H. Frangfrangii must be added to the list of lifeforms which the colonists of Frangfrang were too stupid to eradicate immediately. It is hardy and spreads easily, producing delicious berries which, on the surface, seem an adequate source of human nutrition. However, the plant has proved resistant to the chemstripping process applied to most native Frangfrangian agriculture. Long term consumption produces a predictable modification of the human genome, resulting in the dreaded Podakon Sleeping Syndrome. The details are beyond the scope of this treatise; suffice it to say that for all intents and purposes, sufferers appear to be awake, but are actually deep in somnambulant blackouts. Because the plant is invasive, and the berries attractive to children, it is illegal to export the plant from Frangfrang. Nevertheless, the plant has been cultivated on several of the IndWorlds since a compound derived from the berries is used in synthesizing a drug known as Fugue, highly popular in Ennead brothels. The Matriarch kept a specimen of H. Frangfrangii in her poison garden on Volparnu, but when she attempted to transplant it to the poison garden at Court Emmere, she found that the Cu’endhari had altered its genetic code, rendering it harmless.
Illustration from Beinecke MS 408 (also called The Voynich Manuscript), circa 1404-38.*
Tara lit Rain’s candle again. Nothing happened. We waited several minutes to be certain, but in the past, the transformation had happened within thirty seconds, just long enough for the essential oils to begin to volatize.
Driscoll messaged Tara from his studio. “It’s hardly a surprise,” he said. “Do you want me to come up there? I can take you back into the pleroma.”
“Let me think for a few minutes,” she said. “It’s possible that I might be able to access some information that I can’t while I’m inside.”
She stared at her datapad, wondering if she should go through the pointless exercise of searching for research articles. She already knew what she’d find. There would be absolutely nothing on the nature of consciousness developed by coherent nul-energy.
“Let’s try a different approach,” she murmured. She went out on the verandah to find Canopus. “I’ll bet that Tannon won’t mind. Let’s see what happens when I eat one of these nuts and focus…”
She popped a seed into her mouth. Just then, the door chimed; it was Lady Lorma. “We have so much to discuss,” she said. “Will you hold the sword at my wedding?”
“I’d be honored,” said Tara. Holding the sword was a Skarsian custom – the idea was to keep the groom from being stolen.
“But Tubby wants me to have a Maid of Honor too – Siderian custom. Maybe I’ll ask Premma. If I understand correctly, the Maid of Honor’s ceremonial regalia has to match the cake. Premma wears that kind of frock, doesn’t she?”
Tara closed her eyes, thinking that Premma’s entire wardrobe looked as though she had been attacked by a mad confectioner. Psychedelic trails formed into squirts of frosting. “If you go with crème cake, which isn’t a bad idea,” said Tara, shaking herself back to reality. “Nau’gsh crème, I think, with a chocumber base. Using chocumber should solve your grain conundrum.”
Lady Lorma’s eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”
“Peachy,” said Tara. “Or maybe nutty.”
“Oh, and a delivery came for you this morning. It’s more of those candles. I’ll bring in the box.”
“This is the final set,” said Tara. They were thick, richly colored pillars, each embossed with the proper Etruscan letter. “Look at this.” She pulled a candle of intense reddish-purple from the container. “Mangosteen.”
“Instead of nau’gsh? That would be exotic.”
Tara held the candle up to the light. She was seized by a sudden impulse. “No, the color of the candle. This is a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
“That I’m going to have another husband soon.”
“Missy! How many is that this week? And here I am still on my first.”
“They’re like unonion biiskits. You can’t stop at one.” Tara turned the candle over and over in her hands, inspecting the unfamiliar symbol, which seemed to unfold backwards into a tesseract. “Although I suspect that this one will be…a little different.”
“More different than Prince Darius? Prince Tannon? Prince Briscoe is the only normal one of the recent batch.”
“Normal is a relative term. I suppose we’ll see.” Tara lit the candle.
« Is this a good idea? » I asked. « Davy? »
« I don’t know, » said Davy. « I feel sick. »
« All will be well, » said Suibhne. « Maybe. »
The spiral flickered, then spun into threads which flailed through the air, then dissipated. Rain was crouched where the center had been. He looked up suddenly, blinking.
Axel bounded across the room, closely followed by the other Yggdrasil emanations. « We were so worried about you! » he exclaimed, pounding Rain on the back.
« At least that problem is solved, » said Cillian. « But…»
« Whose idea was this? » demanded Driscoll, barging into the planetarium. « It’s the most irresponsible, cocked up…»
« It was Tara’s idea, » said Suibhne.
