by Jo Clayton
Daniel Akamarino rubbed at the fringes of hair spiking over his ears. “How?”
Silence. A l000ng silence.
When the Chained God spoke again, he/it ignored the question. “You are tired, all of you. Rest, eat, sleep, we will talk again tomorrow. If you will look behind you, you will see a serviteur, follow it, it will take you to a living area I’ve had cleaned and repaired for you. Daniel Akamarino, if you please, explain the facilities to your companions; you won’t find them too unfamiliar but if you have a question, ask the serviteur, it will remain with you and provide whatever you need, from information to food. Sleep well, my friends, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow will be a busy time.”
They followed the squat thing the god called a serviteur through echoing metal caverns that existed in a perpetual twilight, the walls and ceiling festooned with ropy creatures whose pale leaves were like that rarest kind of white jade that has a tracery of green netted through it. Unseen things ran rustling through those leaves and the fibrous airroots brushed their faces like dangling spiderwebs. They walked on something crumbly that sent up geysers of dust at every step, dust that stank of mold and age. The farther they went, the stiller and staler the air became.
Daniel Akamarino stopped walking. “Serviteur.”
The iron manikin stopped its whirring clanking progress. Brann grimaced and felt at her own neck as it cranked its sensory knob about to fix its glassy gaze on Daniel. A crackling sound like dry resinpine burning lasted for half a breath, then words came out of it, odd uninflected words so empty of emotion that it took Brann several seconds and some concentration to understand them. “What do you want, Daniel Akamarino?”
“Get some airflow along here or we don’t move another step.”
“Air is adequate, Daniel Akamarino. A stronger current would disturb certain elements. Your quarters are nearby. If you please, continue.”
“With the understanding if your idea of nearby and
Shimmerglobes darted past Brann, went flashing through the nearest wall of a room like the inside of an egg, painted eggshell white with a fragile ivory carpet on the floor; there were a number of odd lumps about, they might have been chairs of a sort, or something far stranger. There were ovals of milky white glass at intervals around the walls, their long axis parallel to the floor. The room was filled with a soft white light though there were no lamps that Brann could see. It was as if someone had bottled sunlight and decanted it here. There were six oval doorways filled with a sort of glowing mist, a mist that swirled in slow eddies but stayed where it was put.
Ahzurdan stood looking about him. He felt uneasy, he did not belong here; the walls drew in on him and he found breathing difficult though the air inside the eggroom was considerably fresher and cooler than that in the corridor. He could sense lines of godenergy, of magicstrength, weaving an intricate web within the walls, but he could not reach them. There were other lines of other forces that shivered just beyond his vision, they were worse, far worse, not only could he not reach them, they threatened to bind him and he did not know how to keep them off. He moved closer to Brann.
Daniel Akamarino stood looking about him. He moved his shoulders and felt his bones relax. This was his world. Derelict it might be, weird it might be, but this was once a starflyer. His fingers felt alive, his body responded to the smells, the feel of metal wrapped about him, the sense of power powerfully controlled. The godstuff was irritating, all this plant and fungus nonsense was a pain, add-ons he wished he could scrape off so he could see plain the stark beauty of the computer circuits, hear the deep middle-of-the-bone nearly silent drone of the engines. For days he’d been pulled tight, as day slid into day he’d been more and more afraid he’d never see a starship again. It was like a part of him had been hacked off. He hadn’t realized how bad it was until he got here; he wasn’t sure he liked knowing that since there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. He enjoyed dirtside life as long as it was in manageable small doses and he could get back into star-jumping when he felt like it. He used his talents then, his most important skills, important to him. He did things he found most satisfying then. Never again? Never! These freaking gods brought him here, they could put him back where he belonged. If they wanted to argue about that, well, why not dig up one of those talismans, find out how to use it and put the squeeze on one of them until the sorry s’rish was hurting so hard he maybe she would be glad to get rid of him.
The children came drifting back, shifting to their bipedal forms as they touched down before Brann. “Bedrooms, washroom, a kitchen of sorts,” Yaril said. “Shuh! are they old. But they’re clean, they don’t smell and they work well enough.”
