It’s not exactly right to say that we were awakened by the morning light, as none of us slept. It’s just that there was something about the sunbeam, something fresh and expansive as it poured through the windows, floor to ceiling, draped in elegant lace, something that makes me think of spring, of new beginnings, makes me want to get up and get to work, creatively refreshed.
Patrick rises from his bed. It’s made of matte black metal with a woven textile inset in the headboard, and the sheets, pillows and comforters are in an understated range of stylish patterns and textures: like everything else in the room, exactly what you would expect from this charming, sparkling man, an aristocrat, a career diplomat. « It gets tiresome, » he sighs. « I can never stay too long here without feeling invigorated enough to go back to work. Perhaps we should find somewhere else to have the parties, someplace a bit more inclined to languor. »
« Maybe we should stay in the kitchen, » says Theo. « There aren’t any windows for the light to get in. »
We might have better luck in the basement. However, from the way that everyone seems to avoid looking at the basement door, I think it’s better not to mention that.
« The light isn’t really coming from the windows, » says Patrick. « It’s a property of the apartment. If you go outside, it’s always sunset. I suppose we could have our parties on the beach, but that isn’t really my style. »
And style is everything here. As a designer, it’s one of the first thing I noticed. There’s nothing in this two-story dwelling which doesn’t perfectly suit Patrick, from the sumptuous but tasteful bathroom to the color scheme, blue and beige with charcoal accents, the exact blue which represents Patrick in the mandala. I’d say that everything in the pleroma is perfectly coordinated, the visual impression reinforcing the underlying principle. Seth would use another word: correspondences.
I pull a stone leaf from my bag: it’s the letter named Xalxas, Calchas, the “man of bronze,” who is gifted at augury, specifically divination by the flight of birds. Unlike the nordic runes, the names of the Etruscan letters were lost, and probably had no meaning anyway, no more than zee or zed. They’ve been assigned a name, an Etruscan word beginning with that letter. The divinatory meaning of Xalxas is “ Samara – whirligig, carried by destiny, leap into the unknown, go with the flow, migration, taking advantage of the prevailing winds, a seed borne by a bird.” Auspicious enough given that I intend to start on a new project, a project that I now – on this fine morning – feel incredibly motivated to begin.
I lose track of time doing research, gathering texts at the branch library, until Julian chatburls me. We meet for lunch at Theo’s place; when I arrive, he’s still practicing emoticons. Which might seem a strange thing to do in the dining room, except that beneath a corner window is an elegant secretary desk. Theo has a desk in every room. He’s a little obsessive.
« It’s very much like Zen painting, » he explains, indicating his work. « The same line must be painted over and over until the hand perfectly expresses the inner spirit of the design. » In front of him is a parchment covered with hundreds of circles, each beginning in a fine point and sweeping around in an elegant swirl of the brush. The intent is for each to look spontaneous, organic, variations arising from the texture of the sable – but each is exactly the same, down to the tiny spatter of ink at the 224th degree which adds artistic interest. I suppose it’s pointless to mention that practice is completely unnecessary when you can rely upon branch memory – it’s a spiritual discipline for him. « The circle is the foundation of the emoticon, » he says. « Each circle is a blank, a cipher from which any emotion could potentially arise. » In a burst of inspiration, he flicks the brush swiftly – one, two, three – and the final circle now has eyes tightly closed, a satisfied grin.
We sit on Federal period interlacing heart-back chairs at an elongated two-splayed pedestal table (synth hickory – edgy but not offensive). It has room for a dozen – more than enough for the Formal Dining Club. A china cabinet displays porcelain by some of the most renowned manufacturers of the 18th century: Sèvres, Meissen, Vincennes, Ginori. The walls are covered with pale blue brocaded paper, the curtains are a darker blue, heavy and brocaded, tied back with silk tassels, topped with a Bordeaux valence. The wooden floor matches the furniture and is partially covered with a gorgeous blue and gold Savonnerie-style floral medallion carpet. In short, everything is elegant but over-serious, just like Theo.