« Oh. Well then, it has a sublime brilliance which, for the moment, escapes me, » Driscoll finished.
« Yeah, » said Cillian. « Are you guys getting anything from that new emanation? »
It felt vaguely similar to the way Lorcan used to emanate. But it wasn’t so much that there was a barrier preventing us from communicating with him – it was more like he lived in a different medium, and we were shouting into water. Lorcan’s emanation used to feel distant, frozen out. This was intense, but the signals were distorted. It took us a moment to realize that our datapad was signaling a message from Tara. It took longer to make out the words, “Driscoll? Did anything happen?”
Strangely, the new emanation did not respond. It was possible that he was entirely disoriented, given the manner of his birth. Or it was also possible that he didn’t care to respond. That was a possibility that nobody wanted to think about.
Driscoll had chosen a room on the eastern side of Court Emmere for his workspace, a room which was flooded with daylight in the morning. It had enormous windows and strategically placed mirrors to reflect the illumination. The emanation crouched and peered into the mirror. But he didn’t say his name; instead, he tugged at his thick, unruly hair, touched his face, stared into his own eyes, deep set and exhausted. He remained like this for a while, until Tara came up from behind him.
She could immediately tell that the candle had worked, that it wasn’t Driscoll. His hair was a lighter brown, somewhat longer and more unkempt. Driscoll’s posture was strong and angular, always alert and a bit defensive, but this man had the languid indolence of a natural aristocrat.
He rose, turning to face her. His features were haughty, refined and handsome. He appeared to be in his late twenties, but he looked worn, with eyes so sunken, distant, and dull that it was a shock to her.
“Why?” he asked.
The effects of nau’gshtamine amide-t suggested about a thousand answers, but none of them seemed to address this particular situation. “Beats me,” she said. “I’m Tara.”
“I know that,” he snapped. He rested his forehead against his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I suppose I’m Vassali.”
“Vassali?” Tara squinted, as though trying to puzzle it out. “A Russian name? I didn’t think we had Russian branch names. Is this one of Suibhne’s things – like that Rasputin stuff?”
He stared at her, shaking his head.
“What tree are you from? Canopus?”
“I’m not anything,” he said.
“What do you mean? Are you from an entirely new tree?”
He looked away from her. His voice shook as he said, “I’m not a branch.” He walked towards one of the windows. He rested his hand against the glass, looking out into the twilight. “I don’t know what I am.”
“Um,” said Tara. “I don’t know that Davy or Suibhne could give you a straight answer. Ask Malachi. He usually knows what’s going on.”
“Where do I find this person?”
“In your head.” Tara’s voice grew suddenly concerned. “You can hear the other branches, right?”
He closed his eyes. “I hear voices,” he said. “Sometimes I can make out what they say. Other times, they’re faint, like the whispering of leaves in the wind. Right now, I can hear someone shouting ‘Swap emanations!’ and someone else yelling, ‘We can’t.’”
“Well,” said Tara. “This seemed like the thing to do at the time. Is Rain all right?”
Vassali looked at her, confused. Then he looked out the window. “You’re intoxicated,” he said. “It’s sunny today. Isn’t it? Or have I got it wrong?”
“Rain is a person,” said Tara. “Ask the voices in your head.”
“Someone said ‘The spiral unraveled.’ I don’t know what that means. The voices are giving me a headache.”
“This sort of transition is usually a bit bumpy,” Tara said with forced cheer. “It gets better with time. Well, you’re here now, Vassali. Why don’t we get some dinner and get to know each other?”
He turned back to her slowly and nodded. “Why not?” he said.
*****
But despite Tara’s best efforts at conversation, which got considerably better as the effects of Tannon’s nut wore off, Vassali seemed remote and unresponsive. This was bizarre; this was inexplicable. No matter how confused or distressed an emanation is, the presence of Tara produces an immediate and positive response. Even when Manasseh had no memory at all of his true nature, when he saw Tara for the first time, he was overwhelmed with joy. Even though Rand was faced with a crisis situation and possessed only fragments of recollection, he sought to aid and protect Tara. Vassali, however, seemed uninterested. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said that he wasn’t paying attention. Of course, that was impossible. The Chosen is the focal point of any Cu’enashti’s attention.
“Do you know what’s in the soup?” Tara asked.
“A root vegetable?” Vassali replied.
“They’re enorbeets from Eden. Valentin would’ve known that, but he’s especially good at observation and deduction. I meant something more specific, like the trace minerals in the broth.”
Vassali looked at her curiously. “Is there a significance to it?”
