by Liz Williams
There was no reply. Shu walked across to the area that contained Mevennen's bed, and hesitated for a moment before drawing aside the screen. The bed was empty. Yet Bel had said that she'd left Mevennen sleeping, and Shu hadn't seen her anywhere else in the camp. Shu had a sudden, indefinable sense of wrongness. She glanced across at the hatch that concealed the toilet. It was open; no one was in there. She stepped behind the screen and checked the other side of the bed then, feeling rather foolish, beneath it, in case Mevennen had fallen.
There was no one to be seen. But behind her, something moved. She heard a faint rustling, coming from the direction of the main table. The back of her neck prickled. She thought of the child, and a body slung over a saddle. Slowly, Shu turned. The biotent was empty. Then the rustling came again, and there was a faint sigh, like the wind in the grass. Warily, Shu walked around the edge of the table and stopped dead. Mevennen was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Mevennen,” Shu said in dismay, crouching down by her side. The woman stirred, and whispered something. “It's all right,” Shu said automatically. “Don't try and move.”
Mevennen ignored her. She reached out for the strut of the table and, with Shu's help, pulled herself upright. “Trying to get back to bed,” she murmured.
“I'll help you,” Shu said. She was not a particularly strong woman, but Mevennen's weight as she leaned on her seemed nothing at all; the Mondhaith woman had bones like a bird. Slowly, she led Mevennen back to bed. The woman was shaking. Her long hands, with their bright silver rings, trembled as she rested them on the covering. Shu patted her hands. “Mevennen, let me get you something. A sedative, maybe.”
“I had a fit,” Mevennen said. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she opened her eyes and stared into Shu's face with the stark gaze of nightmare. But she did not talk as though Shu were a ghost. She said, “It's getting worse. Shu, I know I pinned my hopes on you, but it isn't your fault if you can't cure me. Better you let me die. Better if Eleres had killed me, up there in the hills.” Even through the filter of the lingua franca, the emphasis was unmistakable.
“Eleres would have killed you?” Shu said blankly. “But he's your brother. He loves you, doesn't he?”
Mevennen started to cough, then, and it was some moments before she could speak. Shu put an arm around her shoulders, deeply troubled. At last Mevennen said, “He does love me. And he nearly did kill me. It wasn't his fault. Animals will do that when one of their own is sick or weak. It's just the way they're made.”
“But Eleres isn't an animal!”
“No, he's not. At least, not all the time. That's the trouble with us, you see. I told you. We're neither one thing nor the other, except for people like me. My family do care about me, and they don't want me to die—or the human part of them doesn't, anyway. But instinct tells them something else.
I'm sorry, Shu. You should never have come here. Maybe Bel was right. Maybe this world is cursed.” Mevennen's voice trailed away and her head rolled to one side. Soon she was unconscious. With a sick coldness in the pit of her stomach, Shu went to find Sylvian.
The biologist looked up as Shu stepped through the door.
“I need to talk to you,” Sylvian said. “About Mevennen.”
“I was about to say the very same thing. She's had some kind of fit. I think you should take another look at her.”
Sylvian nodded. “I agree. I've just had the results of some of the more in-depth cerebral scans back from the ship, and there's some really strange neural patterning.”
“Strange? In what way?”
“The neural signatures match the field output.”
“What field output?” Shu asked.
“From the biomorphic generator,” Sylvian said impatiently. “They're not complete. There's a partial matching, but it all looks fragmented, as though it's been scrambled.”
“Are you saying that that thing in the ruins is having some kind of effect on Mevennen?”
“Not exactly. I think there are structures in her brain which are genetically designed to receive the generator's input. I checked out the records, and apparently it's possible to modify neural links to improve the brain's receptivity to biomorphic information. The links are called Ronan's Receptors after the woman who discovered them—but in Mevennen, it's as though they've atrophied, or never developed properly.”
“So do you or I have these receptors?”
“We've got partial links, so we might be able to pick up some output, but we're not very receptive to whatever the generator's emitting. We're like Mevennen, basically.” Sylvian paused. “You know what I think, Shu? I think it might be the generator that creates the bloodmind.”
