Memory Seed

by Stephen Palmer

  An hour after dawn Surqjna returned. In the kitchen they showed her the innerai, then watched as she poured from a pouch a line of yellow powder. Arrahaquen recognised the spicy sweet smell. ‘Flak boot?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s pure, quite safe,’ Surqjna replied. ‘It will protect you from discomfort by acting as a local anaesthetic.’ To Zinina’s frown she added, ‘I’m outnumbered three to one. I’m only interested in us finding the pyuter hearts. I want to live as much as you do.’

  Zinina did not answer. Nor did deKray.

  Arrahaquen took the innerai and dropped it into the powder.

  ‘Now,’ said Surqjna, ‘just sniff it up. You’ll feel your face go numb, and then you’ll become disoriented for a while. Time will seem to fly by. We’ll guide you to your bed, and you can lie down until the interface is fully grown.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘Perhaps six or seven hours.’

  Arrahaquen, heart thumping, took the paper tube offered by Surqjna and bent down. Without hesitating, for she did not want Surqjna to see her misgivings, she sniffed up the powder and the innerai.

  She sat back. She tried to speak, but already her face was tingling, her eyes defocusing.

  Yellow shapes like blankets flying in a high wind whizzed across her vision. Hands were on her body, on her arms and shoulders. They were cold and clammy. A high-pitched whine started, turning like a pyuter song into the twin voices of her mothers.

  Coloured shapes flew at her. She flinched, but they sped through her. She felt as if she was extremely small, smaller by far than a womanikin; then she felt huge, as big as the Gardens. Then she felt tiny and huge at the same time. Then she felt sick.

  A burning feeling made her head throb. It began at her left temple, then travelled to her neck.

  She realised that she was lying on a bed, the face of Zinina above her.

  ‘You all right?’ Zinina asked.

  DeKray appeared at her side. ‘Is she awake?’ he said.

  ‘I’m awake,’ Arrahaquen whispered.

  ‘You want to see what’s happened?’ Zinina said.

  Arrahaquen sat up and noticed Surqjna seated nearby. Zinina gave her a mirror.

  In the middle of her forehead she saw a circle of red flesh, with eight tiny black dots in its centre.

  After more rest, she felt strong enough to rise. Surqjna, beginning to fidget, said, ‘Are you ready to leave?’

  Arrahaquen nodded. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to Zinina and deKray. Wait by the hall door, please.’

  Surqjna left for the green zone. Arrahaquen led Zinina and deKray into the room furthest from it. Whispering, she said, ‘Are you two prepared? The pyuton knows what to do with the serpent she chooses, doesn’t she?’

  ‘We related to her the facts of life,’ deKray said. ‘She might even be in Gwmru now, awaiting your company.’

  ‘You sound nervous,’ Zinina told Arrahaquen.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You’ve foreseen nothing?’

  ‘I just can’t concentrate. There’s definitely something odd about Surqjna. She’s lied to me. All I can see is green land and emptiness, and lots of danger. But I have this feeling that my replica will be with me. Of course, that could just be wishful thinking. So you sent her off to find a serpent?’

  ‘Yes,’ deKray replied.

  ‘We’ll keep our part of the plan,’ Zinina said. ‘Go now, and good luck.’

  Arrahaquen returned to Surqjna, who had put on thigh boots with elastics, and a cotton hood with drawstrings. Arrahaquen noticed that she was wearing a short skirt, which was unusual for Kray. They both dressed in plastic protective capes.

  ‘Goodbye,’ Arrahaquen said, as she left the house. Zinina and deKray waved at her, then closed the door.

  They walked up Gur-Lossom Street. Many of its cobble stones were now invisible under grass, and in places, particularly as they reached Butcher Row at its north end, there grew rose shrubs, many varieties of poisonous herbs, and the swaying saplings of beech, birch and laburnum. A group of revellers walked out of Butcher Row, green revellers by the look of them, with pledgets tied to their nostrils, so they ducked into an alley and waded through brown floods to reach Butcher Row. Then they walked up to Mandrake Street and hastened along to the Sud Bridge. Too nervous to think of topics of conversation – her stomach was rumbling, and it felt tight, as if she had been starving herself – Arrahaquen remained silent.

