As Related by Tannon Zilverspar, Supreme and Holy Conifer
We decided to go over to the Moth and Lamp, where Solomon is on his 67th beer. At this rate, he’ll be the last to finish. Dermot is keeping him company, which is a generous, branchly thing to do, but we kick him out. This meeting is just for us: the Loser’s Club.
« I dislike the choice of name, » says Tarlach. « It’s full of negativity. We should call it the Aspirants Club. »
« If Lorcan were here, he’d tell you to piss off, » says Driscoll. « But Lorcan did better than us losers. »
« It’s easier to express anger than to admit the truth, » says Tarlach. « We’re all really depressed about this, and it only gets worse the longer we’re separated from the community. I’d recommend therapy, but since I can no longer directly observe your branches, I’m not qualified to give it. »
« This is no time to be stewing in our beer, » says Mickey. « Except, of course for Solomon. We need an action plan. »
« We’ve seen some success for those who set out to accomplish a particular achievement, » says Valentin. « On the other hand, we’ve seen a number of achievements through pure serendipity. »
« One thing is certain, » says Mickey. « We’re not making any progress just sitting around here. Except for Solomon. »
« The achievement I’ve undertaken requires me to travel the entirety of the pleroma, » says Aran. « I’m convinced that the logic behind that achievement is fairly straightforward – to force us to map it. Left to our own devices, we’ve failed to completely explore the Yggdrasil Tower. »
« Perhaps a group of us should go with you, » suggests Axel.
« I think we should all sally forth on the quest, » says Sloane. « In the old legends, the knights never knew what they were looking for. They trusted that adventure would come to them. »
« Or we can immerse ourselves in studies, trying to understand the mysteries of the pleroma, »says Seth. « Who knows what hidden knowledge we could learn? »
« I’ve learned that too much penetration makes a human body seriously sore, » says Constantine. « I want this over with as soon as possible. »
« Ailann won’t even let us go off on our own, » says Driscoll. « I know he’s afraid of losing us, but it’s condescending, adding insult to injury. »
« If we went off on our own, » says Aran, « how could they stop us? »
« I’m not inclined to do that, » says Rainier. « The last time I did, it didn’t turn out so well. »
« The thought of leaving home depresses me, » says Daniel.
« Well, I’m going, » says Aran. « I don’t have any choice. Who wants to go with me? »
Mickey, Valentin, Sloane and Constantine raise their hands. I look at Axel.
« Should we stay with Suibhne? » he asks.
« Suibhne’s one of them, » says Rainier.
« I think that maybe going is better, » I reply. « Besides, Constantine is going, and, sore or not, he’s nice. »
« But what happens when you succeed? » asks Tarlach. « Does that branch get sent home, ostracized from the group? »
« It’s more like the group gets ostracized from him, » says Daniel.
« We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, » says Mickey. « It looks like Benbow and Barnabas and Stephen are staying with their group even though they made the achievement. »
« You sure you guys don’t want to come with us? » asks Valentin.
« I am not an outdoorsman, » says Driscoll. « And a little privacy is nice for a change. »
Hurley looks like he’s been punched in the gut. Driscoll can be mean. Why is Driscoll so mean? I don’t understand it.
The guys that are in aren’t being mean at all. The ones who are still out are quarreling constantly. I don’t understand that either.
« Come with us, Tannon, » says Mickey. « More is better. »
« I’m being invited. I’m never invited. I’m a conifer. »
« Losers can’t be choosers, » mutters Driscoll.
*****
Suibhne doesn’t say anything when we leave. I suppose that sooner or later, a mentor’s got to let you manage on your own. On the other hand, Ross shows up.
Constantine looks wistful, but Aran says, « I’m afraid that we need to do this on our own. »
« At least take this, » Ross says. « I found it at the library. »
It’s a map of the pleroma. Most of it looks uncharted.
« Odd, » says Valentin. « This is a political map. It’s divided into states, but only the ones we’ve explored somewhat are named: State of Independence, State of Enlightenment, State of Confusion, State of Amazement. It looks like New Merenis isn’t in any state. »
« If I go with you, » says Ross, « chances are that the map will fill in as we travel. »
« Tempting, » says Mickey, « but no. The map is still helpful, though. Thanks. »
« At least take the mecha, » says Ross.