We’re served by penguins, who really do make remarkable butlers. They wheel out a serving cart bearing a silver heated casserole, revealing an excellent roast capon. There’s a moment where I feel awkward, but the birds don’t seem to be a bit phased by our carnivorous nature. Julian digs in immediately. « It’s delicious but can’t compare to the amazing spread produced by Selby the night before. He’s a true artist, » he says, sharing my thoughts.
Another penguin pours a dry sherry into a small, intricately cut glass. As I raise it to my lips, I can’t help but notice the detailing. « This is a Jacobite glass, » I murmur. « I didn’t know you were interested in politics. »
« I’m not, » laughs Theo. « I just think the designs are provocative – roses, carnations, daffodils. One wants to create a certain…atmosphere. As a matter of fact, Patrick is thinking of holding some of our meetings here. He told me he got the idea for the clade theme when he saw this place and realized that he also had a lovely dining room. »
« But isn’t your kitchen a little rustic? »
« Apparently Selby thinks it’s fun to cook under differing conditions, » Theo replies. « You should see how rustic Hyde’s place is – it makes my 18th century style kitchen seem like a technological marvel. »
« In that case, perhaps I should volunteer my space, » I muse. « It’s huge, from the Art Deco period. »
There’s another thought that the three of us share, but don’t say aloud: Templeton should be here. I know he’s busy being Archon, but it really feels like he’s forgotten about his hatchmates. He’s even become the leader of a new clade, the Ophion Irregulars. Perhaps that makes it uncomfortable for him to attend meetings of the Formal Dining Clade, but still, he could join us for lunch.
Before dessert arrives, I announce my project. « As much as I love my runestones, I’m a graphic designer by nature. If I’m going to be a diviner too, I’m going to branch into cartomancy, with a deck of my own design. »
« Like a tarot deck? » asks Julian.
« The tarot only has 78 cards, not enough to completely represent the pleroma. If I were to use the minchiate, I’d have 97 cards to work with. If I added four more court cards, there would be 101 – enough for every emanation if I consider Jack as a single entity. »
« If you paint all those cards, won’t you be treading on Driscoll’s roots? » asks Theo.
« My plan is to use collage. There are amazing ancient line art resources I could use to simulate an old Italian divination deck. Emblem books. Botanical illustrations. Mail order catalog adverts. Clip-art. I can combine them and alter them if needed. »
« Clip-art and emblem books? » says Theo. « That kind of pseudo-historical pastiche might aggravate Suibhne. »
« Authenticity is for antiquarians. My job is to produce something visually arresting, and, if possible, insightful. The real challenge will be attributing the correct emanation to each card. Fortunately, the cards of the major arcana are already attributed. I’ll need to determine the rest. »
« That will take a lot of in-depth research, » says Julian. « You’re going to need to get to know everyone. »
« I think that Lorcan would call that a pollination opportunity, » says Theo.
« Once that is finished, The Hedgemegeton will provide me with a wealth of symbolic correspondences, from colors to totem trees to astrology. Seth has already agreed to help. My first step – the logical step for a designer – will be to investigate the color scale. »
Investigate is the proper word – a quick glance at the charts reveals that there’s something very wrong. I need to consult Quennel, president of the Domha’vei’s Decorator’s Guild, responsible for the color conventions used in all of the Skarsian Matriarchy.
I find him – where else – in bed with Evan at a meeting of Club V/E in the musician’s Medieval bedchamber. I don’t see the point in beating around the bush. « True Blue is a lie, » I announce.
Quennel starts in alarm; from the floor, Solomon and Benbow look up from their frottage, dazed. « Cüinn and Dermot, you’re it, » he says. « I’m going for a little walk. »
He throws on a luxurious smoking jacket from his latest collection; then we go down to the Swan Boat, which is really a very logical locale for a meeting between two Canopus emanations. We pass through his anteroom – a captain’s stateroom furnished with 19th Century French styled oak-finished synthwood pieces – through a trap door leading to an impossible apartment. It’s well to remember that we live in imaginary space – the Swan Boat functions like one of those dreams where you’re exploring a house, and rooms seem to add themselves by magic.