  ‘Here we must turn right and head for Cliff Lanes,’ Surqjna said. ‘There, serpents lie within private courtyards.’

  ‘Will we be disturbed?’ Arrahaquen asked.

  ‘Our bodies will lie insensible, but we will be safe.’

  The sound of surf crashing became audible as they entered Cliff Lanes, once a residential district but now deserted. They stopped in an alley. To their left stood an arch.

  Surqjna led the way. They entered a courtyard, clearly once the private property of some rich independent or defender, but now silent, empty. Two serpents lay flopped over the edge of an alcove shelf. They approached.

  It was too dark to see what species they were. Drizzle made Arrahaquen’s eyes mist a little. ‘Shall we do it now?’

  ‘Yes.’ Surqjna took off her protectives.

  Arrahaquen followed suit.

  ‘Pull one of the serpents, and come and lie here in the dry. Here, in this doorway.’

  Arrahaquen pulled the serpent and was surprised to feel it flow freely; she held a length of limp chainmail in her hand. Surqjna followed the same procedure. They lay side by side.

  ‘These are kraits,’ Surqjna said, ‘good for profound words. Now watch me bring the serpent to life.’ She began to rub the scaly skin of her krait, her fingers curling to grip and massage. With slow, almost sensual motions she moved her hand up and down. Arrahaquen watched, fascinated. The krait was lengthening, its body thickening, and it was rising and swaying as if hypnotised by the manipulation. Soon it was a yard long. ‘It helps if you lick it. Don’t worry, it’s not infected. Dangerous bacteria can’t live upon it. Watch me.’

  Surqjna sucked the head of her serpent. Arrahaquen, not without some trepidation, did likewise, and her serpent too began to thicken and grow longer. Soon, both were six feet long.

  ‘Now we go into Gwmru,’ Surqjna said.

  Arrahaquen raised herself up on her right arm to see where Surqjna would place the head of her serpent. But Surqjna slapped Arrahaquen’s serpent with a quick motion and the head attached itself to Arrahaquen’s forehead. Surqjna crouched over Arrahaquen with a grin on her face.

  Panicking, Arrahaquen tried to pull the serpent away, but pain, blazing pain, stopped her, and she screamed.

  ‘Let’s go to Gwmru, you and I!’ Surqjna cried, laughing like a madwoman.

  Arrahaquen lay back, trying to wriggle away, but her muscles were weak, and her neck hardly had the strength to hold her head up.

  Surqjna leaned over her, one leg on either side of Arrahaquen’s chest. With a laugh she pulled up her skirt and revealed naked flesh. Arrahaquen began to see where Surqjna’s interface had grown, but she could do nothing but watch. Her last sight, before everything went green, was of pubic hair, the glistening pink lips between Surqjna’s legs, and Surqjna plunging her serpent in between them with a squeal of joy.

  ~

  The featureless green sheen that masked Arrahaquen’s vision did not alter. With increasing panic she tried mentally to feel and move her body, but she seemed to be floating free. Then sound came to her ears, the wind howling. She could smell puffs of smoke on air, and feel the breeze against her skin. She could sense that she was upright, standing on firm ground, but she was still blind.

  Sight returned last. The green seemed to leach into the substrate of reality like water into blotting paper, and she first saw a blue mass with an intense light in it, then a green mass, then details; lines of black, blobs of yellow. Her eyes focused.

  She stood in a vegetated environment not unlike Kray without
houses. Everything seemed simple, however, lacking the grainy dank, ever-moving complexity of the real world. Gwmru.

  It was when she moved that she realised her body felt different. Her feet were unshod; they were hooves. Although she wore a dress of some sort, she could feel the thinnest covering of hair on her skin, and when she opened the gown and looked down at her belly and legs she saw they were covered with hair. It was as if the short hair on deKray’s arms had moved over to her and become brown. And her head was different too. She could feel a mane along her neck, whipped by the wind, and hair on her scalp. She felt two large ears like those of a horse. For some minutes Arrahaquen just looked at her body and felt it with her fingertips, wondering what could possibly have happened to her.

  Then she noticed something else. The jumble of images and thoughts at the top of her mind – her future memory – was gone.

  And she noticed something else. To her left side a spray of leaves hung, bizarre, motionless unless she moved. It followed her.

