He took a wooden stool and sat on it, taking the drum between his legs and cradling it. For a few moment he recalled the joy of working here.
He sat with his back straight.
In his memory two hundred and sixty six rhythms were stored. But first he had to connect. He took a pair of headphones and placed them over his ears, settling them into a comfortable position, then drumming the connection pattern, and after that the destination code.
Cemetery.
Seconds later he heard the reverberant carrier wave of the Cemetery reality, a unique sound like a receptive hall that he knew meant he was connected. He heard faint clunks, taps, creakings as of decaying bodies.
He opened the microphone at his lips. He would have to speak to offer a bargain.
He drummed the first rhythm. The second. He drummed on.
A voice in his headphones. “What are you doing?”
“Raising the Cemetery.”
“Who is this?”
Nuïy knew better than to tell Baigurgône who he was, for she might try to call somebody in the Shrine to have the raising stopped. He drummed on, his perfect memory working independently of his conscious mind, relaying the rhythms in exact order, with exact precision.
Time passed.
“Stop,” Baigurgône said. “I am disintegrating. If you raise every beast you will break every connection with the substrate.”
“I know.”
“Is that you, Nuïy?”
Almost an hour had passed. Nuïy had woken over a hundred Cemetery beasts.
Baigurgône’s voice began to sound scared. “Nuïy, listen to me. Stop now. The Cemetery reality is composed of the underground beasts’ gestalt actuality. If you raise every one I will have no network in which to exist, and I will have no choice but to find an artificial body to return to. Stop now.”
“Never,” Nuïy said. “You betrayed us. You pretended to be a man, then left us. You have hardly helped us since you entered the networks. You deserve to die. So die now.”
“Nuïy, what are you doing?”
Nuïy drummed on. He was at rhythm number one hundred and eleven. Almost half way. The Cemetery would be a chaotic stew of churned earth and silver beasts, all looking for the maker of the bargain. Well, soon he would reveal himself.
“Nuïy! What are you doing?”
“Raising the Cemetery.”
“I will die.”
“Jump out into some other network,” Nuïy suggested. “Become a thing, like me. You used to be a thing, that Kamnaïsheva person—”
“But this is my base! Outside of the Cemetery reality I will be just an ordinary entity, floating free—or worse, a puny body. I am Baigurgône! I cannot—”
“The Cemetery must be raised.”
“But why? Why?”
“To find the infant,” Nuïy said. “The infant must die.”
“Yes, Nuïy,” pleaded Baigurgône, “but there are other ways. I will help. We will call Sargyshyva and plan together.”
“The time for that is over.”
“Nuïy!”
But Nuïy drummed on. He ignored the voice.
Half an hour to go. Seventy rhythms remained. Seventy beasts lay in hypnotic self-slumber. The others waited, angered, asking one another who made such a mighty call.
“You made me what I am,” Baigurgône said. Her voice was now distinctly slurred, with a metallic twang. “You cannot undo your own deed.”
“If I helped you become what you are, I have the right to unmake you,” Nuïy replied. He felt absolutely no pity. All that mattered was the raising of the Cemetery.
“Nuïy! Don’t do it. Leave one beast, I beg you!”
“That cannot be. I must maximise the chances of the Green Man. Every beast must be raised.”
“Nuïy,” Baigurgône urged, “what bargain can you possibly make that will satisfy every beast?”
“You will see.”
“But I will lose my power!”
“That is of no concern to me. All that matters are the wishes of the Green Man.”
Again the desolate cry. “Nuïy!”
And Nuïy drummed on.
“Nuuuuiiiiiiiiy…”
Now when Baigurgône called out her voice was impossible to understand. It wailed in a series of ever lower metal screams, until it dipped below the frequency of Nuïy’s hearing, and was gone.
Five rhythms remained.
Nuïy drummed them.
He finished.
For a minute he sat, mentally shocked by his feat, until his mind recalled that he existed in the real world. In his headphones he heard a rumble of voices, some near, some far and reverberated, echoing around the activated Cemetery reality.