The first thing I notice when we emerge is that it seems to be late morning, and there is an enormous oak tree outside the nearest window. Clearly, we are no longer upon the ship. « This is my chateau, “Les Deux Chênes,” » he explains. « There’s something I need to show you. »
We pass through a music room and a very impressive front entry hall – apparently this is quite the mansion – before we settle into the salon. Like Theo, he has a liking for antiquities, particularly French ones, but his taste is more eclectic, less concerned with maintaining a particular style or era and more with evoking a mood. He thinks nothing, for example, of creating a vignette consisting of a precious Majolica potpourri urn with swan-necked handles and a number of tiny thrift-store bud vases in a multitude of translucent colors. Also, he’s vain: his personal symbols – swans, oak leaves – are everywhere, from the swan-shaped painted and gilt wine chiller to the oak leaf Lalique glass bowl on the table. He even has a porcelain jardinière filled with red and pink impatiens embossed with his trademark “Q” in gold. And yet, none of it is tacky. Ostentatious, yes, but tasteful.
He notices me noticing the décor. « You have an eye for detail, » he says. « As I’d expect from a designer. I think we have that in common. »
Is he about to invite me to take a closer look at one of his bedrooms? I’ve heard that Evan is the jealous type. But instead, he signals for me to sit on one side of an S-shaped conversation bench positioned in the center of the room while he retrieves a heavy, leather-bound tome from a built-in bookshelf festooned with ornate gilded trim.
He sits in the opposite seat. We’re so close together – it creates an atmosphere of intimacy, or, in this case, perhaps secrecy. He opens the book – I can now see that it is a collection of color samples from the decorators’ guild.
He flips to the section on blue, thousands of colors arranged according to hue and saturation. « There, » he says, pointing. « True Blue. »
« You know that’s not what I mean. Humans are capable of differentiating between millions of colors – a remarkable feat given how little useful information it yields them. To a perceptive Cu’enashti, the light absorption of a substance reveals much about its chemical composition. »
« Indeed, but few avail themselves of that information. They rely on their sense of smell. It’s likely that artistic emanations such as myself, Driscoll, and yourself have been optimized to take advantage of that data. »
« As you well know, color is an effect of light, but pseudo-color is an effect of nul-energy. It’s sheer luck that the human eye can perceive it at all, and only 103 distinct varieties can be differentiated. True Blue is not one of them. The color charts are mistaken. The real pseudo-color looks closer to a slightly lightened medium blue shading into violet. »
Quennel’s forced expression of reassurance fades into melancholy. « Lost Horizon, » he says.
Then he knows about it – as I suspected.
« I asked Driscoll about it once, » he continues. « He had noticed the discrepancy – so did Tarlach, and interestingly, Darius. But we’ve decided to – well, it’s not really a secret, but we just don’t talk about it openly. »
« But why? I’m amazed that Seth hasn’t noticed – incorrect correspondence charts will affect his esoteric workings. »
« It’s not the charts that are incorrect, » says Quennel gloomily. He lets it sink in for a moment until I understand.
The mandala. The source of our being. I can visualize it in my mind and I see…two sparks colored Bloobird.