« The mecha only holds six, » says Aran. « There are seven of us. »
Ross looks at Constantine. Constantine doesn’t look at him.
« The hovertrain is fine, » says Valentin. « It will be more scenic than racing around in a giant robot. »
Ross sees us off at the station. He looks sad as he waves goodbye.
« Let’s head east, » says Aran. « We’ve never been east. »
I press my nose against the window. It’s exciting.
Soon we’re over the river and through Albion, which isn’t the real Albion-Port-of-Call but about three blocks of buildings that make it seem like Albion is really there when you’re looking at it from Merenis. We get past that and it’s swampland as far as the eye can see.
I can’t keep time. Valentin can keep time. Mickey is good at efficiency, but that’s a different thing. All of this swampland over and over is hypnotic, and we get tired, and I’m not sure if it’s because time has passed, or if we’re just bored.
Nobody is talking much. Mickey and Valentin are holding hands. Constantine looks sorry that he didn’t stay with Ross. If I found an achievement, I’d let him have it.
I wish I had friends.
I’m a conifer.
Axel comes and sits next to me. « Do you miss Suibhne? » he asks. « I miss Suibhne, too. »
Suibhne and Ross are the only ones who accept me. Well, Ailann, too, but he’s too busy to pay attention to me.
Axel smiles at me. « Ach, you’re a strange one, » he says. « I like strange ones. I like that Suibhne is mad. »
I don’t say anything. I don’t really understand why they say Suibhne is mad. He makes more sense than a lot of people. Axel is being nice, though. I think Axel is lonely. I rest my head against him and drift off to sleep.
When I wake, the swamps have become empty cities. Husks of buildings are dropped against the landscape like shed insect carapaces. Machines are left abandoned in the streets. They have swaths of red, corroded metal. « What is wrong with them? » I ask.
« Rust, » says Valentin. « At least it matches the descriptions I’ve read. I’ve never seen any before. »
« What’s rust? »
« Like metal rotting, » says Mickey.
« Can we get root rot here? » I say, alarmed.
« Human bodies don’t get root rot, » says Axel. « We’ve told you that before. I wouldn’t want to grow a tree here, though. »
« It depends, » says Valentin. « Look. »
On the horizon, enormous trees rise out of the distant marshes. They have roots like cables that suspend them above the mucky waters.
« Why would something like that grow in the pleroma? » asks Constantine.
« Maybe it’s the grove’s nightmare, » suggests Aran.
« I think it’s planning, » says Mickey. « I and I going through all the permutations of how to react under extreme conditions. »
« We’re going to get out at the next platform, » says Aran. « I need to collect something for the collage. »
The air doesn’t taste good here, a mixture of mold and burnt petroleum. I’m sorry to see the train receding in the distance.
« Maybe we can fix up one of these old cars, » says Mickey. « Then we could get off the hovertrain route. »
« Automobiles don’t have the versatility of hovercars, » says Axel. « You need roads. Plus, we don’t have an engineer. »
« I’m confused. If we aren’t going to use the hovertrain, why didn’t we take the mecha? »
Everybody is giving me a look like I’m an idiot. « Ross was trying to get us to leave Constantine behind, » says Aran. « We weren’t going to do that. »
« I guess you could’ve left me behind. »
« No, we couldn’t, » says Axel, putting his arm around me. « Suibhne didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want to be without a friend on the journey. »
« Axel, are you coming on to me? »
Everybody laughs. Is it so funny that someone would come on to me?
« First of all, » says Axel, « as Davy would say, it’s obvious. Secondly, in the pleroma, the default assumption is that someone is coming on to you. The only concern is that every now and then, you’ll come across somebody who is jealous. Davy is jealous. But Suibhne isn’t. We can have a nice little threesome when we get home. »
« But Suibhne is my mentor. Isn’t that sexual exploitation? »
« Your point? » asks Constantine.