“Beasts of the Cemetery!” he called out. He felt immeasurably strong, in control of the most powerful force in Zaïdmouth, about to enact the final, victorious deed of the Green Man.
“Beasts!” he called again. “Do you hear me?”
There came an extraordinary sound, a kind of low groan, with every voice stereoscopically distinct, like a choir of gynoid minstrels arranged in a half circle. The groan was a single, distinct word. “Indeeeeeed.”
They heard him. Nuïy tried to imagine two hundred and sixty six ancient beasts, all waiting, all listening to him.
“Beasts of the Cemetery,” he said. “I offer you a cosmic bargain. I want you all to leave the Cemetery and scour Veneris for the gynoid born of Alquazonan. You will recognise it through its aura, for it is a gynoid unable to enter the networks, a gynoid of bodily sensation and no intellectual capacity. Question every man, woman and gynoid you meet. Search, and when you have found it…”
The voices again groaned in their inhumanly perfect chorus. “What do weeeeee get?”
“Here is my bargain. Promise to do this deed and I will reveal to you the nature of the new gynoid. Once you know this, you yourselves will be immeasurably enhanced. As the raiser of the Cemetery, I so swear.”
“A bargain is set! Weeeeee will find. What is sheeeeee?”
Nuïy had to restrain his emotions. His heart thumped. This was the crux of the matter. “The newly born gynoid,” he said, “is one future of the networks. If you find her, absorb her, for then you will have power over the future evolution of the networks, and so your potential will be enhanced. And this is why I raised you all, for if you succeed, you all benefit.”
They gave a long groan. “Hmmmmm.”
A lone voice spoke. “What do you get?”
“The end of this new gynoid.” He almost choked. “You will do it, won’t you? I have kept my part of the bargain.”
“Yeeeeees!”
Nuïy shut down the network links and pulled off his headphones. Dawn was close. Leaving the room as he had found it, he returned to his hut, where he pondered his accomplishments.
~
The Cemetery changed at dawn.
With the coming of the sun, hillocks of earth appeared, tearing the sod as they did; small holes, big holes, deep holes. Then the earth piles were scattered as beasts emerged from the damp Cemetery ground. Many were silver, but others, especially the larger ones, were brown, crimson, even black. The small beasts were serpentine of form, or like lizards with small legs, which they used to scuttle out of the Cemetery into the road, leaving gleaming trails of slime. Other beasts were more mammalian; they strode out jaws dripping, scattering clods of earth and fragments of flesh as they did.
Some beasts were so large they dwarfed the few people who saw them appear. One was like a hunched giant, bent almost double, its beard damp with drool, its pale eyes staring. It clambered into the road and surveyed the buildings around it. Another looked like a four-armed monkey. Other simian beings, grunting and grinning, departed the Cemetery through its gates, their glittering eyes rolling, their claws retracting then emerging. The beasts scattered earth, stones and Cemetery debris as they departed.
A few Venerisians saw this raising. They fled south. Soon, houses were abuzz with the appalling news. Suc
h a thing had never happened before.
In half an hour every beast had left the Cemetery. Randomly they grabbed individuals and demanded to know the whereabouts of Alquazonan’s offspring. Already many doors and windows were barred and shuttered, but some of the more aggressive beasts were hammering to break down any such portal.
It chanced that Shônsair was one of the first gynoids caught. She had been researching interfaces in the Venereal Garden. As dawn broke she heard strange gruntings from the north, which she put down to Woods men fighting in the Cemetery copses, but a few minutes later a screaming woman tore down the street, yelling that the Cemetery had been raised.
Shônsair thought the woman was drunk. But others followed, and then she saw something silvery slip through the Venereal Garden hedge and wind itself around the waist of a victim. It was like an anaconda. The woman gasped for air.
“Where is Alquazonan’s offspring?” the beast asked in a hissing voice, raising its head so that its eyes stared into those of its victim.
“I—I don’t know! Who?”
“She is somewhere in Veneris. Where is she?”
After more denials, the serpent uncoiled itself and slithered into the undergrowth. Astonished, Shônsair watched.
