by Tom Toner
The other mammal was staring at him, its eyes pale and uncertain. It climbed from the raft and slipped into the water.
Sotiris untangled the rope and pushed away, the early-morning light revealing enough of the canal to steer by. He could already see an intersection coming up and knew instinctively from his travels that this would almost certainly take him deeper, until he could find another. He looked behind him, observing the suggestion of Large paddling to the far bank. They had expected a more bamboozled soul, perhaps, damaged irreparably by the walk down. They’d clearly never met an Amaranthine before.
RITUALS
The vast, crown-shaped edifice, patterned with bands of cream and black forest just like the Snowflakes, filled Maril’s vision. It must have been hidden from them all this time, lying directly beneath its smaller satellites. Stars shone weakly through the mist of atmosphere, mingled with the specks of thousands of migrating Osseresis. Maril coughed and spluttered, having taken too deep a drag of the flotsam mist—it seemed finer down here, perhaps why the Osseresis appeared to take no notice of it—and they angled towards an outer spire of the crown.
Falling closer, the bone-like substance of the crown’s spike was as shattered and worn as an old fortress’s walls. Hundreds of slimmer females were roosting in the crags; seething black shapes, like fleas. The Osseresis banked above the spike until at last he found what he was looking for and hovered, squabbling with the fat, incumbent males already perched there. He snarled and set Maril down surprisingly carefully, lunging at another male until it sloped angrily off. The females looked expectantly at the male, then at Maril, the closest rearing onto her knuckles. Maril gazed up at her, realising that they must know each other, and that he had been appropriated as some sort of mating gift.
The male nipped Maril’s hand carefully until he stood, whereupon the females bristled their black fur, grumbling beneath their breath. The male perched on his winged arms and waddled around Maril, letting the females get a good look at him whilst he showed off his treasure. They inspected him appreciatively, whispering to one another, before returning their attention to Maril. They looked tired, Maril thought—it must have been coming to the end of the gorging season, and many were already visibly pregnant. But the male only had eyes for one. He strutted up to her, caressing her with the edge of one wing.
Maril shuffled backwards while the growling, bellowing deed was done, hoping he could get enough of a head start before they noticed him gone. It might well be that he’d exceeded his usefulness already.
But another fat male, this one with rancid breath and missing teeth, had come up with the same idea. Initially cowed by the display of its rival’s superiority, it lunged forward now, snatching Maril’s shoulder and carrying him awkwardly out onto the higher reaches of the cliff, breath puffing quickly between its remaining teeth.
They came before a gaggle of moulting females, the expressions on their faces clearly implying they wouldn’t consider mating with Maril’s haggard captor unless he had something outstanding to show them. He hurled Maril down in front of them, performing the same strutting circle around his prize, and followed a female off into the dark recesses of her cave.
It was then, Maril bleeding and aching while the remaining females looked him up and down, that he spotted over their hairy shoulders the sparse tangle of bushes clinging to the rock face. Dangling from some of them were fruits very like the one that had brought him to this infernal place. He summoned all his remaining strength and made a hobbling dash for the bushes, startling the females into retreating and letting him through. He deepened his voice and roared at them as he ran, forcing them back a few more paces, and threw himself headlong into the bushes, grasping the nearest fruit and ripping at its skin. Already he could hear the commotion of the returning male behind him.
Maril’s scrabbling fingers could hardly make a mark, so he jammed his teeth into the skin and gouged, peeling away a seedless chunk of flesh and working his nails in, finally revealing a much smaller interior chamber than the Threshold that had brought them here. Maril hoped this was a Threshold. Glancing quickly behind, he saw the toothless male thundering towards him. He rammed his head and broken shoulder into the fruit, squirming with all his might to wriggle inside, worrying that he would rip the whole thing open and render it completely useless, wondering fearfully how much of a tear you were supposed to make.
