The Rise of Endymion hc-4

by Дэн Симмонс

  The two shook hands.

  “Your mother was a fine, brave woman,” said the Colonel. “I valued her friendship.”

  “And she valued yours.”

  The dark figures were moving closer, keeping to the cover of boulders and dunes. Colonel Kassad walked toward them, his right hand high, the assault weapon still easy in his arm.

  Aenea came closer and took my hand again.

  “It’s cold, isn’t it, Raul?”

  It was. There was a flash of light like a painless blow to the back of one’s head and we were on the bridge platform of the Yggdrasill. Our friends backed away at the sight of our appearance; the fear of magic dies hard in a species.

  Mars turned red and cold beyond our branches and containment field.

  “What course, Revered One Who Teaches?” said Het Masteen.

  “Just turn outward to where we can clearly see the stars,” said Aenea.

  29

  The Yggdrasill continued on. The Tree of Pain its captain, the Templar True Voice of the Tree Het Masteen, called it. I could not argue. Each jump took more energy from my Aenea, my love, my poor, tired Aenea, and each separation filled the depleting pool of energy with a growing reservoir of sadness. And through it all the Shrike stood useless and alone on its high platform, like a hideous bowsprit on a doomed ship or a macabre dark angel on the top of a mirthless Christmas tree.

  After leaving Colonel Kassad on Mars, the treeship jumped to orbit around Maui-Covenant. The world was in rebellion but deep within Pax space and I expected hordes of Pax warships to rise up in challenge, but there was no attack during the few hours we were there.

  “One of the benefits of the armada attack on the Biosphere Startree,” Aenea said with sad irony. “They’ve stripped the inner systems of fighting ships.” It was Theo whose hand Aenea took for the step down to Maui-Covenant. Again, I accompanied my friend and her friend. I blinked away the white light and we were on a motile isle, its treesails filling with warm tropical wind, the sky and sea a breathtaking blue. Other isles kept pace while dolphin outriders left white wakes on either side of the convoy.

  There were people on the high platform and although they were mystified by our appearance, they were not alarmed. Theo hugged the tall blond man and his dark-haired wife who came forward to greet us.

  “Aenea, Raul,” she said, “I am pleased to introduce Merin and Deneb Aspic-Coreau.”

  “Merin?” I said, feeling the strength in the man’s handshake.

  He smiled. “Ten generations removed from the Merin Aspic,” he said. “But a direct descendant. As Deneb is of our famed lady, Siri.” He put his hand on Aenea’s shoulder. “You have come back just as promised. And brought our fiercest fighter back with you.”

  “I have,” said Aenea. “And you must keep her safe. For the next days and months, you must keep clear of contact with the Pax.”

  Deneb Aspic-Coreau laughed. I noticed without a trace of desire that she might be the healthiest, most beautiful woman I had ever seen. “We’re running for our lives as it is, One Who Teaches. Thrice we’ve tried to destroy the oil platform complex at Three Currents, and thrice they have cut us down like Thomas hawks. Now we are just hoping to reach the Equatorial Archipelago and hide among the isle migration, eventually to regroup at the submersible base at Lat Zero.”

  “Protect her at all costs,” repeated Aenea. She turned to Theo. “I will miss you, my friend.”

  Theo Bernard visibly attempted to keep from weeping, failed, and hugged Aenea fiercely.

  “All the time… was good,” Theo said and stood back. “I pray for your success. And I pray that you fail… for your own good.”

  Aenea shook her head. “Pray for all of our success.” She held her hand up in farewell and walked back to the lower platform with me.

  I could smell the intoxicating salt-and-fish scent of the sea. The sun was so fierce it made me squint, but the air temperature was perfect.

  The water on the dolphins’ skin was as clear to me as the sweat on my own forearms. I could imagine staying in this place forever.

  “We have to go,” said Aenea. She took my hand.

  A torchship did appear on radar just as we climbed out of Maui-Covenant’s gravity well, but we ignored it as Aenea stood alone on the bridge platform, staring at the stars.

  I went over to stand next to her.

  “Can you hear them?” she whispered.

  “The stars?” I said.

