Taking the dragon to Celadon would be awkward, so we return to New Merenis. I don’t know why I’m the least bit surprised – every day with Ash is an entirely new frontier of weirdness. But behind the absurdity, there’s usually a reason, and I think I understand: possessiveness and protectiveness are two sides of the same coin. That spark is a guardian, and so it manifested as a dragon, the archetypal guardian of treasures. Ash has got holes in his pleroma, and telepaths attacking him, and a guardian might be exactly what he needs.
« That went great! » says Davy. « Ready for the next hatch? »
« Um, no? » I sputter. « I think I’ve used up my quota of new husbands for this month. »
« It’s more important to collect all the sparks, » says Hollis. « I think we should go diving again. »
« We’re only missing nine, » says Malachi. « The chance of finding the correct colors is getting smaller. »
« I’ve taken that into account, » says Hollis, indicating Julian, who approaches with a bizarre object under his arm. It looks like a cross between a mandolin and a didgeridoo, so I can only assume it’s some kind of musical instrument.
« I made this, » says Julian. « It’s designed to resonate on the same frequencies as the various pseudo-colors. A lot of it is out of the range of human hearing, » Julian apologizes, glancing in my direction. « I’m afraid it’s not going to seem like much to you. »
Julian places his lips upon the mouthpiece, simultaneously banging against the strings with his elbow. The object blares dramatically, perhaps most reminiscent of a moose being drop-kicked: the hollow thud of the boot, the agonized bellow, the shrieks of innocent bystanders trampled alive by the enraged creature.
« Holy compost, » Cillian murmurs, a catch in his throat. « It breaks my heart. »
Julian continues, the music swooping into the squeal of Tobrian fighter-roaches when they go into heat. « The song of the siren, » enthuses Driscoll.
Sometimes it’s best just not to comment. In any case, there are more practical considerations. « Do we really have time for another dive? I’m supposed to address the Frangfrang Merchants Council about some trade incentives tomorrow, and I have the feeling that tomorrow might be today. And you know I can’t let Tielo field that one. »
« Not to worry, » says Ailann. « It will actually be quite a while before you have to address the council. »
Everybody smiles at me brilliantly except for Templeton, Simon and Sundar. Well, Simon is smiling, but it doesn’t happen to be the same identical smile that everyone else is wearing, the smile that is fishier than a Floatfish fart. Before I can think too much about it, Driscoll stuffs another pile of color chips into my hand: crimson, gainsboro, licorice, feuillemort, and turquoise. « These colors don’t overlap with the pleroma invaders. We’re holding those places just in case another one of them works out. »
« I suppose it’s my destiny to voyage into the nul-universe, liberating proto-conscious nul-beings, showing them the true purpose and contentment that arises from joining my harem, » I remark with the sarcasm which only comes from defeat.
« That is beyond doubt the most elegant ontology I’ve ever heard, » says Dermot.
We return to the edge of Atlantis dome closest to Ophion. Thankfully, this time I get to remain inside with Julian while Hollis dives. Julian removes his instrument from a waterproof case, places the base of the pipe against the force bubble and begins to strum, the deepest tones of the instrument echoing through the stygian waters. After a few moments, the water is flecked with energy – orange, red, blue-green, similar to the other sparks we found in this area. Then Cüinn’s theory must be correct – there are unknown properties of nul-space which determine the colors which are likely to form. If so, a Cu’enashti entity with all 101 pseudo-colors must be a rarity, maybe impossible unless the being undertakes it consciously.
My eye is caught by a brilliant red-orange spiral, expanding and contracting. « There – that’s feuillemort, isn’t it? I’ve never heard of that color before. »
« It’s supposed to mean the color of dying leaves, » says Hollis. « A little morbid for my tastes. »
« It’s also a little weird, » says Julian. « Dying leaves turn purple. »
« The term must come from Earth. Most of Earth’s deciduous trees turn yellow, orange or red before dropping leaves. »
« Wow, » says Julian. « Who knew? »
« Anyway, he’s cute. Don’t you think he’s cute? »
« He has definite potential, » says Hollis, « but your opinion is the one that matters. »
Well, they’re all cute. But the feuillemort one is distinctive; on the other hand, it looks like there are hundreds that match the turquoise color swatch. Ash needs one; it would be ridiculous to leave without one, and yet I honestly can’t tell them apart. I don’t want to pick one at random – kills the romance somehow. Then I notice that one seems to be just slightly brighter than the others. I ask Julian if he notices it too.