A series of loud snarls behind him. It was almost on top of him. He pulled his boot in, the hobnail soles catching on the outer skin so that for a terrifying few seconds he was stuck, upside down, with one leg still poking out of the fruit. The Osseresis were roaring and raging now, as if all the females were right behind him, too.
Maril froze, carefully wiggling his sprained ankle until it was free, spikes of pain driving into the bone. He collapsed into the dark, juicy interior of the fruit and looked around. Through the hole he’d made, he could see the toothless male, its shaggy head hanging limp, a stupid, vacant expression in its eyes. Its neck was in the jaws of the male that had first picked Maril up, and it was now quite dead. The females had retreated to the cliffs above and gazed down, jabbering and tossing rocks.
The first male brushed the falling rocks away and turned its eyes on Maril, narrowing them. It dropped the dead male and advanced. Maril wasted no time, pulling down the flap of skin, his fingers reaching through the flesh and clamping it sealed, and all noise from outside ceased. His right index finger felt suddenly cold. He listened carefully, pressing his ear to the fruit’s soggy wall, before pulling in his hand. The finger was gone from the first joint up, sliced and cauterized cleaner than the work of an Amaranthine surgeon. Maril stared at it for a while, too shocked to do anything else, then pushed open the fleshy hole in the side of the fruit, narrowing his eyes against the glare.
THE CONTACT
Another memory, from before Perception’s birth, over four thousand years ago in the time of Decadence. This one was buried deeply, as if intentionally hidden, and the Spirit opened it with great caution.
The letter arrived while they sat together.
Trang Hui Neng stared at it. It was a square paper parcel, clean and white, just like the envelopes from his youth.
“For you, I assume,” he said, not daring to touch it.
The man, Jacob’s new emissary in the Old Satrapy, flicked a ringed finger in his direction. “Open it for me.”
Hui Neng bent forward, picking it up. There were plenty of poisons in the Firmament that transmitted by touch, seeping into the skin, but he knew of none yet devised that could seriously harm an Amaranthine. He glanced up.
“Open it.”
Hui Neng turned the letter in his hands and ripped it open. It smelled sweet.
There was a little green card inside. Hui Neng tipped it carefully out and saw that it was blank on both sides. “What is this? A threat?”
Aaron the Deathless peered at the card, looking pleased. “No, it’s an arrangement. See.” His finger hovered less than an inch from the card’s edge, but Hui Neng knew he wouldn’t touch it. “It means ‘meet me.’”
Hui Neng snorted. “How do you know?”
Aaron sat back, withdrawing his hand. “And look at its colour,” he said, as if Hui Neng had never spoken. “By this I can infer the passage of the moon.”
The card’s colour was a uniform mint green.
“Why tell me this?” Hui Neng asked after a moment, narrowing his eyes. “Whoever sent you this took pains to hide its message.”
Aaron looked at him, those soft, colourless eyes almost without expression. “The author of this message is blind, my friend.”
Hui Neng digested this, worrying that the Emperor Jacob might have made the wrong choice with this mystic of his. “Why am I included in this?”
“Because I want you to come, too.”
In the green darkness, they arrived at Aaron’s place. Hui Neng lingered behind the shadow-shape of the strange man, the birds of the woods whooping and warbling, rememberin
g why he hadn’t come back to the Old World. This was a forgotten, monstrous place, more a domain of the Investiture than the Firmament, wherever it might be located.
Aaron stopped abruptly, his green shadow enveloping Hui Neng before he could react and almost swallowing him. His great treasure, the Threshold, must be somewhere nearby.
Hui Neng stepped back, waiting, watching, his ears attuned to the sounds of the woods.
An hour passed. Two. The forest closed in on them. Twice Hui Neng heard something drawing near, catching the briefest glimpse of an eye shining in the darkness. A Melius, perhaps, or one of their talking beasts. Or maybe Aaron’s contact was real after all.
He took in a breath, ready to speak.
And it was suddenly with them.