“Not really. I was just checking to see if you knew.”
“No. Do you?”
Tara laughed. “Of course not. My senses were slightly improved when I was re-emanated after the death of my original body, but not nearly that much.”
“Oh. Then why would I?”
“You don’t sense anything beyond your human body’s capacity, do you?”
Vassali rose abruptly, slamming his fist on the table. “Just how defective am I?”
Tara flinched; inside the pleroma, there was an audible gasp. None of us would have dreamed of raising our voices to her like that.
« What if he’s not really one of us? » asked Ethan. « This whole thing has been a series of accidents. »
The branches began to mutter amongst themselves. Even the room seemed to chill. Such a thing would be an unprecedented disaster. An interloper, isolated among us, not sharing our n’aashet n’aaverti.
« Can we get rid of it? » Mickey whispered nervously.
« We’re just not happy unless we’ve got someone to ostracize, are we? » said Ross. « Give him a chance. »
« There might be another explanation, » I suggested. « An emanation focuses on the Chosen because it provides a way to screen and prioritize the enormous overload of sensory information gathered by the emanation’s root nau’gsh. But if Vassali doesn’t belong to any tree, then he wouldn’t need a focal point. I experienced the same phenomenon myself, when I was in the nul-chamber. »
I shuddered. I had managed not to think about that nightmare for a few days now. As if he knew what I was thinking, Cillian placed his hand on my shoulder.
« Ailann, I do know what you’re thinking, » said Cillian. « But I don’t know what Vassali is thinking, and that makes me very nervous. »
« What a batch of winners lately, » said Lorcan. « The princess, the prima donna, the conifer and now this. »
« It’s been a while since I pounded you but good, » said Cillian. « Want to break the streak? »
Tara rose, taking a step towards Vassali, but he turned his back on her and moved away. She followed him to the window. He stared into it, stared at his reflection against the Dolparessan night. He looked as if he would like to cry, but his eyes were dry. “I’m nothing,” he said. “Please leave me alone.”
After a moment, Tara backed away. She went into the bedroom to undress. She waited up for him, but after a while, she grew tired and went to bed.
He left her to sleep alone. She hated to sleep alone. Every night, she called out in her sleep for Ash, and one of us had to answer.
« Lorcan, I take it back conditionally, » said Cillian. « Apologize to Darius and Rain and Tannon, ‘cause they can’t help what they are. This asshole deserves my Thrice Heavy Steel toed boot up his butt. »
*****
The next day was no better. The Ipsissimal retinue quickly noticed that Prince Vassali was uncommunicative and cut him a wide berth. Some of our emanations were known to be rather eccentric – most recently Darius – and nobody wanted to anger the Living God.
It was distressing to share his muddled experiences, more distressing not to be able to force a different emanation. What if we were stuck like this?
« Don’t panic, » said Dermot. « I’m fairly certain that Tara could use the candles. She just doesn’t seem to want to. »
The most distressing thing was that Vassali seemed to be avoiding Tara. Of course, the rest of us wanted to be as close to her as possible. Worse, it was becoming clear that she was very upset. She knew that something was terribly wrong, and blamed herself for her rash action. None of us wanted to admit that she could’ve gone so wrong on this type of decision. It would be tantamount to admitting the unthinkable: she was attracted to energies unsuitable to become part of the pleroma. That would be a disaster, setting aside the matter of this inappropriate branch. That would mean I and I could never be adequate, could never be everything she needs.
« If we can’t become the perfect servant for her, then what’s the point of anything? » Rand asked, despairingly.
« A human psychologist would say that line of thought is disturbingly unhealthy, » said Tarlach.
« We aren’t human, » said Cillian.
« I don’t see why this is such an issue, » said Lorcan. « Of course Tara is attracted to energies other than our own. Explain Clive Rivers. Explain Johannon. »
« That isn’t making me feel any better, » said Tommy. The sentiment was mutual. And dinner didn’t help, either – a grenstag stew that Vassali’s muted senses rendered muddy and miserable.
I needed a drink. « We need a distraction, » decided Cillian.
« How about the origin of the Goliath sparks? » said Darius. « I located the foundational memory – it seems that it’s always buried in the root at the base of the Archon’s branch. »
He was immediately surrounded by the Goliath branches, swarming him, babbling in excitement, trying to touch his coat. As if the physical proximity would make any difference. I closed my eyes, reached through my branch, back into the root system, and heard: “He was a terrifying shade of magenta. He was Uncompromising.”