“The generator?” Shu stared at her.
“Remember that Mevennen told us about the 'magic book'that placed people in harmony with each other and the world? Her brother also spoke about that harmony, but in the context of the pack mind. They understand themselves, Shu, to a degree. They're closer to animals than we are. And they can lose self-awareness; they actually become like animals—a territorial, aggressive gestalt. There's got to be a reason for that, and I think the generator's a part of that puzzle.”
“So,” Shu said slowly, “if you're right, and the generator is a contributing factor to the bloodmind, then what will happen when we turn it off?”
Sylvian shook her head. “I'm not sure. The Mondhaith might lose their abilities—their pack aspect—and become fully human. Nothing might happen—my hypothesis about the generator is just a hypothesis, after all. The bloodmind might be genetic, as I said, or caused by something else entirely.”
“If it's the generator that's changed them,” Shu asked, “then why hasn't it affected us? Because we're like Mevennen and don't have the right neural receptors?”
“Presumably. But I couldn't say for sure. You see, Shu, I've done a whole range of tests on Mevennen, and I could give you chapter and verse now on what distinguishes her from her human ancestors. But what I don't have is any control information. We don't know how the neurology, or biology, of a 'normal'native functions.” She glanced down at the data sheet, and Shu frowned. Sylvian, who had been a plump woman when they arrived, had lost weight, and her fair hair had begun to look lank. The biologist added, “But I've got some good news, anyway.”
“What's that?”
“The ship's been running a series of diagnostic tests on the field emitted by the biomorphic generator and it's finally narrowed down the algorithms for breaking the reflexive power loop. I need to program up a model and run the heuristics on that, but it shouldn't take more than a day or so. After that, we'll know whether we can turn the generator off or not.”
“Hold on,” Shu said in alarm. “Given what you've just been telling me, it's not a question now of whether we can turn the generator off, but whether we should.”
Sylvian looked doubtful. “That's a decision for Dia to make. But if it really does free these people from the blood-mind, surely it's worth considering? A child died, Shu.”
“I know that. We just need to think about it carefully. All of us,” she added firmly, “not just Dia.” She took a deep breath. “Getting back to Mevennen, the bottom line—if what you've just spent the last few minutes explaining to me is correct—is that we need to find a normal Mondhaith person and run some tests on him. Preferably someone who's closely related to Mevennen.”
The biologist pushed her hair wearily out of her eyes and sighed. “Yes. That hypothetical person is our missing link. But if what you and Bel say is correct, and most of the population behaves as though we're a figment of their imaginations, persuading someone to allow us to do blood tests and neuroscans is going to be a bit tricky. We need that information, though.” Her eyes met Shu's. “What if Mevennen dies, Shu?”
“That's not going to happen,” Shu told her, with a conviction she did not feel. “I know it's a problem. But I think I have someone in mind.”
Later Shu checked and rechecked the aircar, making sure that eve
rything was sound. She possessed basic engineering skills, but her understanding of the vehicle was not advanced and she did not like having to rely on the delazheni. She watched uneasily as the digits of the biodevice glided across the control panels. The delazhen turned to her and said in its smooth, neutral voice, “Safety precautions have been successfully undertaken. Flight may proceed.”
“Thank you,” Shu said, wondering for the thousandth time how much the delazheni really understood, how great their self-awareness might be. Dia had compromised her principles in bringing them; they were perceived by the stricter Gaian sects as unnatural, the sad creations of an earlier age, but nobody denied their usefulness. The delazhen stepped back on its jointed legs and Shu turned to see Bel standing at the aircar's side.
“How's Mevennen?” Shu asked.
“Sleeping. Sylvian's still with her. We'll take good care of her, Shu.” Bel grasped the older woman's hands with real affection. “And you take care of yourself, out there.”