He froze. The shape in the darkness was small, dog sized. It extended the first of many hands, black shadows that investigated Hui Neng’s cloak. Its fingers did not stray near Aaron’s robe, he noticed. Indeed, it took great care to step around him.
“Emissary,” Aaron whispered to it, as if sound would frighten it away. “This is a friend, one of the Firmamentals.”
The fingers rose to examine Hui Neng’s face, fluttering around his nose and eyes. He smelled the same sweetish odour from the envelope.
“What is it?” Hui Neng asked, unable to stop himself, once the fingers had left his mouth.
Aaron turned, the green light of the moon barely touching his features. “Beyond the Investiture there are hot, black places; planets that have lost their stars and gone a-wandering, home to the likes of my contact here. Through him I may speak to my supporters, out in the wider worlds.”
Hui Neng’s skin broke into goosebumps as he considered the implications of Aaron’s words. Life had never been found beyond the Investiture.
“Are you going to kill me, now that I’ve seen him?”
Aaron laughed, a good-natured chuckle that calmed Hui Neng immediately, but did not reply. Instead, he directed his attention to the thing squatting in the shadows.
“So?”
The thing took a breath and raised its finger. Whatever voice Hui Neng heard, it appeared to be born of his own mind. The Sovereignty will move with or without you, it seemed to say. They have their coalition now, and you are not as important as you think.
“Careful now, I’ve proved you all wrong before.”
The dark fingers paused in their motions, tapping thoughtfully
together for a moment before the voice resumed. You say you can leave here, but we do not know how.
“Trust in me. The hollowing of this place has been arranged—it won’t take long.”
Hollowing? If that is how it is done, fine.
“You doubt me?”
The reply was a long time coming. I think the answers to your predicament have not been recorded in all the history of the Thunderclouds. I will make an account of this to my betters; they will be amused.
“You do that, Emissary.”
The thing shot Hui Neng another blind glance before adding, When it is done, and you are whole, make your way to the Osserine Hedrons. You will find me there.
Aaron nodded, Hui Neng noticing how he closed his eyes, as if with relief.
For the Adoration of the Gargant.
“For the Gargant, yes.”
The shadowy creature clasped each of its hands together. That is all, then. We will see each other soon.
“Wait,” Aaron said, his gaze intensifying. “What news?”
The Emissary flicked out something that might have been a tongue. He is in disgrace. We do not consider him a problem.
“Just you wait.”
We heard he has been banished.
“That won’t stop him. Give me time, just a little more time, and I shall deal with him for you.”
The blackness regarded him. This will be enough for you? Truly? Aaron nodded, one slow dip of his head.
The moon, until then hidden by cloud, chose that moment to brighten. Hui Neng saw the creature in all its detail, and felt he would never be the same again.
It fluttered its fingers, resting them across its belly, seemingly oblivious of the moonlight. Then what? Will you return here?
Aaron smiled. “I’ll be much too busy for that.”
NEXUS
Lifetimes bustled past; an era in which Sotiris’s mind felt stretched and blurred, passively taking in the progress of time as he sailed the waterways. He must have met many people, he supposed; their animal faces and snatches of voices filled his recollection, and the scars and scrapes all over his body told him he had fallen prey to a hundred accidents or attacks.
Waking on the raft each morning, he was still astonished to see that it had grown into a teetering three-storey houseboat with extra masts and sails and a crew of three that helped to steer it through the night, seeing off rivals and boarding passing ships. Indeed, his new vessel was so large now that it dominated the canal. The mammalian crew—sometimes a Prism or two—all looked just as surprised to see him every morning, and each had their own reasons for visiting the nexus of the meadowlands, accepting no payment of any kind. Nevertheless, they raided and stole what they could, still requiring food and warmth each night. Sotiris found himself hungrier and thirstier with every passing day, and a hint of memory took hold as he dined with the others on the top deck, something someone had told him once, an idea that this was to be expected, the further he drifted from his old life.