An image appeared in my mind – a supernova with a hollow center, sharp, pulsating light being sucked down a central abyss. I’d say a black hole, but the light was being produced faster than it could be consumed. « Holy compost, » said Cillian.
« That’s Aran! » said Manasseh.
« That’s a little intimidating, » said Rain.
« He’s not! » said Manasseh. « He’s pretty. »
« Why is he speaking in the third person? » asked Evan.
« It’s a psychological distancing mechanism, » said Tarlach.
Suibhne nodded vigorously. « Suibhne learned how to do that from Aran. »
The statement startled me. It was true. Suibhne hadn’t always spoken in third person. But wouldn’t that indicate that Aran was a little…mad?
« Distancing carries the potential of objectivity, » said Dermot. « Something Atlas sorely lacked. »
Aran was distant. And very old. I could feel his long history of moving through the rocks, riding the flow of energy, avoiding the other sparks. There was an ever-present sense that interacting meant compromise.
And then he encountered Atlas. The natural energy flow brought him up into the roots. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew that Atlas was like nothing else he’d ever encountered. Of course, Aran would have no way of understanding the breach between universes, the roots of Atlas growing from Universe Prime into the nul-universe. But his instincts told him that it didn’t belong in that place; it was an invader.
Aran was in the roots for a long time. If I access Daniel, our oldest branch, I can see Aran there for over a decade. He was alone, and although he was a big spark, he was tiny compared to Atlas, which grew and changed over time. Nine branches grew and Aran wasn’t absorbed.
« Yeah, I got that, » said Cillian. « The Cu’ensali were wrong. And it only makes sense. I and I doesn’t do anything by accident. »
I could feel a growing self-consciousness in Aran, resulting in a kind of paranoia. If he was watching Atlas, was Atlas watching him? He changed his pulsation, drawing in more energy, trying to get the tree’s attention. I could feel his frustration. I could feel the sense that maybe he was being ignored, being insulted. The tree held secrets; it was smug, it was self-contained.
I could feel an instinct, so strong, one that leads to becoming a Cu’ensali – stay alone, stay perfect. But Aran’s nascent sense of identity was developing in relationship to Atlas. He kept growing bigger. Some part of him realized that if it continued, he’d split into two, taking a final Cu’ensali form. Then he’d never understand that damn tree. Maybe it was love, maybe it was resentment; it was certainly obsession. Not knowing the truth would be a compromise, and he couldn’t stand it.
He chose. His inherent nature was a kind of judgment, a judgement that distances. But in order to judge, he had to know the truth, and that meant moving closer. Truth couldn’t exist in a vacuum.
He was compromised by his own integrity. That’s our Aran!
Then I felt a creeping warmth, an awareness which seemed at the same time pleasant, but nevertheless disturbing to Aran’s equilibrium. It was another spark, one that Aran would never have noticed back in the days when he was completely centered on the destruction of his own light. The spark was far smaller, delightful and yet somehow insubstantial, a tasty purple swirl of energy which had twisted itself into a playful pattern, like something a bored child would scribble into the margins of a notebook. “More” would’ve swept it up without a thought. Uncompromising pulled back.
It was a nameless spark until Aran named it. ‘Stupid,’ said Uncompromising. Of course, it was not said in any language, but that was his first instinct, that contempt.
« It’s me! » said Manasseh delightedly.
I opened my eyes. The looks on their faces! Manasseh happy as a turnip, Aran completely mortified. He met my eyes, then looked away quickly.
« I’m not really like that, » Aran protested. « Am I like that? »
Stupid – that is, Manasseh – began to fluctuate his pulsation. It looked like a little dance. Aran did his best to ignore it. In fact, there was a distinct sense that Aran was ignoring Manasseh because Atlas was ignoring him.
If Manasseh had a heart, it would’ve broken. But there was only desire and impulse, Manasseh’s root tendency being to please. Aran wouldn’t allow that. Manasseh kept trying until I could feel the sudden and overwhelming presence of another spark, this one massive, a brilliant brown, warm energy radiating from a center, pushing its way out as much as Aran – Uncompromising – folded in on itself. « Oh, that’s when I met Ari, » said Manasseh. « Hello Ari! »
There was a sense of the two enormous sparks noticing each other, a grudging recognition. Manasseh danced between them, and I finally understood what he was doing – he was trying to entice them to synchronize. But Aran was uninterested, Ari unmovable. The effect was of a small moon trying to pull two giant suns into its gravity well.
« Rocksolid, » said Aran. « That’s what I called you. »
« Manasseh isn’t Stupid. He’s Sweet, » said Ari.