Something pulled her arm back. She turned and twisted, but its strength exceeded even hers.
She faced a beast a foot taller than she. Its barrel chest was covered in black hair, while its pink thighs were like pillars. It had a canine head, but a longer muzzle than that of a real dog, with drooling jaws, burning eyes of red, and nostrils that expanded and contracted with rage. Shônsair found both her hands and wrists in a firm grip.
“Where is Alquazonan’s offspring, gynoid? Tell me quickly!”
Shônsair knew she must not make even one mistake here, for this beast was part of the gestalt entity that comprised the Cemetery reality. They learned as a group; if one beast found a clue, all would know, and all would make immediately for the person involved.
So Shônsair replied, “I know nothing of what you seek. Look elsewhere.”
“You are a gynoid,” it insisted. “Tell me where the offspring is. We will search the whole urb for it if necessary.”
“I know nothing of any offspring,” Shônsair said. “What is such a thing?”
It seemed to believe her. This was the important aspect. If it sensed a clue, a link, it would never let go. She must act her part.
Again it asked her, “Where is Alquazonan’s offspring? She is of your kind. Is she tall? Large? Who is she?”
“I know nothing,” Shônsair repeated.
“Fagh!” The beast flung her arms away and loped off into undergrowth. Shônsair waited until it was out of sight, then forced her way through the hoverfly drifts to the southern hedge of the Venereal Garden. She stopped. She must not appear suspicious. Those people who had heard the news had barred their doors and lay cowering inside. The streets were empty of locals for as far as she could see.
A terrible dilemma confronted her. If she made through the streets she would become an easy target—if her urgency made her run, the more so. Although the Cemetery beasts presently had her recorded as irrelevant, if she did anything to arouse their suspicions they would requestion her. The slightest hint of Zahafezhan would bring the entire Cemetery upon her. And what of Zoahnône and the humans at the inn?
Above all, what of Alquazonan? Shônsair thought as she never had before. Had the Cemetery beasts known of the pregnancy they would surely have made straight for the Wild Network Guildhall. They had not. They must therefore know that Zahafezhan had been born, and that meant the men of Emeralddis who had attacked the Determinate Inn were behind this.
And what of Baigurgône? Had she orchestrated the raising, or had she suffered dissipation?
Shônsair knew she had to make for the Determinate Inn as soon as possible. The slightest guilty stutter from Manserphine or any of the others would bring catastrophe upon them. The same applied to any senior clerics of Our Sister Crone who found themselves caught. One slip…
Presently only a few serpentine beasts slithered through the drifts, their metal skins scraping against the dead hoverflies, a sound like foil crinkling. Shônsair could now hear the sounds of hammering on doors as the frustrated beasts, seeing empty streets, started forcing their way into houses. She knew she could not use even the darkest alley.
So she began struggling through back gardens, across gates and stiles, through damp fields. The beasts were keeping to streets and alleys, focussing their attentions on houses because that was where people lived. If she could follow tracks and fields south, she might make it. Close to her left lay the Woods, in places hidden by mist, only a few insects littering the ground. She followed its edge until she was due east of the Shrine of Our Sister Crone, then paused. Here she would have to make back into the built-up parts of the urb.
A few gardens lay before her. That was a start.
She struggled through them, then risked a paved alley cleared by local residents. A few more gardens followed, and then a track on which only huts and sheds had been built. She was now in areas she knew. A few more gardens and she was looking over the field behind the inn.
Morning mist helped her, a few banks rising from damp ground at the edge of the field. She jumped over a fence and made at top speed to the wicket gate at the far side, where she looked for Zahafezhan.
Zahafezhan was there, standing motionless in the back garden, her naked skin speckled with dew, her feet hidden under hoverfly drifts.
At the inn Shônsair tried to open the kitchen door, but it was locked. She tapped on a window.
Vishilkaïr noticed her. Urgently she signalled for him to let her in.