« Lorcan has a theory that all of Tarlach’s mental health programs are really excuses to troll for pollen partners, » says Mickey. « I think that’s a little unfair. I think about half of them are. »
We leave the train station, walking down the deserted streets. It’s too quiet. Ever since this began, I’ve felt like I’m wearing earmuffs. I start dragging my feet just to create some noise.
« Could you not do that? » asks Aran sharply. « It’s annoying. »
« Sorry. I’m just used to hearing everything. I feel like I don’t know what’s going on. »
« Oh, » says Valentin. « I can’t smell anything either. »
« It smells awful around here. »
« But it doesn’t smell like anything, » says Valentin. «It just smells bad. I should be able to analyze the chemicals in the air, and it’s driving me crazy. »
« Normally they would sing to me. »
« I could sing, » Valentin suggests. « Normally, it would help me to keep time, but that’s messed up, too. »
Valentin starts singing an old Dolparessan folk song about being lost in the forest. Mickey and Sloane already know the song, but it’s easy to learn, and soon we’re all singing. It’s nice.
We stop in front of a damaged automobile. Mickey looks under the hood. « Anyone have ideas? » he asks.
« Ow! »
« Hey, what? » sputters Constantine.
« Someone is throwing rocks at us. »
« There »! shouts Mickey. « From behind those buildings. »
Mickey races towards our hidden assailants at the same time they make a rush for us. There are about a half-dozen of them, so we are evenly matched. Six-legged rodents, they are using their enormous ears as slings to hurl debris at us. Interwoven into their fur are bits of metal and plastic – old machine parts.
« Those are Bounders, » says Valentin.
“Cranam foo!” they yell. “Ipsk fsst hslrm!”
« I wish we had Malachi to make sense out of this, » says Aran.
« Maybe it’s their car, » I point out. « Maybe they think we’re stealing it. »
« If it’s in the pleroma, it’s ours, » says Aran.
« But they don’t know that because we’re unrecognized, » Mickey points out. « Let’s make a strategic retreat and see what they do. »
When we move away from the derelict auto into the shadows of the building, the Bounders don’t follow. Instead, they form a circle around the car and begin to wail. What appears to be a female of the species emerges from one of the buildings. She’s carrying a bundle of dead weeds.
She approaches the car, kneeling before it. Then the leader of the group slams shut the hood. The female rises and places the weeds on top of it.
« It’s like some strange religious rite, » whispers Axel.
« Bounders aren’t known for their intelligence, » says Aran. « How did they get into the pleroma anyway? »
« Let’s keep moving, » says Mickey. « We’ll find another car. »
We turn down a depressing street, then an equally depressing side street. The gutters are filled with trash – cans and plastic wrappers and synth tubes. «Where did it all come from? » I ask. «The Bounders couldn’t have made this mess. »
« It’s not biodegradable, » says Valentin. « It just sticks around for a while. »
« Why would anyone use non-biodegradable containers? »
« Because they’re stupid, » says Aran. « What is this place, the State of Ignorance? »
Mickey pulls out the map. «I’m guessing we’re here. But as Ross predicted, no further information has filled in. Probably it will when one of us is recognized. »
« Look, » says Sloane, pointing. « That’s got to be helpful, right? »
There’s a sign that says “Scrap Yard.”
« And that’s different from the rest of this city how? » asks Aran.
« There are cars there, » says Mickey. « A lot of them. And plenty of spare automotive parts. If only we had a manual, we’d be in business. »
« I heard rumors that they have auto repair manuals on the swan boat, » says Axel.
« What fucking good is that supposed to do? » asks Mickey. « I and I is crazy. »
« Whose fault is that? » asks Aran.
Mickey climbs a tottering heap of twisted metal to reach a concrete platform. It harbors a sleek, shiny red vehicle; unlike anything else in the city, it looks pristine, well-polished, not rusted. « Cool, » Mickey says, opening the pilot’s door.