« No, I think he stands out because there’s actually a darker one behind him. Wait a minute, look! Now the dark one is in front. »
« Oh, I see him now, against the glow of the turquoise one. » It’s so dark that I never would’ve picked it out against the waters otherwise. « They’re flipping again. Are they cooperating to get our attention? »
Hollis has gone outside to collect the orange spark. He turns in the direction where I’m pointing. The look on his face tells me that he sees it. We all see it. It’s faint at first, and then much brighter – a blue-white flame flickering along the edges of the sparks. The flame expands until it encompasses them both.
« The miracle of life, » Julian gasps.
Cüinn meets us at the rim of the cenote. « Do you understand how important this is? Like super-important? Everything we know about our origins was just hearsay and fragments of memory – not even memory at all, the way Cu’enashti define memory. But we were eyewitnesses! We saw the actual birth of a Cu’enashti entity. It’s like the first time that humans filmed the sperm hitting the egg. »
Briscoe is still stooped over the cenote, staring into the waters. He’s attending to the spirals with an attitude of such love and devotion that it’s kind of nauseating.
« Aww, » says Davy, barging in. « They’re kind of sweet. Durant and Lakeland. And the orange guy is Caddoc. »
« Since they’re already bonded, will they get their own tree? » asks Cüinn.
« Who knows? Maybe they’ll end up a dual emanation, » says Davy.
« I kinda doubt that, » says Cüinn. « The other dual emanations arose under very unusual circumstances. These two are just the start of an ordinary Cu’enashti entity. »
« Their flame is already merging with the flame on the water, » says Briscoe. « They look happy. »
« They showed initiative, » says Tarlach, arriving at the cenote. « They’re the kind of fellows we need. »
« Which one is the dragon? »
Davy indicates a yellow-green pinprick in the depths; its brilliant core is surrounded by fainter spheres of energy. « He turned into a spark the moment he hit the water. Which is a good thing, since he’d hog all the space otherwise. We barely squeezed him through the hole in Daniel’s wall. So now can we do another hatch? »
« Davy, I said no. You’ve still got three unrecognized emanations and three sparks running loose in the pleroma. I don’t feel good about those situations. After the Merchant’s Council Meeting, we should make another attempt to go to Celadon. »
« I must agree with Tara, » says Chand. « Well, I must agree with her under any circumstances, but in this case, I do believe she’s correct – we need to integrate new citizens into the social fabric as swiftly as possible. And I also agree that more emanations now would cause utter chaos, completely destabilizing our society. »
« I knew this social engineer thing was a bad idea, » says Davy.
« On the contrary, » says Tarlach. « Chand has been hard at work on some ideas to restore group cohesion. »
« Such as? » asks Cillian, who knows compost when he smells it.
« Hyde is over at the basketball court, » says Chand.
« Basketball court? I didn’t know there was…never mind. »
« He seems to be disgruntled that a group of 71 individuals hasn’t managed to organize any team sports in all of this time. He has a point. Team sports are a time-honored method of bonding. »
« Team sports, » Tarlach muses. « Wynne holds a casino night sometimes… »
« That’s not athletics, » says Chand. « A handful of emanations go over to the gym to do some strength-training and battle exercises – Mickey, Cillian, Constantine, Marius – but that isn’t quite what Hyde was looking for. It would be helpful to have a recreation coordinator. »
« Do you know what would be amazing? » asks Tarlach, the fire of inspiration in his eyes. « Greek wrestling! »
« The traditional way, naked and rubbed with olive oil? I’ll bet Oliver would be into that. »
« I would be into that, » I decide, picturing it mentally. Basketball, featuring fit, scantily clad, sweaty men didn’t sound so bad either. « Did you ever consider an Olympic-style tournament? »
« No, but the fashion show will be starting shortly, » says Quennel.
« What fashion show? »
« My loungewear collection. »
« I don’t have time for… »
« It’s for achievement #83, featuring our breakout star, Sundar. »
Sundar. Sundar in loungewear.