Inside, she discovered them all. Fortunately Manserphine had spent the night with Kirifaïfra. She said, “We are in desperate trouble. Somebody at the Shrine of the Green Man has offered a bargain sufficient to raise the entire Cemetery. The beasts are forcing their way into houses—”
“What are they doing?” Zoahnône interrupted.
“They seek Zahafezhan in Veneris. They know she is in this urb. If one person gives us away, we are doomed.”
Manserphine, white faced, said, “What can we do?”
“We have to leave Veneris,” Shônsair said. “The terms of the bargain will like as not be strict, so if we are lucky the beasts will only search this urb. We can perhaps save ourselves by taking Zahafezhan to another, but whatever we do, we must hide her.”
“But where?” Zoahnône asked.
“And how?” Vishilkaïr added.
“The way I came,” Shônsair said. “Our only hope is through the Woods.”
“But it’s full of men,” Manserphine protested.
“Zoahnône and I will fight them off if they attack us,” Shônsair said, “and we have weapons. If we can defeat five clerics, we can defeat any motley band of beggars.”
“You mean we’re coming with you?” Vishilkaïr said, indicating Kirifaïfra and himself.
“You have no choice,” Shônsair said. “This inn is known to certain people as a base. One accidental hint from Yamagyny or her kin, one direction from the clerics of the Green Man, and your inn will be torn stone from stone.”
“But Zahafezhan!” Manserphine cried, screwing up her face. “She’s not ready. She hasn’t walked a step.”
“She is attached to subterranean hardpetal veins,” Zoahnône replied. “We have to take a chance. She has not visibly changed for days. We must temporarily uproot her.”
“That’s a huge risk,” said Kirifaïfra.
“We have no time,” replied Shônsair. “Mists are evaporating. Soon the sun will be high and every garden will be watched. We have to go now!”
“I will lead,” Zoahnône said. “You all have five minutes. Pack bags. Food, weapons, water. Then return here.”
They stood stunned.
“Move now!”
Shônsair saw Manserphine hurry to the bay window and look out. “Too late!” Ma
nserphine gasped. “They’re here.”
She followed and peered out. From both left and right, Cemetery beasts were loping through the street drifts toward the inn.
~
Nuïy lay on his bed. It was early evening. The day had passed quietly, marked by lessons in grammar from Raïtasha.
The Shrine was quiet around him. He felt tired. Success made him want to relax, to reflect on his victories and on the reward the Green Man was sure to offer him. He dozed.
Somebody was hammering on his door.
He opened it to find Deomouvadaïn and two muscle-bound clerics. “Yes, Recorder-Shaman?” he said.
“Follow me.”
Nuïy felt a hint of trouble. “Where?”
“Hmph. To the Court of Heresy.”
Nuïy stood firm. Could they have guessed already? Only twelve hours had passed since the raising of the Cemetery.
“First, I wish to know why,” he declared.
Deomouvadaïn kneed him in the groin, then hit him over the back of the head as he bent over. “That’s my reason, Pinkeye. When I say follow, you follow.”
Nuïy was pulled to his feet by the clerics and frogmarched along the corridors of the Inner Sanctum to the Court of Heresy. He knew his end was close. This would be the final infraction.
The Court of Heresy was as before. Same chamber, same clerics. He stood in the dock wavering from the blow Deomouvadaïn had given him. With only one eye, he found focussing on the faces of any of the clerics before him difficult.
Sargyshyva first took a sip from a goblet of water, before saying, “So. There’s rumour of necromantic chaos in the hag urb, Pinkeye. What d’you know of this?”
“Nothing, First Cleric,” Nuïy replied. “I am constrained to the Shrine.”
For this remark, Deomouvadaïn hit him across the head with a piece of wood. Nuïy crumpled.
“Stand up,” Sargyshyva said.
“Less sarcasm,” Zehosaïtra suggested.
Nuïy wiped the blood from his good eye and tried to stand straight.
Sargyshyva continued, “So you know nothing, Pinkeye. How d’you explain the message we received early this morning?”
“Message?” Nuïy said.
“One of our guards received an electronic note from the Cemetery reality.”
Flowercrash Page 36