“I bet this was part of the Admiral’s quarters, him the god was talking about,” Jaril said. “It’s too fancy for crew or settler. Um. Ship hears whatever we say. Yaril and me, we probably could block a small space for a short time if you need it, but I wouldn’t count too much on that.”
Brann nodded. “I hear.” She yawned. “I could use a pot of tea.” She turned to Daniel Akamarino. “How do I work that, Danny Blue?”
* * *
Teatime conversation:
Brann: What I want to know is why this thing wants to be turned loose. What can it do but sit somewhere like it’s sitting here? Gods. Most of the time you can’t trust any of them, not even old Tungjii. Remember what it said about incorporating neural matter from the Admiral and some of its other passengers? Neural matter, hah! that’s someone’s head, isn’t it? Gah! Makes me want to vomit thinking about it. You know, if you lock up anyone alone long enough he more likely than not goes crazy. How sane do you think this thing is? I want a lot of answers before I agree to anything.
Daniel Akamarino: (to himself only, internal mutterings) I’m being jerked about. Why doesn’t she shut up? Doesn’t she realize the shefalos is listening to everything she says? What am I doing here? The shefalos, I’d wager two years’ pay on it. Something was messing in my head when it jerked me here, taught me the language. Put the hook in me then. Stupid woman. Why’d she stick her nose in this trap? Everything I see about her says no way she has to do anything she doesn’t want to. She could leave now, get us out of here. Danny One, once he gets his batteries charged, he can do the wards. Shit! Can’t talk about it here, maybe the kids can block the god… sheee, listen to me, god!… the shefalos for long enough to get some serious planning done.
(To Brann, in a querulous complaining tone. His amiability was disintegrating under the pressure of events; he generally preserved his equanimity by sliding away from such pressures. Now that he can’t slide, his irritations are turning him sour.) Don’t be stupid, Brann. You’ve got hundreds of gods infesting your damn world. What’s one more? I want to get this thing over with, you think I like crawling about on this dirtball? I want to go home. I’ve got family, I’ve got work, what do you expect. Stop bitching and finish what you started. (He scowled at the cold scum of tea in his cup, refilled it with wine from Thngjii’s Gift, refused to look at Brann as he sipped at the straw colored liquid.)
Ahzurdan: (He listened as Brann and Daniel Akamarino sparred with lessening amiability until they stopped talking altogether. He wanted sleep and, like Danny Two, he wanted out of this. The nature of the Chained God sickened and frightened him; his attitude to Settsimaksimin and Brann had suffered a radical reversal when he understood the god was that loathsome monstrosity before him, when he realized that it had played games with his head, hooking him with the hope of freeing himself from his habit. He had sat silent and bitter gazing at the thing, knowing all hope was illusory, he was trapped in something he wouldn’t have touched, used and betrayed by the monstrous god and that castrating bitch Brann Drinker of Souls, coarse, low, crude peasant creature. He felt as helpless as a shitting squalling babe, he hated that. If that abomination that brought them here wanted anything from him, it could want, he was out of it, he was going to pull his defenses around him and sit out whatever the god threw at him.)
Morning (because they wakened and ate a sketchy breakfast, inside the ship there was no way of deciding when the sun came up, if there was a sun in this miniature reality).
They followed the resurrected serviteur through the stinking crepuscular corridors to a teeming jungle that had once been the ship’s hold, to a steamy glade deep in that jungle with short springy grass and several newly cleaned benches; a small bright stream sang through it, glittering in the light from the several sources moonhigh overhead. Both Ahzurdan and Daniel Akamarino had tried refusing to move; the serviteur informed them in its echoing emotionless voice that they could go on their own feet, or the god would lay them out and send other serviteurs to haul them where he wanted them to go.
The serviteur clanked awkwardly across the grass to a stone plate, settled on it and seemed to sleep.
Ahzurdan stalked to the most distant of the benches, sat with his back to the others.
Daniel Akamarino strolled to another bench, sat on it and started pouring Tungjii’s wine down his gullet, having decided that if the god wanted him here, he/it could have him, but he/it was going to get someone so paralyzed he could about breathe and that was all.
Brann clicked her tongue against her teeth, shook her head. That pair she thought, what did I do to deserve them? I was quite happy with my quiet little pottery. damn all gods and curse all fates that pried me loose from it. Shuh! Miserable meeching gods. All right, where are you O god in chains, let’s get this thing moving. She settled onto a bench and set, herself to wait.
