How about cock size? »
Is this an inappropriate question or what? Yet Davy is treating it like I am choosing the engine for a sport-model flyer. He taps his foot, impatiently waiting for an answer. « Ah…a little better than average. That’s a safe, tasteful option. »
« Women, » Davy says in disgust. « Men don’t want good taste when it comes to cock size. Men want to put cucumbers to shame. Well, if Pallav ever complains, I’ll just tell him that Tara wanted him a little better than average, not hung like a Tasean wildebeest. »
And then Davy shapes the organ in question. « Um, why are you making him with an erection? » I stammer.
« It’s obvious, » says Davy, surprised.
« It’s because you can’t really predict cock size when a man is flaccid, » Driscoll explains. « A pivotal factor like that can’t be left to chance. »
« Right – on to the next phase, » says Davy, shoving against Pallav’s wooden stomach. The figure vanishes into the wall, the wood closing around it. « Let’s go. » He indicates the door to the next room.
« Not you, » snaps Driscoll, putting his arm across the doorway, blocking my path.
I give him my best indignant stare. For a moment, his eyes meet mine in challenge; then he caves, lowering his arm, and I join the others just in time to see Davy pull a synthetic bin out of a slot in the wall. The wall itself is made of sewn-together bits of hide: furs, leathers…human skin. Davy hums to himself as he positions the bin; meanwhile, the statue of Pallav emerges through the wall. It is face down. Davy pushes gently on the left leg, causing it to flip around.
« Time to put in some junk, » he says cheerfully, reaching into the bin and pulling out a rope of intestines.
« What the hell? » I gasp.
Driscoll takes me firmly by the elbow. « Why don’t we wait in the puppet theater? »
He leads me into the next room, which really is a puppet theatre, a small venue with only three rows of seats close to the stage. We sit in the front row, and soon the others join us.
« Maybe that was more than I needed to know, » says Rand. « It shatters the romance a bit. »
« Davy thinks that crafting organs is boring, so he uses pre-fab ones that he installs after he’s done with the exterior, » Driscoll explains. « So we’re not really missing anything. It’s not like it’s a designer digestive tract. »
« I’m not sure I approve, » mutters Ailann. « I would’ve made everything myself. »
« Easy for you to say, » said Driscoll. « When you cure illnesses, you work with what’s already in there. That’s much more appealing. »
« Ailann is good with things like that, » replies Rand. « That’s why he’s God. »
The curtain opens. Davy appears wearing his Tervok the Squirrel hand-puppet, standing next to a gurney bearing a body draped in a sheet. He mouths through the puppet, « Hello boys and girls. Today, we’re going to ask that so-important question: is it necrophilia if you molest a body that hasn’t yet been alive? »
« Davy…» says Aran, threatening.
« I’m just joking. He’s not any good to me in this state, is he? » Davy pulls off the sheet, revealing the body of Pallav – now made flesh. The Tervok puppet sadly pokes a flaccid cock.
« What do you think, Driscoll? Does it work for you? »
« True to my conception, but the most important thing is Tara’s approval. » Driscoll turns nervously to me.
I rise, stepping over the short barrier and onto the stage. Pallav doesn’t look at all corpselike – his body lacks the pallid stiffness of the dead. « He’s lovely, as long as I don’t think about the intestines. » I touch his face, gently brushing his skin. Involuntarily, I draw back. « He’s warm, but he isn’t breathing. »
Davy nods. « It’s his organic form, but it has no consciousness. »
« So how do you get the spark into him? »
« Oh, » says Davy absently. « I don’t think we’re going to use him just yet. I have to pack him up. »
« You have to what? »
Davy points behind him. For the first time I notice a display case at the back of the stage. The things on display are eggs, brightly-colored eggs that would look at home during an Ostara fertility celebration, except that they are enormous, like bloobird eggs, not chik-henn.
« This only holds a dozen eggs, » says Cüinn. « We have to hatch at least one, or there’s no room for Pallav. »
« Why not just get another display case? » I ask.
They all stare at me as if I am an idiot.
« Go ahead and examine one, » says Davy. « Hold it up to the light; a stage light should be strong enough to see inside. But be gentle. If you drop him, I’ll have to start over, and I’ll never get him to look the same. »
I remove one of the eggs from its holder on the shelf. It is an olive green, a strange color for an Ostara egg. Gingerly, I raise it into the beam of one of the spotlights. There is a man inside of it, coiled in a fetal position, but fully grown. A naked man, tiny and perfect, from his toenails to his beard.