It’s amazing. « It reminds me of a rocket, » says Valentin. « 1958 Cadillac supersize convertible coupe. It’s surprising that the top looks undamaged – those are fairly fragile. The interior is in mint condition also. »
« Death traps, » says Aran. « Human knowledge of safe vehicular construction was in its infancy. Also, these automobiles burned fossil fuels. »
« Fuel? » asks Mickey. « Oh, that’s right. They need an energy source. We’ll need to find fuel. »
« I heard rumors that there’s a gas station on the swan boat, » says Axel.
« What fucking good is that supposed to do? » cries Mickey.
Suddenly, there is a shout, and we are besieged. Bounders are everywhere. I see Axel yell as he dodges a running attack. Mickey hits back with martial arts. He’s no slouch, but he’s lost the reflexes of a Cu’enashti body, and lost access to the hundreds of thousands of training manuals he has stored in his branch. He has to rely on muscle memory alone.
Sloane is fighting, Valentin is fighting, Aran is fighting, but I have no idea what to do. I’m a conifer.
There’s a sharp pain on the back of my head, and the world goes dark.
*****
The next thing I’m aware of is sound: a strange chant composed of grunts and squeaks. I blink several times and open my eyes. I seem to be looking at the sky, eternally fixed in the ruddy haze of late afternoon. The colors are oddly beautiful as the smog causes refraction in the sun’s rays.
I seem to be bound to the car, my head near the hood ornament, my legs splayed up over the windshield. When I turn my head to the side, I can see that Bounders are dancing around the automobile in a circle. This is a strange religious rite, and I fear, based on knowledge garnered from a number of late-night media push channels, that I am to be sacrificed.
I can’t see or feel any of the others. Are they still alive? Am I alone?
The female waves a bundle of burning weeds above my head. Then she picks up something at her feet and raises it triumphantly to the heavens. It’s an oil can.
She brings the spout to my lips. I’m apparently to be poisoned. I gag at the smell, the taste, the burning. It’s turpentine.
Maybe it was meant to kill me, but I’m a conifer. The world spins.
I see decay. Forests of pine, forests of fir, forests of arborvitae. I see forests through millions of years of mineralogical upheaval, forests compacting into coal.
But there’s an enemy lurking: microbes. Phytoplankton and zooplankton busily churning themselves into petroleum.
Humans like petroleum better. Why do humans like petroleum better? The forest is offended.
The chanting of the Bounders grows louder. It’s a love song. They’ve maintained the Cadillac, the chosen among automobiles, amongst all the wrecks in the empty city. But their god is dead. They can’t start the car. No fuel.
The needles whisper within me, the voice of ancestral truth. I feel it in my roots and my sap. As the pagan dance nears its apogee, the word is revealed to me. I raise my voice in a joyous shout.
« Methanol! »
At that very moment, my brother branches burst from behind the junkyard fence. This time, they’ve come armed. But it isn’t their attack that terrifies the Bounders. It’s the divine voice from above as the long-silent engine roars into life:
“Tannon Zilverspar, Supreme and Holy Conifer. 52nd to emanate, 87 in the color scale, resonates to 449. 1.731 meters tall, cock size 18.78 cm when erect, apparent age 30. Conifer. Totem is Abies magnifica, the red fir, fixed star is Antares, the rival of Ares, also called Bilu-sha-ziri, Lord of the Seed. Esoteric symbol is the Minchiate trump Lo Scorpione, Scorpio. Dessert is Mont Bleu (pureed nau’gsholi with whipped cream). Function is establishing release, proto-conscious tendency is innovation, designated Fir. Blazon is per fess fir-twigged cabernet and argent, two fir cones in saltire, proper.”
« It’s Tannon, » says Wynne. « He got #66 “Experience a vison as a result of a strange religious rite.” »
« I never knew conifers were so well endowed, » says Tommy appreciatively.
« That Cadillac is frickin’ awesome, » says Stephen. « I want to go cruising with you sometime. Wait until Nash sees it. »
As the vision dissipates, I am left understanding a world-shattering truth: the totemic importance of the automobile as an archetype of male sexuality.
« But doesn’t it also represent the rape of the environment that results from such patriarchal posturing? » asks Dermot.
« This is why you never get laid, » says Lorcan.
Further Curious Tales of the Chevalier’s Arbor: Optimal Position