“I'll be fine,” Shu said, with more conviction than she really felt. Now that she had decided on a course of action, the possible consequences were crowding in on her. She had spent the previous two hours with Bel, going over the worst-case scenarios and working out a system of communication if anything went wrong. There were, however, certain intentions that she had not confided to Bel. She planned to take a weapon with her: the modified stun gun. It was crude but, Shu hoped, effective. She also hoped, just as fervently, that she would never have to use it. The thing was hidden under the crash couch of the aircar; once she was on her own, she planned to fit it to her belt.
“You're sure you'll be all right?” Bel persisted.
“Sure enough. I'll be keeping in close touch, Bel, but I don't plan to be gone very long.” Shu's plan was to find Eleres, get the necessary tests done, and then come back. “Let me know what happens with Mevennen. And please, don't do anything to the generator until I get back and we can talk about it further.”
That was, of course, the other main worry. After listening to Sylvian's theories, Shu had gone straight to Dia and asked her to leave the biomorphic generator running until they had a chance to work out whether shutting it down really would have an impact on the Mondhaith. But she had been dismayed to find that this was not a major consideration for Dia.
“If these people are suffering from the kind of unstable mental state that could cause someone to wantonly murder a small child,” Dia had said firmly, “and if we've found a means to prevent further tragedies, then there's no question but that we should shut the generator down.”
To Shu's intense alarm, Dia had seen Sylvian's theory as the justification of the mission's presence here. To Shu's mind, this was a simplistic view, inspired by a faith that was increasingly beginning to seem rigid and dogmatic. But Dia had overridden her objections. The colony was lost, Dia said, and was indeed cursed—by Elshonu's paternalistic arrogance in altering the colonists themselves to fit his own beliefs. Shu pointed out that Dia's own maternalism was similar: like Elshonu, Dia thought she knew best. Like Elshonu, she was prepared to make some fundamental change that could radically alter the Mondhaith. True, Shu thought, she wouldn't like to suffer from the bloodmind herself, but that wasn't the point. The colonists'descendants had evolved around and within the artificial constraints imposed upon them, and they couldn't just take that away without a really close, hard look at what the consequences of their actions would be. Shu argued her case as best she could, and at last wrung from Dia the concession that she would consider waiting until they had more facts. With that, Shu had to be content; Mevennen was, at the moment, her immediate priority.
Now, hours later, she hugged Bel goodbye and stepped into the aircar, dismayed by the flutter of anxious anticipation in her stomach. She looked down at the viewscreen, to see Bel's small figure among the domes of the biotents, fading fast against the wall of the mountains.
Shu took the aircar across the ranges and along the now-familiar route upriver, following the winding silver water below and gliding past the dark tower. When she checked for life signs, only one person registered: a woman. Either Eleres was elsewhere entirely or, as Shu desperately hoped, he had obeyed his sister's honor charge and gone to Tetherau. Setting the coordinates according to Mevennen's rather rough map of the district, Shu watched the landscape below unfold as the vehicle veered out to sea. The estuary widened out into sand flats, leading up into high cliffs. Shu looked down at gray-green water, thundering up the narrow inlets. To the west, the islands were rimmed with a white edge of foam. She flew over a settlement, which from Mevennen's map was the family's home town: Ulleet. Shu gazed with interest at the settlement, clinging so precariously to the cliffside. A bridge spanned the narrow inlet like a thread. An ancient line drifted through Shu's mind like spray: magic casements opening onto perilous seas, of faery lands forlorn. All very romantic, thought Shu pragmatically, but what must it be like in the winter? She thought of Irie St Syre's temperate, carefully regulated climate, and shivered.
Far out between the islands she could see the wake of a boat, and she wondered who traveled on it—standing on the deck, perhaps, and gazing up with wonder at the unnatural leaf blown on the winds of the world: the aircar, and herself within it. She wondered whether Eleres was down there; Mevennen had said that if he followed the honor charge and went to Tetherau, then it was likely that he'd take the less hazardous route and go by boat. But if she succeeded in finding Eleres again, Shu thought, she would not use his name. She would honor his request that she earn the right, and remembered with a smile the lift of his chin as he'd issued his command: he was not without a certain presence, for all that he seemed such a quiet, reserved person. At least when he was being human, according to his sister.