Their interpretation of Manasseh’s pathetic desire to please tells me so much about them. Yet I could see the qualities I and I was weighing in each of them. Manasseh was the easiest choice, his simple, sweet devotion. I really would’ve swept him up immediately. But Aran was different – and maybe a necessary balance. He would maintain his integrity while Manasseh would make any compromise.
« Yeah, that’s why Manasseh is so small, » said Cüinn. « Someone like that would never have time to amass much pudge before he synched up with someone. But that’s also why Ari is so big – because he’s so stubborn. »
« I’m fascinated by their appearance, » said Driscoll. « They’re rotating too fast to see much of anything, but they all leave a distinct visual impression. And those sparks don’t look anything like Vassali – or like each other. »
Lens nodded. « I noted a considerable amount of variation. No two were alike. »
« But it doesn’t look like they’re synching up, » Dermot observed.
« I noticed that, too, » said Valentin. « No, I mean, I noticed it – look. »
I closed my eyes. I could feel another presence. A standing wave whose vibrant greenish-yellow showed no variation in color at all, thin, intricately wrapped around itself, rigidly controlled, square where the others were circles. Above all, I could sense that it was watching, observing – Perceptive.
« I had to do something, or they would never get anywhere, » said Valentin.
What Valentin did was like music and yet without any sound. Manasseh danced, and Ari rather unsuccessfully tried to dance, but Aran stubbornly did nothing.
Valentin’s dance wasn’t meant for them. It was meant for the spiked spiral of pale green which came tumbling precipitously through their universe. Next to me, Manasseh burst into tears. « It’s him! I miss him so much. »
« His name will be Stephen, » said Malachi. « He’s first in the correspondence chart. It’s odd that he hasn’t emanated yet, especially since over half of the Goliath emanations have – and he seems integral to the narrative. »
« Do you remember this? » asked Dermot.
Malachi shook his head. « But that’s hardly surprising. It seems like I wasn’t present for these events. »
The greenish spiral hurled itself boldly at Valentin, who dodged at the last minute. I shot a glance at Cillian; like me, he was surprised and impressed. « You moved, » he said to Valentin. « You had that much volition? »
« I think it was instinct. If he had collided with me then, we would’ve fused. But my plan worked. »
« Bait and switch, » muttered Cillian.
Lens nodded. « Synchronizing with Manasseh would freeze the green one in that form. It would stop him from becoming Cu’enmerengi. »
« He said I was Candy, » said Manasseh. Candy? Delicious with a sugary center? I supposed that calling Manasseh Candy made as much sense as calling Daniel Sex. Yet there was something about their inherent natures, something which spoke of the sensual, physical, different from the abstract being of the others.
« The sparks seem to have varying degrees of sentience. » said Dermot. « Or perhaps it’s more like varying modes of apprehending their surroundings. »
« Whatever Valentin did, it got more than that Bold spark’s attention, » said Mickey, whose eyes were still shut tightly.
It was Atlas. I realized that I’d seen this before – when it synthesized Whirljack. But this time, it was making something different. Something blue. Something familiar.
« That’s me, » Tommy realized. « Except… »
« The color’s off, » Driscoll replied. « It’s Thomas. »
« It’s a copy of Tommy, » said Patrick. « When Atlas sent out Whirljack, it was an entirely new creation. But when it contacted the Goliath emanations, it used you as a template. »
« Anyone new would have to synchronize with the rest of us, » said Malachi. « I suppose the real question is why Tommy was chosen. »
« It’s obvious, » said Davy. And before anyone could give him a dirty look, he actually explained: « Because Tara likes him best. »
« Atlas noticed the sparks, » said Thomas. « They had qualities which could be useful, so I was created to go on a recon mission. It was a precarious position. I was basically Tommy, or at least a copy of his essence – he had already emanated at the time. But I didn’t really have an existence within Atlas. That meant I had an enormous motivation to recruit them; at the same time, n’aashet n’aaverti required that I be absolutely certain of them. »
« So what did you do? » asked Axel.
« I showed them the vision of Tara, of course. »
The sparks reacted instantly, Stephen first, spinning incredibly fast, his resonance paradoxically decreasing as his velocity increased. The others fell in line, first Manasseh, then Valentin, then, awkwardly, Ari revved himself up. As this was happening, I could feel a wave of bleak depression from Aran. He had seen Tara, and nothing else would ever be good enough. He had seen togetherness, and he was tired of being alone.