« Everything is ready. We got set up while you were fishing. »
Ailann nods encouragingly. Well, it certainly seems to be an easier way to earn an achievement than dragon-wrangling. « All right, but then it’s back to Frangfrang. »
The show is held at the small but splendid private theatre located in Suibhne’s reproduction of the Yusupov palace. Ailann and I retire to the sumptuous imperial box; covered in gilt and velvet, it is at the back of the third floor, supposedly the best view in the house. I know damn well that the best view is from the front row, but that would mean rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi. « Isn’t it pointless to observe this convention when I’m married to everyone in the audience? »
« Driscoll has handled the lighting and general spectacle, » says Ailann, handing me a lorgnette, « so I expect that it will be impressive. »
« This whole palace is stupid. It’s a testament to looking important at the price of comfort. »
« That surprises you? » asks Ailann. « You’re an aristo. »
« Which is why I know exactly how full of shit they are. Not that the common man is any better, mind you. I despise everyone equally. »
« You don’t. If you did, I and I would’ve consumed the Domha’vei in fire and blood years ago. Instead, we’ve put your species on a fast track to immortality. Deep in your heart, you must like humankind. »
« There’s an old story about a god who says he’ll destroy the city of Sodom unless he can find ten righteous men, but he can only find one. Well, I found quite a few more than ten, but they were all Ashtara. I would’ve spared Sodom anyways. It sounded like a happening place. »
« Then you’ll enjoy the show, » says Tommy, appearing behind us with drinks. He pours a flute of champagne for me, tonic water for Ailann. « I’ll be back with the caviar. Also, don’t forget to look under your seat for the swag. »
I locate a pouch of delicate cyan silk with a fancy “Q” logo embroidered on one side. When I open it, I find scented bath salts in the shape of oak leaves, a certificate for the café, and a pair of dangling gold earrings set with crystals. The accompanying tag is embossed with the legend Lodehole Skarsium by Quennel.
Ailann’s bag is slightly different. « An ecclesiastical signet ring, » he says, holding it up to the light.
The music begins. Whirljack plays guitar while Beat keeps a steady rhythm on drums. It’s an interesting composition – a little Dolparessan, a little Terran, a little something completely original. The lights rise, revealing a stage decorated like an ancient Roman bath house. In the center, surrounded by marble pillars, is a steaming pool of water.
Harsh enters, wearing a silken bath jacket. He is followed by Pallav in paisley pajamas and Manasseh in a simple terry robe. Harsh pauses in the center, turns and spins, then opens the robe and drops it center stage. Manasseh also drops his robe, much more awkwardly, and Pallav strips off his pajamas. They pose for a second before climbing into the bath. Harsh makes sure that his exquisite ass is shown to good advantage. « Best fashion show ever, and I’ve seen a lot of them. »
« I agree totally, » says Ailann. He’s grinning.
I elbow him lightly in the ribs. « You’re becoming a dirty old god. »
« It’s that Jupiterian archetype, » he says. « Besides, I wouldn’t fancy beautiful young men if you didn’t. »
Evan is next, wearing a sophisticated velvet smoking jacket over PJ bottoms, followed by Callum in leather boxers, and Julian, whose white linen trousers are paired with a trailing mantle of an iridescent synthetic.
« I wondered why Evan wasn’t providing the music, » I murmur. « I guess Quennel appreciates him for other things. »
Julian twirls the robe and tosses it into the air where the lights cause it to shimmer with rainbow hues. Callum discards his pants while Evan strips, then Callum holds Evan’s long golden braid as he descends into the hot tub.
« That smoking jacket would suit Patrick, don’t you think? » asks Ailann.
I raise an interested eyebrow. « Are you on the make for Patrick then? I didn’t think he was your type. »
« Sooner or later, » sighs Ailann, « I think everyone will be my type. »
The music rises to a sudden intensity, then fades into a very old, traditional Skarsian melody. It’s a guitar rendition of a shamisharp piece, conjuring up images of litholos in their fake faded sepiagram tones, images of lovely young men sitting on the huge verandah of the local pleasure-house, a lure, a scent of the erotic delights hidden therein. Wealthy women would wait all afternoon, it was said, to glimpse the most rarefied of all delights of the house, should he deign to grace the doorway with his elegant silhouette: the T’Rasinn Kvar.