After what felt like millions of years, his sun-dazzled eyes began to make out the hint of a great shape spanning the bowl of meadows. In the white-hot haze of the world it looked pink at first, like a band of bow-tied ribbon connecting the opposite sides of the bowl, standing a mile above the canals. Years closer and its form resolved, the crew climbing up to the masthead, rapt and speechless.
It was a bridge, lustrously crimson as fresh blood, its ramparts crowned with a hundred conical towers that pointed downwards as well as up. Around it steamed a city so vast that Sotiris felt afraid just looking at it, the first districts already beginning to scud by. A painted sign drifted past as Sotiris and the crew prepared their weapons and baggage, simply reading You Have Come.
They passed the remains of ships rather like theirs, now ruined and dumped in the meadows to rot, their occupants having presumably left their floating homes long ago to journey on foot towards the bridge. Sotiris wondered if there was some sort of impediment ahead, something they hadn’t seen, that would force him and his ragtag crew to do the same.
He went to the bow, spying the first peculiar creatures peering at him from the brambles, more snaggletoothed faces appearing at the riverbank. Epir, his subconscious told him, remembering the word for the first time since his incarceration here. The people that made Aaron. Another word for their kind tickled the back of his mind, something well known, but disappeared again.
Sotiris walked across the deck, finding his crew still gawping at the world-spanning city rising above them.
“Look alive,” he muttered, recalling with difficulty some clichéd captain’s orders, indicating the scampering shapes on the bank. “Hoist the . . . open the—”
Those at the forecastle were still staring, transfixed by something overhead. Sotiris followed their gaze to see a startlingly bright star floating high above the bridge-city. As he stared, he noticed that the star was not a uniform white but a shifting glitter of colours, first magenta, then green, then gold.
Everyone’s attention was back on the star now, as if it were dragging them forward, a blinding point of gravity. Perhaps it really was. All the light in the sky drawn and compressed into a spark of unparalleled brilliance.
There was something more, Sotiris felt.
It’s the way out. It’s got to be. He stared up at the astonishingly bright point. Once you’ve got her, that is where you’ll have to go.
“What is it?” someone asked. Sotiris couldn’t answer her.
Tiny flaming missiles started raining onto the deck. They hardly noticed. Sotiri
s felt the sharp sting of something strike his foot and recoiled, kicking the burning lump of wood through the railings and back into the canal before his gaze returned, helplessly, to the star.
They sailed on, passing the outskirts of the sprawling township of red buildings that had faded to pink in the unremitting light, until they were beneath the looming shadow of the bridge itself. Sotiris found himself distracted at last, studying the exceedingly foreign—almost alien—appearance of the conical dwellings.
The ship drifted deeper into shadow, the gloom intensifying across the deck, and they all looked up to watch. Some minutes, perhaps even an hour, passed before they were clear of the bridge, emerging on the other side into warm light again, heading for the harbour. Birds and insects wheeled in the air, heavy over the waters, their chaotic swarmings whipped up and energised by the shouts from the shore. Sotiris’s ship was passing through an area of apparently great industry, a stinking smog beginning to drift over the deck.
Sotiris checked that all was in hand and went below, unlocking his cabin and gathering his few bags, already packed and waiting. He had spent the last few lifetimes trading in information, gathering what stories he could from pilgrims in the meadowlands about the great city at the base of the bowl, and he was reasonably confident that now the time was upon him he would know where to go.
Sotiris stood for a while in his cabin, a gloomy, creaking little chamber lit only by the light that filtered through the slats of the barred window. His bed was nothing but a heap of mangy pelts shoved in one corner.
The anticlimax was palpable. Instead of achievement, all Sotiris felt was a renewed sense of haste. He was here now, and so, assuredly, was Iro. Memories of his old life swam potently to the surface, glimpsed as shining shapes almost identifiable, and disappeared again. There was only the city, and his sister.