She checked the time, wondering whether the Mond-haith treated time in the same way: Mevennen had talked with reassuring familiarity of days, weeks, and months, but Shu was not entirely sure what this might mean. The aircar swung around the coast, following its complex line and passing other settlements: another dark town set high on an inlet's cliffs, with a lighthouse at the entrance to the port. Shu consulted her map, studying the line of the mainland coast. Not Tetherau, but a place called Etarres. So Tetherau would be a little farther yet. Shu frowned, remembering. Mevennen had spoken of migrations: twelve-yearly cycles in which folk left their homes and walked immense distances across the land. Mevennen had said that they were drawn by the tidal pull of the moons, but this seemed a little unlikely. Shu wondered whether they weren't somehow drawn toward Outreven: pulled back toward their ancestral home. But by what? Racial memory? Or something more compelling?
She could see all the way to the world's curved rim, fading blue-green into the silent skies, and she took the aircar lower until the vanes spread out flat, bisecting spray. More islands, and then a port backed by a great cloud-drift of mountain: Tetherau. Switching the controls to manual, Shu cut across the town and let the vehicle drift down to a flat plateau of rock, concealed behind trees. Then she checked her essentials: rations in a flat backpack, the weapon secured to her belt, the life sign scanner in warning mode, and the lingua franca set to translate and record. With these things in place, she routed the aircar's stationary defenses into its databank and stepped out into dappled sunlight. She was high above the town, looking down to where it curved around its bay. Behind, the mountains stretched to illusory heights, impenetrable, silent and still. She could see snow on the long crest which reached into the distances, but here the air was warm and the long grass was golden and dry to the touch. Shu stepped through the crackling grass and began the long walk down to Tetherau.
It took her perhaps an hour. Shu, hot and uncomfortable even in her practical clothes, began to wish that she had taken the risk of setting the aircar rather closer to the settlement. Her feet began to hurt, and her head ached in the heat of the sun. The testing kit, stowed safely in her backpack, dug into her hip at every step no matter how she tried to adjust it. Shu grimaced, th
inking of the nomads walking the world, and considered herself with a degree of rueful contempt. She had been a great walker in her youth, traversing Irie St Syre's glorious ranges during vacations and sabbaticals, traveling up into the hill country of the southern continents to seek out the closed sects. But on Irie St Syre, you could be sure of always finding a welcome, even if it might be a little guarded and tentative, and on Irie St Syre too no sudden squall or storm would reach down and snap you in its grip. The Weather Monitors took care of that.
Shu glanced back at the forbidding wall of the mountains behind her, and turned with some relief to the bay with the little town at its edge. At last, the walls of Tetherau were rising up before her. Shu noted the massive gates which faced the east, and the braziers smoldering above. She was reminded of Mevennen's tower. The walls were made of thick black stone and the gates were iron, but the effect was somber rather than crude. The gates were etched with designs so abstract that it was a moment before Shu realized they were birds. Long, graceful necks twisted in and out of reeds; seedpods became stars. Shu searched for cultural influences: echoes of Asian designs, echoes of Celtic, but this work was original and its own. The gates were open and, from the grass that sprouted at their base, would not seem to have been shut for some time. Not a place that was frequently under attack, then. Shu stepped through.
She found herself in a maze of streets, curving up between high black walls. Everything seemed smoothed with age, each building merging into the next. Shu, raised on a world of organic architecture, approved. She ran her hand along the silky stone, touched glossy wood. For the first hundred yards or so, she saw no one, but then she turned a corner and found herself facing a group of people: three women and two men, all middle-aged and dressed in similar robes, the color of a clear night sky. Shu was appalled to find that her hand went automatically to the weapon at her belt. They paid no attention to her whatsoever, but simply walked around her, murmuring in soft voices. Their eyes were shuttered behind the membrane; their robes rustled against the stone walls. They seemed as distant from humanity as anything Shu had ever seen and she drew away so that her back rested against the wall, cold in the shadows.