  “The worlds,” she said. “The people on them. Their secrets and silences. So many heartbeats.”

  I shook my head. “When I am not concentrating on something else,” I said, “I am still haunted by voices and images from elsewhere. Other times. My father hunting in the moors with his brothers. Father Glaucus being thrown to his death by Rhadamanth Nemes.”

  She looked at me. “You saw that?”

  “Yes. It was horrible. He could not see who it was who had attacked him. The fall… the darkness… the cold… the moments of pain before he died. He had refused to accept the cruciform. It was why the Church sent him to Sol Draconi Septem… exile in the ice.”

  “Yes,” said Aenea. “I’ve touched those last memories of his many times in the past ten years. But there are other memories of Father Glaucus, Raul. Warm and beautiful memories… filled with light. I hope you find them.”

  “I just want the voices to stop,” I said truthfully. “This…” I gestured around at the treeship, the people we knew, Het Masteen at his bridge controls. “This is all too important.” Aenea smiled. “It’s all too important. That’s the damned problem, isn’t it?” She turned her face back to the stars.

  “No, Raul, what you have to hear before you take a step is not the resonance of the language of the dead… or even of the living. It is… the essence of things.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to make a fool of myself, but went on: “… So A million times ocean must ebb and flow, And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die, These things accomplished. If he utterly…”

  Aenea broke in: “… Scans all depths of magic, and expounds The meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds; If he explores all forms and substances Straight homeward to their symbol-essences; He shall not die…”

  She smiled again. “I wonder how Uncle Martin is. Is he cold-sleeping the years away? Railing at his poor android servants? Still working on his unfinished Cantos? In all my dreams, I never manage to see Uncle Martin.”

  “He’s dying,” I said. Aenea blinked in shock.

  “I dreamed of him… saw him… this morning,” I said. “He’s defrosted himself for the last time, he’s told his faithful servants. The machines are keeping him alive. The Poulsen treatments have finally worn off. He’s…” I stopped.

  “Tell me,” said Aenea.

  “He’s staying alive until he can see you again,” I said. “But he’s very frail.”

  Aenea looked away. “It’s strange,” she said. “My mother fought with Uncle Martin during the entire pilgrimage. At times they could have killed one another. Before she died, he was her closest friend. Now…” She stopped, her voice thick.

  “You’ll just have to stay alive, kiddo,” I said, my own voice strange. “Stay alive, stay healthy, and go back to see the old man. You owe him that.”

  “Take my hand, Raul.” The ship farcast through light.

  Around Tau Ceti Center we were immediately attacked, not only by Pax ships but by rebel torchships fighting for the planetary secession started by the ambitious female Archbishop Achilla Silvaski. The containment field flared like a nova.

  “Surely you can’t ’cast through this,” I said to Aenea when she offered the Tromo Trochi of Dhomu and me her hands.

  “One does not ’cast through anything,” said my friend, and took our hands, and we were on the surface of the former capital of the late and unlamented Hegemony.

  The Tromo Trochi had never been to TC2, indeed, had never been off the world of T’ien Shan, but his merchant interests were aroused by the tal
es of this onetime capitalist capital of the human universe.

  “It is a pity that I have nothing to trade,” said the clever trader. “In six months on so fecund a world, I would have built a commercial empire.”

  Aenea reached into the shoulder pack she had carried and lifted out a heavy bar of gold. “This should get you started,” she said. “But remember your true duties here.”

  Holding the bar, the little man bowed. “I will never forget, One Who Teaches. I have not suffered to learn the language of the dead to no avail.”

  “Just stay safe for the next few months,” said Aenea. “And then, I am confident, you will be able to afford transport to any world you choose.”

  “I would come to wherever you are, M. Aenea,” said the trader with the only visible show of emotion I had ever seen from him. “And I would pay all of my wealth—past, future, and fantasized—to do so.”

  I had to blink at this. It occurred to me for the first time that many of Aenea’s disciples might be—probably were—a little bit in love with her, as well as very much in awe of her. To hear it from this coin-obsessed merchant, though, was a shock. Aenea touched his arm. “Be safe and stay well.”

  The Yggdrasill was still under attack when we returned. It was under attack when Aenea ’cast us away from the Tau Ceti System.