Quennel has sneakily appropriated the tradition, giving the garb a modern edge. Sundar is lovely when he enters, but as his foot touches the stage, the announcement is made:
“T’Rasinn Sundar del Shambhah’d. 71st to emanate, 23 in the color scale, resonates to 83. 1.732 meters tall, cock size 16.21 cm when erect, apparent age 25. T’Rasinn Kvar. Totem is Prunus serrulata, the Japanese cherry, fixed star is Gemma, gem, also called Alphecca, the broken, or Ashtaroth. Esoteric symbol is the geomantic glyph Puella, the maiden. Dessert is cardamom cream kulfi with nau’gsh rose syrup. Function is combinatory attainment, proto-conscious tendency is enchantment, designated Charm. Blazon is sable, within a bordure Skarsian sky, two cherry blossoms and a bitten nau’gsh fruit, proper.”
His eyes widen, and there is a momentary tremor in his breath, soft as the fluttering wing of a bird, a real bird, not the monstrous half-reptilian avions of Dolparessa. He remembers who he is, and then he remembers what he is, and it’s like a flower opened suddenly in the soft spring breeze.
I’ve never seen a T’Rasinn Kvar in the flesh, although I’d always wanted to. I had wondered why the order had fallen out of favor with the 5th Matriarch, but now I suspect it was because she could never countenance anything fragile around her. She liked to believe it was because she was strong, but she was crude and she was clumsy, and everything her hands held, including her empire, she bruised.
My empire now.
Sundar disrobes slowly, so slowly, and descends into the bath. It’s the same beautiful body I fucked before, but it’s different now, moving with purpose, like a sword slicing a feather. Ailann leans forward in his seat; his breathing has deepened. « I’ll just bet he knows all kinds of games to play with a sophisticated older couple, » I whisper.
After the music drifts away, there’s a moment of silence. Then Driscoll stands. « A triumph! » he cries, applauding. It’s rare for Driscoll to wholeheartedly approve of anything. Of course, the fact that he did lighting and set design probably had something to do with it. The fact that he’s hot for Sundar probably does as well.
« You know, » I say to Ailann, « that bath looks very good right now. What do you think? »
« I think that Quennel should’ve used Darius instead of Evan. »
« What? I thought Quennel showed restraint in not making Evan the star of the show. »
« But he’ll get upset if I make a move for Evan, and you know it. Darius is already mine. »
« Greedy. Ellery and Harsh aren’t enough for you? Then you should think about Julian and Sundar. »
Ailann looks at me a bit guiltily as we proceed down to the stage. The bathwater has been scented with the salts included in the swag; they’re subtly sexy, refreshing, not overwhelming. « I was thinking of releasing a lifestyles line, » Quennel explains. « Most designers eventually do. I could really use the help of a professional perfumier. »
But my eyes are on Sundar. « Sundar, I’m claiming you, according to the old tradition. I think it’s a shame that the 5th Matriarch turned her back on the Flowering Order. It’s time for a revival. »
« I accept your claim, » says Sundar, slipping into position next to me, giving me a coquettish smile. It is a smile that defies all my conceptions of gender. Perhaps that was one of the things which displeased the old bat – the T’Rasinn Kvar did not fit the paradigm of masculinity present either on Skarsia or the opposing one on Volparnu. There was something ambiguous about the gesture, the expression, which allowed the observer to read only one thing clearly – desire – and to interpolate anything else one might want. « According to tradition, I can still accept male clientele, even so. »
Coquette, indeed! « True, as long as you don’t take a solitary lover to rival your lady. What is that old saying? »
« Charm is improved by dalliance, dulled by jealousy. »
Just when I think we’re about to enjoy a luxurious hot tub orgy, I hear the scream. It’s a chatburl, but it’s loud enough, disturbed enough, for it to chill my bones.
Davy runs onto the stage. « They’re gone! Somebody stole my eggs! »
« Davy, slow down. They took your what? »
« It was probably him! » Davy points at Chand. « He didn’t want another hatch. »
« Chand was here the whole time, » says Tarlach. « Don’t make wild accusations about your fellows. »
« We were all here, » says Ailann. « Who would want to miss this? »
« But the eggs are gone! All twelve of them. Somebody took them. They didn’t just vanish. »
« Maybe they did, » I reply. « Maybe this is Ash’s way of telling you to cool it on the new boys. »
Just then, there’s another cry of alarm, a vaguely familiar voice shouting, Hey, no, don’t! Vaguely familiar? That’s, um, that’s…
Oh my god. I can’t remember.