« That’s going to be Oliver, » says Malachi.
I quickly set the egg back on the shelf, completely aghast. I stare at Davy; the best I can manage to mutter is, « W…why? »
Davy shrugs. « I had to have a way to store them – and it’s a lot easier than dumping a full-sized body into the cenote. »
« So that’s it, » says Aran. « You throw the egg in, and somehow the intended spark finds it. »
« They have an unfailing knowledge of their own natures, » says Driscoll. « Another reason why this question of their sentience is so disturbing. »
« You think that somehow we can get them to emanate in here instead of in the material world? » asks Ailann skeptically.
« I’ve got a pretty good idea how to do it, » says Davy. « We do them in batches. »
« Oh, I understand, » says Malachi. « With rare exceptions, we can only emanate one at a time. So if we do more than one, they can’t all emanate at once. »
« One of them might, » says Ailann. « I wonder how which one would be determined? »
« All of them might, » says Aran darkly. « It might cause some sort of bizarre anomaly. It’s a risky experiment. »
« I want to try it, » says Davy. « Maybe with four of them. It’s a gut instinct, but we’ve never manifested more than two. »
« I agree, » replies Ailann. « We had a hard time adjusting to Whirljack and Blackjack when they first emanated together. I doubt I and I would want to handle four. »
« Which ones? » asks Rand.
« Oh, this one, and this one…» Davy begins, pointing at two eggs on the shelves.
« That first one, the chartreuse one, is Julian, and he’s from Goliath,” said Malachi. « And the second is Templeton, from Ophion. »
« I just made him last night, » says Davy. « Usually, I don’t do so many at once. He was the replacement egg for Hollis. How about him? » Davy points to a reddish-brown egg. « Roan, from Canopus. »
« I just got a chatburl from Jamey, » says Cüinn. « He’s worried about doing more than one from the same tree. He thinks it might be a strain, especially on Canopus since it has to grow the branches, and it’s so small and doesn’t have a lot of resources. »
« I just kind of go by instinct, » says Davy. « I don’t think energy is going to be a problem…well, maybe for Canopus. »
« We just did Hollis, » says Malachi. « But right now Canopus is positioned close to Atlas and the Dolparessan rip into the nul universe, which means energy access. I think it will be all right. »
« I think Tara should pick one, » says Rand.
« How am I supposed to know which one to pick? »
« Just take one you like, » says Davy. « You can do that already by using the candles, right? »
« True…but what do you do if I light a candle and the egg isn’t ready? »
« Hasn’t happened, » says Davy. « Pick. »
Davy’s eyes meet mine. Ash’s eyes, that beautiful opalescent swirl of blue and green.
I love blue.
« This one, » I say, pointing at an egg the rich color of a Terran sky.
« That’s Dirk, from Yggdrasil, » says Malachi. « He’ll be good in the mix. »
« I just got a panicked chatburl form Evan, » says Hollis. « We’re already late for our meeting with Lord Danak. »
And then we emanate. I blink rapidly, trying to readjust to the strange gravity of the real world. By gravity, I don’t mean mass. Material objects in the pleroma are solid, and they seem to cause gravitic phenomena according to the principles of the region they occupy. I’m talking about meaning. Not to give the wrong impression – it’s not like events in the pleroma are meaningless, either. They are weighty and meaningful in the manner of dreams.
It’s like waking up, coming back into the material universe. It’s like waking up, and wishing you had another hour to sleep.
“You’re late,” says Lady Magdelaine. “Gave us a scare.”
“Ash would always return me, unless there was an emergency,” I protest. “He knows that we have important work to do.”
And so we start that important work, a briefing for our diplomatic visit. But my mind is still on the pleroma, and a childhood rhyme distorts in my head: Do you know what branches are made of? Can you tell me what little twigs are made of? Fleshiwood and sparks and pre-fab intestines – that’s what emanations are made of.
No wonder Driscoll didn’t want me to watch.
But then again, it must mean that Ash is coming to trust me more and more. He used to do his best to hide his alien nature. He wanted me to see that, to see if I could handle it.
I reach for Hollis. He takes my hand. It is warm as he strokes my skin.
I can handle it.
Probably.
[1] Piotyr Lee Fung, the genetic engineer who developed vegetable bacon, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2041 upon the advocacy of the People’s Vegan Party. Ironically, he is reviled by Frangfrangians as one of the early leaders of the Genetically Modified Gastronomy movement.