  The inner city-world of Lusus was much as I remembered it from my brief sojourn there: a series of Hive towers above the vertical canyons of gray metal. George Tsarong and Jigme Norbu bade us farewell there. The stocky, heavily muscled George—weeping as he hugged Aenea—might have passed for an average Lusian in dim light, but the skeletal Jigme would stand out in the Hive-bound crowds. But Lusus was used to off-worlders and our two foremen would do well as long as they had money. But Lusus was one of the few Pax worlds to have returned to universal credit cards and Aenea did not have one of these in her backpack.

  A few minutes after we stepped from the empty Dreg’s Hive corridors, however, seven figures in crimson cloaks approached. I stepped between Aenea and these ominous figures, but rather than attack, the seven men went to their knees on the greasy floor, bowed their heads, and chanted:

  “BLESSED BE SHE

  BLESSED BE THE SOURCE OF OUR SALVATION

  BLESSED BE THE INSTRUMENT OF OUR ATONEMENT

  BLESSED BE THE FRUIT OF OUR RECONCILIATION

  BLESSED BE SHE.”

  “The Shrike Cult,” I said stupidly. “I thought they were gone—wiped out during the Fall.”

  “We prefer to be referred to as the Church of the Final Atonement,” said the first man, rising from his knees but still bowing in Aenea’s direction. “And no… we were not “wiped out” as you put it… merely driven underground. Welcome, Daughter of Light. Welcome, Bride of the Avatar.”

  Aenea shook her head with visible impatience. “I am bride of no one, Bishop Duruyen. These are the two men I have brought to entrust to your protection for the next ten months.”

  The Bishop in red bowed his bald head. “Just as your prophecies said, Daughter of Light.”

  “Not prophecies,” said Aenea. “Promises.” She turned and hugged George and Jigme a final time.

  “Will we see you again, Architect?” said Jigme.

  “I cannot promise that,” said Aenea. “But I do promise that if it is in my power, we will be in contact again.”

  I followed her back to the empty hall in the dripping corridors of Dreg’s Hive, where our departure would not seem so miraculous as to add to the Shrike Cult’s already fertile canon.

  On Tsingtao-Hsishuang Panna, we said good-bye to the Dalai Lama and his brother, Labsang Samten. Labsang wept. The boy Lama did not.

  “The local people’s Mandarin dialect is atrocious,” said the Dalai Lama.

  “But they will understand you, Your Holiness,” said Aenea. “And they will listen.”

  “But you are my teacher,” said the boy, his voice near anger. “How can I teach them without your help?”

  “I will help,” said Aenea. “I will try to help. And then it is your job. And theirs.”

  “But we may share communion with them?” asked Labsang.

  “If they ask for it,” said Aenea. To the boy she said, “Would you give me your blessing, Your Holiness?”

  The child smiled. “It is I who should be asking for a blessing, Teacher.”

  “Please,” said Aenea, and again I could hear the weariness in her voice.

  The Dalai Lama bowed and, with his eyes closed, said: “This is from the “Prayer of Kuntu Sangpo,” as revealed to me through the vision of my terton in a previous life—

  “HO! The phenomenal world and all existence, samsara and nirvana,

  All has one foundation, but there are two paths and two results—

  Displays of both ignorance and Knowledge.

  Through Kuntu Sangpo’s aspiration,

  In the Palace of the Primal Space of Emptiness

  Let all beings attain perfect consummation and Buddhahood.

  “The universal foundation is unconditioned,

  Spontaneously arising, a vast immanent expanse, beyond expression,

  Where neither samsara nor nirvana exist.

  Knowledge of this reality is Buddhahood,

  While ignorant beings wander in samsara.

  Let all sentient beings of the three realms

  Attain Knowledge of the nature of the ineffable foundation.”

  Aenea bowed toward the boy. “The Palace of the Primal Space of Emptiness,” she murmured. “How much more elegant than my clumsy description of the “Void Which Binds.” Thank you, Your Holiness.”

  The child bowed. “Thank you, Revered Teacher. May your death be more quick and less painful than we both expect.”

  Aenea and I returned to the treeship.