The children melted into shimmerglobes, bounced high as the hold ceiling then went zipping about through the vegetation; they soon got bored with that and came back to the glade. They dropped on the grass by Brann’s feet. “It’s a regular rainforest, Bramble,” Jaril said. “The god has imported a lot of dirt. Got enough space in here for clouds to form, I expect it does rain every day or so, maybe even thunderstorms.”
Yaril said nothing, just leaned against Brann’s leg.
A sound like a cough, a thump. A tall cylinder of something like glass snapped around her and the children. She sprang to her feet, slapped her hands against the thing, it was warmish and hard, there was no giving to it at all, she tried to suck energy from it, though she’d never tried that before, but apparently her draw was limited to lifefires, whether they belonged to mortal, demon or god. The children shifted and flung themselves against the wall and rebounded, they darted up, down, the ends were closed in also, there was no way out. If they had learned a few things about the Chained God when they probed him yesterday, it seemed apparent that he/it had learned as much about them, enough anyway to imprison them. They subsided into sullen fuming, back in their usual shapes.
Brann could feel a faint breeze, air was coming through the glass or whatever it was, at least she wasn’t going to smother. She leaned against the wall, looking out at the others. Ahzurdan and Daniel Akamarino were feeling round similar cylinders. As she watched, Daniel shrugged, settled back on his bench and began sucking on the spout of the wineskin. Ahzurdan’s face was dark with fury, he beat against the transparency, nearly incinerated himself trying to break through it. Abruptly, both men were stripped naked, Daniel’s wine was jerked away from him.
A SOUND like fingernails scratching on slate. The hair stood up on Brann’s arms and along her spine, her teeth began to ache.
The cylinder with Ahzurdan vanished, reappeared superimposed on DaMel’s prison; inside the suddenly single cylinder, Ahzurdan and Daniel seemed to be trying to occupy the same place at the same time; the Chained God was forcing the two men to merge. Brann watched, horrified.
Their flesh bulged and throbbed, hair, eyes, teeth appeared, disappeared, arms, legs, heads melted and reformed hideously deformed. The Ahzurdan part and the Akamarino part fought desperately to maintain their separation, but the terrible pressure the god was placing on them was forcing the merger.
The struggle went on and on. Tongues of flame danced briefly about the tormented shapeless flesh thing, but the god damped them. He/it hammered at the emerging form, beating at it as a potter beat at clay, driving out the beads of air trapped inside it hammering hammering hammering until he/it sculpted the lump into a meaningful manshape that was new and old at once, recognizably Ahzurdan and Daniel Akamarino yet very different from either of them.
A coughing sound, a sub-audible whoosh. The cylinders disappeared. The composite man crumpled to the grass and lay without moving.
Blindingly angry, Brann stumbled as the wall she was pushing against melted away; she caught her balance after a few lunging steps, ran full out to fling herself down beside the man’s body. She pressed her fingers up under his jaw, relaxed somewhat when she felt a strong pulse under her fingers. She snapped her head back, glared up at the haze that hid the metal arching high high overhead. “You!” she cried. “What have you done?”
The god’s voice came booming down at her, dry and pedantic. “They were inadequate as they were, Drinker of Souls. Incomplete in themselves. They are one and whole now. And who are you to chastise me, you who have drunk the life of thousands?”
“So I have. But they died before they knew something had happened to them. No pain. No fear. Not like this, not… ahhh… shaken and warped, mind and spirit, it’s rape, you wouldn’t know about that, would you? it’s invasion and mutilation. Are you going to try telling me they… he… won’t feel all that? Both of them? Are you going to try to tell me they’ll take a look and say what the hell, I’ll crip along on what’s left? How can two minds live in one flesh without being destroyed by it?”
“That is for you to determine.”
“What?”
“When Danny Blue wakes, Daniel Akamarino and Ahzurdan are going to be fighting for dominance within him just as the parts of me fought when I first began. You think I don’t understand, Drinker of Souls? It took me five hundred years to reach a full integration of my parts. I can’t afford to give him that much time and he won’t live that long. You and the children together, you are capable of leading him, them, through this, healing him. You don’t need instructions, do it. “