« Lost Horizon was the original color of the spark known as Synthesize – the spark which became Owen. When his branch was split, creating the dual emanation of Owen and Lugh, the energy divided as well, producing the colors of Blue-black and Bloobird. But by that time, we had already accepted Goliath into the pleroma. We already had Bloobird – sort of. »
« It’s Ethan, isn’t it? We’re covering this up because he’d be upset to find out that he’s the same color as Lugh. »
« I wish it were that simple. » He rises to retrieve an oversized art book. « This is Driscoll’s completed set of Self-Portraits Not-of-Me II: Baby Pictures. There’s a reason it hasn’t been released to the public. »
He pages to the section on Owen and Lugh. The two sparks are there, along with a reconstruction of what they would’ve looked like originally. But when he shows me Ethan and Barnabas, I’m flabbergasted. There are three pictures, the third labelled Dual-Unique. « The problem isn’t what it seems to be on the surface. The problem is that Ethan and Barnabas aren’t two individuals. They’re an illusion produced by a spark which exists in one of two quantized states. The real energy of the spark is the third picture – Dual-Unique, their true form – and its color is Lost Horizon. Lost Horizon isn’t lost, it’s just hidden. The problem isn’t that we’ve got two of the same blue, because Ethan’s Bloobird is an illusion. The problem is that we don’t have the color which Barnabas seems to be – Non-photo Blue. » He flicks on a holographic projection. « Driscoll created this with Cüinn’s help – for reasons which should be apparent, he didn’t want to involve the engineering teams. It’s a holographic recorder capable of registering the presence of nul-energy. Look. »
As an image of the ceiling above the cenote forms, my stomach plunges. There’s an empty hole in the pleroma where Barnabas should be.
« This isn’t something you would see upon casual observation. Usually, Ethan and Barnabas oscillate between their places at a rate faster than the eye can follow. The issue is that Barnabas’ color is illusory. You can’t record Non-photo Blue. »
My mind reels with the implications. « Non-photo Blue has a purpose. When you’re doing an underpainting, sometimes it’s useful to have a color which won’t be visible on the final work. »
Quennel nods sagely. « We can only trust that I and I knows what He’s doing. For now, it’s safer to wait for sleeping seeds to germinate. At least, it delays the ugly explosion that will happen when Ethan finds out that his spark appears to be the same color as Lugh – and that he really has no separate existence from Barnabas. »
« So we lie to him about his own nature? »
« Do you know what your spark looks like? »
Of course I do.
« Why doesn’t Ethan? He’s incredibly lacking in self-awareness. Barnabas isn’t much better. Tarlach is constantly monitoring the situation to smooth over their conflicts. Because they’re really the same spark, when they fight it creates a disruptive interference pattern. »
« You’re saying we should let them figure it out for themselves. »
Quennel nods. « Look, because you know the secret, I can show you this. » He guides me to a small burl hidden in Tarlach’s wood. It’s an academic monograph on the psychological implications of the pseudo-colors. « This should help you in your work. But the issue with Ethan and Barnabas isn’t the only reason this paper is unpublished[1] – it’s also the information on magenta and salmon sparks. There’s enough confusion between pink proto-Cu’enashti sparks and Cu’ensali entities, and we’re not certain whether this will alleviate that or just create prejudice against magenta. »
I honestly never imagined the personal and political implications of color.
Quennel laughs at me. « Sorry, but you’re such a green branch. You need to study history. Humans fought a ridiculous number of wars over melatonin – a cosmetic difference! In the end, CenGov’s solution was to make the concept of race illegal; the Five Nations had a different approach – trivialize the issue by using genemodding to make skin color a question of fashion. Why do you think a couturier like myself is a member of the political syndicate? »
« But this thing…with Ethan…it’s not cosmetic. It’s about the truth of his nature. »
« A Cu’enashti entity is composed of radically different energies combining into a unified being. Think of it as similar to the various kinds of cells in an animal or plant’s body working together to form an organism – except that our choice is conscious. We’ve made a biological impulse into a social function. Do you understand the implications of that? »
I shake my head dumbly.
« Well, you’d better, because your cards will document it. Because humanity, with its stupid history of racial and gender conflict, its solutions which treat the symptoms without treating the real problem – fear of difference – has got to somehow fit into the Combine of Sentients, cooperating with beings who are truly alien. »
I finally understand – a little – just a glimpse of what Tara’s Destiny really means, and how impossible it will be to achieve it. I feel crushed. « How…how are we ever going to get them to… »
Quennel shrugs. « You tell me. You’re the one who changed your mind about everything. »
[1] This paper will eventually be published in the annotated version of The Hedgemegeton – trans.