« I was almost a Cu’ensali, » he said. « But becoming Cu’enashti was my choice. I can remember a feeling, an overwhelming desire to be pure. At first, when I was alone, I thought purity meant being uncontaminated by anyone else. But once I had joined, then I felt like purity was the nature of joining, like I had to become… »
« More. » I said. Our eyes met. For the first time I understood – as different as we seemed – why we were brothers. Our wills, our hearts were the same. I realized that the root of my being, which until now had manifested as unfettered ambition on Tara’s behalf, was to attract others to myself, and that tendency could manifest in ways far less cold than ambition.
Suddenly, I realized that Cillian hadn’t been the only one waiting for me.
« I remember, » Ari murmured. « I can feel it. Aran was driving us in much the same way that Ailann drove Atlas. »
« Put together with what Balin said, it seems like the Archon is determined, is dominant from the beginning, » said Malachi.
The vision of Tara had effects beyond the newly-forming Goliath. It drew other entities, many of which seemed to rapidly approach and then drift away. One remained, however, a Cu’enashti enclosed in its field of blue fur. It was difficult to make out, but it seemed to be composed of four sparks. Their behavior did remind me of what Lens had said, extending and withdrawing their energy, their skin, two creatures in a mating dance.
Tommy cleared his throat. « Is anyone else finding this kind of…um…stimulating? »
« That’s us, » said Solomon, ignoring him. « Easy Light Wisdom Vision. »
« You’re Wisdom, obviously, and Lucius is light, » offered Mickey. « Then Easy… »
« Ace, » said Wynne, slapping his brother on the back. « It’s too bad we can’t see them better. »
Driscoll considered. « Well, I could do another series of self-portraits – Baby Pictures Not of Me. Somehow I know what they look like – just like I know what Ailann looks like. Maybe because I’m more sensitive to visual impressions. »
« But who is Vision? » asked Mickey.
« Cyrus, » said Malachi. « He hasn’t emanated. Again, it’s strange – a remarkable number of these first entities have emanated. That can’t be a coincidence. »
« By that point, I was definitely recruiting, » said Thomas. « I had the sense that I was trying to grab all I could before…before something happened. It occurs to me now that Atlas must’ve known it would become the new Archon. »
« That’s not really a surprise, » said Cillian. « Becoming the Matriarch was the first, most obvious step to Tara’s Destiny. Everyone knew that because of Elma’s prophecy. »
« But there was still a matter of quality control. I was searching for talent. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I went on intuition. For example, the next group, Articulate Arcane Puppy. »
« Articulate is obviously Malachi, » said Dermot. « Arcane is Seth. Then Puppy must be… »
Protective, loyal, good natured… everybody looked toward Constantine. « This just…explains so much, » said Tarlach.
Constantine shook his head, smiling as the laughter subsided. « To this day, » he said, « I don’t understand a word Seth says. But I try. »
« Seth doesn’t have to be understood, » said Malachi. « I’m there to explain him. »
« Ashtara immediately saw the value in that, » said Thomas. « If you could explain Seth, whose nature is deliberate obfuscation… »
« Then I could explain Davy, who is unintentionally inarticulate. »
« I and I knew what He was doing, » said Dermot. « And on that token, Vassali isn’t a mistake – I’m certain. I think I know why he attacked Rain. »
« It’s obvious, » said Suibhne, snickering.
« It’s not obvious, » said Mickey. « Please tell us the not-obvious answer. »
« Vassali is the right color, » said Dermot, « but we absorbed him before he had a chance to synchronize. He meant no harm when he entrapped Rain. He had been hiding in the planetarium, and when Rain arrived, saw the chance to use him as a template. But then Tara burned the candle, and Vassali still hadn’t synchronized when he was evoked. »
The fact that he doesn’t have a branch of his own isn’t helping, said Jamey. Without a material basis, he’s unstable.
« What happens if he can’t synch up? » asked Ari. « It isn’t as easy as it looks. »
« For some people, » said Lorcan.
« You cheated, » Ari retorted.
« I did it upside down and backwards. That takes talent. »
« Can we get back to the story? » asked Mickey.
« I think we should stop now, » said Darius.
« But why? I’d like to see where I come in, » Ethan protested.
« Because I’m Nostalgic, » said Darius.
He meant that literally. I could see it now: Coy Youth Nostalgic Gift Time. An entity of such impossible beauty that Thomas was determined that Tara must have it. But none of those others had emanated. I could see the sadness in Darius’ eyes. And something there warning me not to go any further.