  “What did he mean?” I demanded, both of my hands on her shoulders. “‘Death more quick and less painful’? What the hell does that mean? Are you planning to be crucified? Does this goddamned messiah impersonation have to go to the same bizarre end? Tell me, Aenea!” I realized that I was shaking her… shaking my dear friend, my beloved girl. I dropped my hands.

  Aenea put her arms around me. “Just stay with me, Raul. Stay with me as long as you can.”

  “I will,” I said, patting her back. “I swear to you I will.”

  On Fuji we said good-bye to Kenshiro Endo and Haruyuki Otaki. On Deneb Drei it was a child whom I had never met—a ten-year-old girl named Katherine—who stayed behind, alone and seemingly unafraid. On Sol Draconi Septem, that world of frozen air and deadly wraiths where Father Glaucus and our Chitchatuk friends had been foully murdered, the sad and brooding scaffold rigger, Rimsi Kyipup, volunteered almost happily to be left behind. On Nevermore it was another man I had not had the privilege of meeting—a soft-spoken, elderly gentleman who seemed like Martin Silenus’s kindlier younger brother. On God’s Grove, where A. Bettik had lost part of his arm ten standard years earlier, the two Templar lieutenants of Het Masteen ’cast down with Aenea and me and did not return. On Hebron, empty now of its Jewish settlers but filled now with good Christian colonists sent there by the Pax, the Seneschai Aluit empaths, Lleeoonn and Ooeeaall ’cast down to say good-bye to us on an empty desert evening where the rocks still held the daytime’s glow.

  On Parvati, the usually happy sisters Kuku Se and Kay Se wept and hugged the both of us good-bye. On Asquith, a family of two parents and their five golden-haired children stayed behind. Above the white cloud-swirl and blue ocean world of Mare Infinitus—a world whose mere name haunted me with memories of pain and friendship—Aenea asked Sergeant Gregorius if he would ’cast down with her to meet the rebels and support her cause.

  “And leave the captain?” asked the giant, obviously shocked by the suggestion.

  De Soya stepped forward. “There is no more captain, Sergeant. My dear friend. Only this priest without a Church. And I suspect that we would do more good now apart than together. Am I right, M. Aenea?”

  My friend nodded. “I
had hoped that Lhomo would be my representative on Mare Infinitus,” she said. “The smugglers and rebels and Lantern Mouth hunters on this world would respect a man of strength. But it will be difficult and dangerous… the rebellion still rages here and the Pax takes no prisoners.”

  “’Tis not this danger I object to!” cried Gregorius. “I’m willin’ to die the true death a hundred times over for a good cause.”

  “I know that, Sergeant,” said Aenea.

  The giant looked at his former captain and then back to Aenea. “Lass, I know ye do not like to tell the future, even though we know you spy it now and then. But tell me this… is there a chance of reunion with my captain?”

  “Yes,” said Aenea. “And with some you thought dead… such as Corporal Kee.”

  “Then I’ll go. I’ll do your will. I may not be of the Corps Helvetica anymore, but the obedience they taught me runs deep.”

  “It’s not obedience we ask now,” said Father de Soya. “It is something harder and deeper.”

  Sergeant Gregorius thought a moment. “Aye,” he said at last and turned his back on everyone a moment. “Let’s go, lass,” he said, holding out his hand for Aenea’s touch.

  We left him on an abandoned platform somewhere in the South Littoral, but Aenea told him that submersibles would put in there within a day.

  Above Madre de Dios, Father de Soya stepped forward, but Aenea held up her hand to stop him.

  “Surely this is my world,” said the priest. “I was born here. My diocese was here. I imagine that I will die here.”

  “Perhaps,” said Aenea, “but I need you for a more difficult place and a more dangerous job, Federico.”

  “Where is that?” said the sad-eyed priest.

  “Pacem,” said Aenea. “Our last stop.”

  I stepped closer. “Wait, kiddo,” I said. “I’m going with you to Pacem if you insist on going there. You said that I could stay with you.” My voice sounded querulous and desperate even to me.

  “Yes,” said Aenea, touching my wrist with her cool fingers. “But I would like Father de Soya to come with us when it is time.”