  This was an abstract country. It bore no relation to Kray and the Earth. As proof of that, Surqjna was nowhere to be seen. But the sensory centres of her brain were being fed through the interface with information, allowing her conscious mind to experience Gwmru.

  The loss of her future memory she ascribed to losing her real body’s senses. It struck her that she was very much a physical creature. Her deeper mind was supported by the constant input of her body’s senses.

  Here, all that counted for nothing. Her mind perceived Gwmru, but it was an illusion – coherent, but illusory none the less. She would have to treat the place very carefully. She wondered how it might be possible to leave, when her real self lay in Kray. She felt her forehead. It was whole.

  How to find her replica? She shouted: no answer.

  Investigating the floating leaves she saw that on each one were engravings of words, numbers and symbols. She reached out to touch the leaf marked ‘walk’.

  A new spray appeared: a time-lapse growth of new leaves, each marked with options. By touching the leaf marked ‘north’, she made her body move.

  Soon Arrahaquen understood that in Gwmru rules were simple, despite the apparent vastness of the environment. She made north, moving at speed. When she found a leaf marked ‘search’, she searched, specifying her replica. Instantly the pyuton was at her side.

  ‘Where am I ?’ it asked her.

  ‘I think I’ve just transplanted you from wherever you were,’ Arrahaquen said. ‘Sorry. Have you seen Surqjna?’

  ‘No.’

  Odd. If she could bring her replica here, surely Surqjna could do the same? She felt again her curious body and began to wonder if by accepting Laspetosyne’s innerai into her brain, she had stumbled across the perfect disguise.

  ‘How do I look?’ she asked her replica.

  ‘Something has altered your whole self. You don’t look at all like Arrahaquen.’

  ‘Could you do me a drawing?’ Arrahaquen asked.

  They paused their abstract flight while the replica created a white square, which she used to sketch Arrahaquen. As she waited, Arrahaquen told the replica of her thoughts concerning Gwmru. Finished, the replica pressed another leaf. A copy on paper fluttered down from the sky.

  They moved on. ‘I hardly recognise that face,’ Arrahaquen said. Even ignoring the horse ears and the hair – wild brown hair that she wished she could flaunt in Kray – the face, particularly the eyes, were unfamiliar.

  ‘Let’s specify a destination,’ suggested the pyuton.

  ‘How about the noophytes’ bridge?’

  Gwmru’s inner logic transported them to a hill, from which they could see an island, the sea and, connecting the island to the mainland, a bridge. They walked down to the bridge, but a figure approached them and stood at the entrance, stopping them from continuing. She was a fat woman, though not as fat as Taziqi, Arrahaquen reflected, and she was dressed all in blue with azure cloak, cornflower-blue cap and indigo slippers. She carried a staff in her right hand and a poinard in her left.

  ‘Who are you?’ she called out.

  ‘We’re travellers,’ Arrahaquen began. ‘We’re looking for a way out of Gwmru. We hope the noophytes will help us. Who are you?’

  ‘Name yourselves,’ came the reply.

  Arrahaquen hesitated. ‘We’re both called Arrahaquen, actually.’

  In imperious tones the woman said, ‘You speak with one of the ffordion. I am Quff. We cannot help you. Go away.’

  Arrahaquen was not to be put off. ‘You must help us. We’re stuck here.’

  ‘Behind me lies our dwan. You will never walk upon it.’

  Arrahaquen, becoming frustrated, looked to either side of the bridge. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘These are the Straits of Men Eye. Only members of the ffordion may cross. Go away.’ Quff pointed north-west. ‘Over there lie two towers. Shelter in them. But do not return here.’

  ‘Wait,’ Arrahaquen said as Quff turned. ‘You must give the... the elders of the ffordion a message. Say that Arrahaquen is here, the pythoness of Kray. They will want to speak to me.’

  ‘So you take me for a lesser member of the ffordion? I will speak no message.’

  Cursing to herself, Arrahaquen tried to think. ‘You must give them a message,’ she urged. ‘I have to return to Kray and only you can help. Please.’

  ‘I cannot be bothered to mention you.’

  Desperate, Arrahaquen turned to her replica. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘No.’