« That’s Briscoe, up at the cenote! » says Tarlach.
Briscoe, that’s right, the one who went through all that trouble with the Cu’ensali. This is why I absolutely do not need more husbands right now.
The fastest way is through Daniel’s apartment. When we arrive, I hear a voice coming from the bathroom. It says, « Poole. » I throw open the door. A compact and muscular man with an elaborate knotwork tattoo of leaves and branches covering his left arm is staring at the mirror. He looks at me, gapes, then says, « Peek-a-boo? »
Mickey has already vaulted over the bed and through the wall. Cillian gives me a boost as I follow close behind. There’s another naked man huddled by Ari’s fireplace, a gaunt, excitable youth whose sandy brown hair is undercut and combed to the side.
« Help me! » Briscoe shouts.
Briscoe is struggling to pull another man out of the cenote. A fourth seems to be flailing in the water. Mickey and Hollis run immediately to his aid. « What the hell happened? »
« It was Suibhne, » Briscoe gasps. « He came in here and dumped a basket of like a million eggs into the water. »
« That’s an exaggeration, » says Davy, a little too smugly. « I only make a dozen at a time. Oh well, guess I have to get back to work now. »
« Davy! »
« Tara, it wasn’t my fault, I swear! You know that nobody can control Suibhne when he gets an idea into his head. »
« I count four, » said Mickey. « Where are the others? »
« Suibhne led them out through the tunnels to Mt. Ouroboros. »
« Well, they couldn’t have gone far, » muttered Cillian.
« If they’re naked, they’ll freeze! » says Templeton. « I remember how cold it was out there. »
Suibhne comes back through the tunnel, humming a little tune. « There’s food and clothing on the dirigible, » he says. « Suibhne may be mad, but he isn’t irresponsible. »
« Dirigible? Suibhne, I might call letting new emanations fly away in a dirigible irresponsible. »
« Gwion is a certified airship captain, » Suibhne says defensively.
« Why the compost-loving squirrel turd did you do this? » barks Cillian. « As if it’s not bad enough, we’ve got rogue sparks in the pleroma, now we’ve got runaway emanations. »
Suibhne looks up at the ceiling, at the mandala. « Dunno. »
« Now our top priority has to be rounding them up before they turn feral, » says Mickey.
« Look, I don’t know how much I can help with that. I need to get back to Frangfrang. »
« Don’t you at least want to meet the new ones? » asks Tarlach quickly.
Yes, I do. I don’t want to slight them. But something weird is going on, and I wish I knew whether it was in here, outside of here, or both. I scan the crowd looking for Rand, hoping he can give me some answers – some true ones. But he is nowhere to be found.
The emanation by the fire is Selby Wythe, a willow branch from Canopus. The two rescued from the cenote are Jonah from Goliath and Cord from Yggdrasil. Davy tallies up the missing: Isaac, Prem, Alexander, Javor, Ishan, Dominic and Varen, in addition to the aforementioned Gwion. Somehow knowing their names just makes it worse.
Tarlach approaches me. « Chand and I are in agreement. We need to integrate the ones we have into the pleroma as soon as possible. If we go on another goose chase trying to find the missing ones and ignore the ones we have, it could have disastrous ramifications for cohesion later down the line. Chand is hard at work on a complete social organization plan. »
« You’re advocating that we abandon the ones that ran away? »
« For now. They made that choice. They can’t blame us if we devote our attentions to the ones that stayed. We need them recognized as soon as possible. You have to make that trip to Celadon. »
« All right, all right. But I’ll want a timekeeper to go with me. I’m really getting concerned that I’ve been here too long. Evan, how about you? »
I picked Evan because he doesn’t have it in him to deceive me. But he looks to Quennel, who says, « I was hoping he could help me out on a project. » I know those two are inseparable, but Quennel could come with him. It’s odd that they aren’t jumping up to accompany me.
« I’ll go, » says Beat quickly.
« Me too, » says Solomon, smiling at me. But as we leave, I can see him glance back at Quennel, who winces as if in pain.
What is going on?