Circumstances came to his assistance. Our conversation, which had taken up most of the night, was interrupted by Lord Danak, who called at our suite at the earliest opportunity in the morning. “I just got a message from Ta’al Erich,” he said. “The Alliance of Mankind has issued a formal statement supporting CenGov’s assertion that the People’s Earth Government is illegal and should not be recognized by the intergalactic community. We could really use one of the Archons to take a firm position, and soon – before Ambassador Rivers gets hold of the news.”
Tara looked enormously relieved, and I knew it was because she had an excuse to ask Vassali to leave. She hadn’t wanted to make him feel even more unwanted or inadequate. Whether he would be able to accomplish it was anyone’s guess. Most likely, Tara would have to use my candle.
“Vassali, would it be possible…?” she began.
“No,” he said. He stood and exited abruptly, slamming the door behind him. It probably would’ve been more dramatic if he hadn’t stormed off into the closet.
Cillian snorted. I could see the humor, but it was also something none of us would ever do. We didn’t need to know the layout of a building – we would’ve known it wasn’t a proper room from the pattern of the radiant energy given off by the power conduits in the walls. We would have known the difference between the smell of furniture and piles of linen.
« Is he always going to be like this? » asked Cillian.
Malachi shook his head. « It might help if he synched or grew a branch. Then again, it might be permanent. »
Tara motioned Danak to leave. “I’ll speak to Prince Vassali,” she said. “I’ll see if I can convince him to emanate Ailann.”
“We’re just lucky that the trouble between the sprites and the mothmen seems to have calmed down,” Danak replied. “I have no idea what the Living God is thinking – a new emanation at a time like this.”
« Frankly, it’s too calm, » said Briscoe. « Something’s going to happen, and we need someone more competent than Vassali to deal with it. Are you sure we can’t force the emanation? »
« I’ve tried, » said Cillian. « I’ve tried again and again. The big guy won’t allow it. For some reason, it’s in Vassali’s hands. »
When they were alone, Tara opened the closet door. Vassali was clearly embarrassed, his natural dignity offended. He slunk back to his chair, refusing to make eye contact with her. “How could you ask that of me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I assumed that you understood about politics. It isn’t personal – I’m not trying to get rid of you – it’s just that we really need Ailann.”
She was lying. I don’t know whether it was a kindness or a curse that Vassali couldn’t smell it. She was thinking the same thing we all were: a return to the pleroma might help him to get his head on straight. “You could come back later,” she suggested. “We’d only need Ailann for a day or so.”
“Can I?” His voice was so cutting, his expression so bitter, that Tara flinched. He slumped, looking small and alone in the harsh light of morning. He raised his eyes to meet hers. We could feel the tightness in his throat, the trembling of his heart. As he looked into her face, his reserve crumbled, and he said quietly, “I’m scared. Tara, I’m so afraid.”
She placed her hand on top of his. “It’s not so bad,” she soothed. “The Goliath emanations say that the change is painful, but none of the others seem to feel that way. It’s a little different for every tree. Look, I promise that I’ll call you back when we’re done. I do want to get to know you, Vassali.”
“I don’t know that you can call me back.” Although his eyes stayed fixed on hers, there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Even if it seems to work, it might not be me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have no root, no branch of my own. All of my memories are in here.” He pointed to his head.
It was then we fully understood the ramifications of not having a branch.
“This emanation is all I have,” he said. “When it’s gone, in a very real sense, I’ll die. I don’t want to die, Tara. I don’t really know why I should bother to live, but I don’t want to die.”
“That won’t happen,” Tara said quickly. “Ash promised me that there would be no expendable emanations.” She sounded as though she were trying to convince herself. But by her frown, by a certain look in her eyes, I knew she was remembering the situation with the Yggdrasil emanations. I and I wouldn’t break a promise to her, but he might find a loophole.
“That’s a fine thing for him to promise. And since I am part of him, perhaps he could recreate me. But it wouldn’t be me. There would be no continuity of existence. I’d be like those droids of General Panic – no, less, since they have her memories. It would be as though I never lived.”
“I won’t allow it to happen.”
Vassali smiled sadly, the air of a beaten aristocrat determined to keep his dignity on the gallows. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said. “The least you can do is not lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. Ash was able to preserve me.”
“You’re human. You’re loved.” He turned away from her. “I’m so tired,” he said. “I wish I knew how to sleep.”
Another strange remark. The only emanation who sleeps is Chase. The rest of us find the idea disturbing – why would anyone want to lose consciousness? But if Vassali needed to sleep, and he hadn’t slept since his arrival, it must be taking a toll.