  Arrahaquen felt something hard in her hand. It was a pencil. ‘Wait!’ she called again. ‘I’ll write you a note. All you have to do is give it to the chief of the ffordion when you see her next. Couldn’t be simpler.’

  Arrahaquen, knowing that she had to make herself seem important to the noophytes, wrote on the back of the drawing:

  ‘I am Arrahaquen, the famed pythoness. I have the gift of prophecy. I know you have departed the city; but I can foresee our future. I must return to the city. Please help, for all our sakes. I am sincere in my offer, Arrahaquen of Kray.’

  ‘There,’ she said, throwing the scrap of paper over to Quff. ‘Take it. We’ll stay at the towers, and come back tomorrow. We hope to see you then.’

  Quff picked up the paper and read it. She sneered, but put it in her pocket then returned to her post. Arrahaquen and the replica turned to leave.

  Night had arrived when they saw two structures on the coast, not far away. They moved on. Arrahaquen felt depressed, thinking it unlikely that the arrogant Quff would deliver her note, but she could devise no other plan.

  And then she saw the towers. One was the Cowhorn Tower, the other the Clocktower.

  This sight disoriented her still further. The two towers rose from bare ground.

  ‘What are they doing here?’ the replica asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Arrahaquen said. ‘Perhaps they both have special links that we don’t know about. Look, there’s something by the foot of the Cowhorn Tower.’

  They approached. On the earth by the tower lay a sopping, mouldy body. Arrahaquen closed. ‘It’s deKray,’ she said.

  A figure jumped from behind the tower.

  Surqjna.

  ‘I thank you,’ said Surqjna, pressing a floating leaf at her side. DeKray’s body vanished.

  Arrahaquen realised that Surqjna was speaking to the replica. ‘I suspected you were around here, hence my little trap. Now you will listen to me. You will answer my every question. If you do, I will remove the enclosure routine currently on you and your friend here.’

  Arrahaquen moved closer, saying, ‘What are these questions?’

  ‘You stay put,’ Surqjna demanded of Arrahaquen. Glancing at her replica, Arrahaquen stood still.

  ‘Over there,’ said Surqjna, gesturing to the island beyond the straits, ‘live the ffordion. They have just built their bridge. I need to know what they will do, so that I can plan. I think they are building something. You will foresee from this spot the future ar
ound them, and tell me everything. When I am satisfied, I will give you twenty seconds in which to leave Gwmru. You won’t return here.'

  ‘But I can’t do that,’ said the replica. ‘My ability – my small ability Surqjna – it doesn’t work here.’

  ‘You think I believe that? I need prophecies from Gwmru!’

  ‘It’s true. I can’t do it.’

  Surqjna drew a rapier from a holster hidden under her cloak. ‘I have no time for games.’

  In times of stress Arrahaquen sometimes gave in to panic and remained helpless, but, despite her sheltered upbringing within the Citadel, she possessed a courage rooted in her personal philosophy of optimism. So when her replica conjured a pair of rapiers from the air by pressing two leaves, she took one and without hesitation pointed it as Surqjna, saying, ‘Violence is for children. Can’t we talk about it?’

  ‘You keep out of this,’ Surqjna retorted. Pressing a leaf she conjured a beast, a dungeon creature such as had guarded the Temple of the Goddess.

  Surqjna attacked with gusto but without subtlety. Arrahaquen, who had no idea how to use a rapier other than to swish it about, feigned proficiency and darted about as best she could, dodging when the creature attacked, trying not to let her enemy close. She knew that she could not win unless she used some trick, something other than the rapier. And quickly.

  As the concept of ‘something other’ flickered through her mind she found that she was clasping a shield, the lid of the bin at Graaff-lin’s house. With no time to be astonished, she raised it and used it to deflect her opponent’s rapier.

  Arrahaquen knew then that the key to her survival was her emotions, for it was through her emotions that the profound knowledge of her unconscious was conveyed, and it was her unconscious that had worked to create the dustbin lid, as well as the pencil that had allowed her to scribble a note.

  Now Surqjna attacked her, but the point of the rapier whipped against the dustbin lid with a clang. Arrahaquen stepped back.

  No cold calculations could help here, and Surqjna’s emotions were false and self-serving. Arrahaquen felt as she danced around Surqjna that she was truly at one with herself.