Tara picked up her datapad. “Information on chronic insomnia,” she commanded. She scanned through a number of short-term psychological and drug-induced conditions until she found records of a long-extinct genetic disorder, the victims of which never slept. The disease was usually fatal within a year, death being caused by two major factors. The first was that much of the body’s regeneration took place during sleep; of course, this wouldn’t affect an emanation whose body was being constantly regenerated by alchemy. The other had to do with cognitive function and the brain’s ability to encode memories. This struck a chord. Chase had been amnesiac, disconnected from the other branches – perhaps he slept because he was actually using his human brain to store memories? And if Vassali didn’t have a branch to store memories, then he needed to sleep.
If he didn’t sleep, he would hallucinate, have panic attacks, and eventually become comatose.
Tara helped herself to a double rhybaa. Then she checked the datapad again. “I was going to offer you a drink, but depressants are counter indicated in cases of chronic insomnia. They actually make the problem worse by interfering with the brain’s normal function.” She sat next to him. “Vassali, I don’t know how to help you. You really need the other branches. Cüinn could probably help, or Tarlach, or Malachi.”
Vassali closed his eyes. “I can hear them, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.” He looked up at her wearily. “They never shut up. It’s a constant low babble. Every now and then, I hear clipped off words and phrases – synchronization, uncompromising, it’s obvious. How does the emanated one keep from going insane?”
Tara covered his hand with hers, leaning back against the soft upholstery. “Ash,” she said, “I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”
Vassali looked at her for the first time with something I’d be tempted to call recognition. He shook his head. “It wasn’t you. You wanted to save me.” He closed his eyes. “I lied,” he said. “There’s one voice I can make out. It’s different from all the others. Less of a voice and more of an impulse. But I’m afraid.”
“It’s Ash,” Tara said, gripping his hand tightly. “What does he want you to do?”
“Let go,” he whispered. “It says to let go.” Vassali leaned forward; his hand shook where he touched her. He was tormented, exhausted, haunted. But he looked into Tara’s eyes, directly, unflinchingly, and asked, “What should I do?”
“Trust him,” she said.
“I’ll trust…you,” said Vassali. “But I should like…I’d like a kiss goodbye.”
Tara gently touched his hair. It was softer than she expected. “Vassali,” she said, “we’ll be together again. I put my own trust in Ash. In the long run, he has never let me down.”
They kissed. He touched her face, resting his forehead against hers. “Is this what love feels like?” he asked. His voice grew calmer. “It must be,” he said. “It’s what I wanted to know.”
“Ash, you know that I will always love you, no matter what form you take.”
Vassali’s breathing slowed, and his eyes grew distant. “The fear is the worst thing. I suppose there’s no point in prolonging it.”
He stood and seemed to fling himself apart in a spray of light, droplets that sprayed against some invisible boundary, then fell back inwards into strands that wove into the form of the mothman. Tara finally allowed her brave façade to crumble; she looked exhausted, and there was moisture in the corner of her eye. The mothman hovered in front of her, gently brushing it away with his thumb. Then he stepped back, folding himself into me.
“I screwed that one up,” Tara said weakly. “Ailann, what the fuck is going on?”
“Not necessarily,” I said, embracing her. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Ailann, look, said Jamey, directing my attention to the grove. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
“Tara,” I began, “Remember how you said that the grove was really functioning as a clonal colony? But the Mover has been creating new trees and then linking them to the grove. That isn’t how clonal colonies work.”
“No, they put out suckers from the root mass.”
“That’s what happened. This time, instead of a tree growing trunks which emanate, the emanation forced the growth of a new tree.”
“A new tree? Where?”
I was afraid to tell her the answer. “In a very interesting place in the Circinus galaxy.”
“I should’ve seen that coming. Congratulations, your new galaxy is open for business. But you’d damn well better tell me that Vassali is okay.”
His tree is dormant, said Jamey. But he’s little more than a sapling. It might be completely natural – we’ve never had an emanation precede the branch.
I conveyed that to Tara. “Will he remember any of this?” she asked.
“I suppose the simplest answer to you is yes.”
“That was ambiguous.”
“His senses were nothing but human senses, and his memories human memories, which are vague and highly edited shadows of what he sensed. Fortunately, Darius had the forethought to store those memories in his branch. Vassali will remember the past three days in the same sort of way that you do, but to us, it’s nothing more than a hazy dream, nothing like the pristine and detailed recollection we have.”
Tara sighed, resting her head upon my shoulder. “Fair enough. He’ll have memories as he experienced them, and at least he’ll have some sense of continuity.”
*The Floatfish text says that the berries go very well with KrunchiKrill, but warns that humans find the effects undesirable despite the fact that there seem to be no discernable behavioral changes – trans.