The Memory of Sky

by Robert Reed

  But Diamond’s oddness was far bigger than that.

  Everybody knew how the boy could be cut and bruised and even burned, but those wounds always healed in a few recitations. Lucky people had seen that miracle a few times. Hurting the newcomer was a common game among children, and during those first days at school, Diamond was knocked down plenty and poked with his own fork. Everybody wanted to see a gouge that would seep blood for a moment or two, then scab over and vanish. Even teachers were fascinated by the tame carnage. Of course the guards put an end to that chaos. The worst children were sent home; parents were publicly insulted. Two of the Archon’s early visits were for no purpose but to assure everybody that she was proud of this school, and she reminded these decent people that they were deeply decent, and without using names, that warm and very tough little woman warned that charges would be filed and fat fines would be paid if this crap didn’t end.

  But accidents couldn’t be outlawed. Diamond wasn’t graceful, and the school’s big playroom was full of climbing bars and ropes—places where mistakes found ways to be made. It was loud news that day when he slipped and broke an arm. Everybody was shouting. Everyone wanted to push close and watch. Being in the front row was an honor, teachers outnumbering students two-to-one. It meant quite a lot being able to talk later about that short strange arm, how the wrist was fractured and the little hand that was riding at the wrong angle. The celebrity boy appeared uncomfortable but not in true pain, squirming as he looked at his countless new friends, and then he smiled as if embarrassed, tugging on his hand to set the bone, the entire wrist growing hot and the bone knitting, already half-done before the angry guards pushed their way through the spellbound crowd.

  But one schoolboy had tried even harder to hurt the boy.

  Karlan was huge and famously mean, feared by everyone, including teachers. The world knew that Karlan used a knife to gut Diamond as a toddler and later threw him off a landing. As Karlan’s little brother, Seldom would admit to those ugly incidents. But the young brother also swore that Diamond was never hurt for long, and that was long ago, and Karlan had learned some kind of lesson, because he never went near the boy anymore.

  Of course Diamond stood in the shadows of his bodyguards, and the guards had guns in deep holsters, and while Karlan enjoyed quite a few foul ideas, he was also undeniably smart.

  Ordinary troubles didn’t concern the guards. Since the Creation, bullies had been shaking coins out of little pockets. But every guard had also served as a soldier for the District, defending the borders from wilderness bandits and the hypothetical foes on the reef. Soldiers appreciated order, and with at least one black blimp moored to the school, the police were on hand. Incidents happened every few days. Sometimes Karlan was involved, and sometimes it just seemed like a good idea to bring the big fellow into the chief teacher’s office for a chat. One bodyguard would collect a couple of policemen, the three of them pulling Karlan aside. That was standard. That’s how much they respected his power and menace, even when the young man never fought with them. Sharper guards noted Karlan didn’t care about the stolen money or the general misery. Those little dramas were meant to give his day spice, and the spice came with armed men, always nervous, always ready, someone putting his bravest hand around the giant forearm, finding a steady voice before muttering, “Come with us. Please.”

  Diamond rarely saw his former tormentor, but that didn’t matter. Everybody in the school was safer because of the guards, and Diamond brought the guards every day, and that’s how the boy helped keep every student secure.

  A chain of easy thoughts had made him into a hero.

  That’s one reason why children watched for the blimp’s arrival, and that’s why several dozen of them always gathered on the walkway Diamond normally used. Being close to the famous boy was the goal. They hoped to bump elbows with him, to look close at that perfect skin, and if very lucky, trade a few words that could be added to a big story where the teller broiled at the center of attention.

  The guards didn’t like groups, but little kids weren’t much trouble.

  The orange-headed monkey had bigger fears, and that’s why Good always leaped onto Diamond’s left shoulder, not snarling and certainly not biting but looking quite ready to do both if this chaos grew any worse.

  Master Nissim’s classroom was a local landmark. Most people remembered when the man was only the school’s butcher. His finger remembered too, its tip missing. He had a good deep teacher’s voice and odd ideas about many subjects that no reasonable head could follow, and he was the perfect tutor for an odd, odd boy.

  That morning, nineteen students escorted the celebrity into the bright blue schoolhouse, straight to the Nissim’s room. Diamond usually made a point of thanking them, although there wasn’t much life in his voice. Manners were a chore, as every young boy understands. But even when his mind was wandering, Diamond remembered each face and every name, and he used their names while wishing each a very good day.

  That was another piece of magic from the creature. It was impossible not to smile when you heard your name from that strange mouth.

  Customs had evolved over several hundred days. But not every custom was understood, which was why a very young girl pushed close, handing Diamond a piece of jewelry that she had made without help—a clumsy colorful mess of icebeetle carapaces fused together with common white glue.

  Looking at the carnage, Diamond said nothing.

  Elata closed his hand, and speaking for her friend, she said, “Thank you, thank you.”

  “It’s for his mother,” the girl said.

  “It’s very pretty,” Elata lied.

  “My name’s Prue.”

  Diamond knew that already. The girl’s classroom was down the hall. She was barely a thousand days old, probably not reading yet, but she smiled at him as if he meant everything. He couldn’t help but feel good about that smile.

  A giant horn blared, urging everybody to class.

  Prue didn’t want to turn away.

  “Thank you,” Diamond finally said.

  The little girl stood up taller, and she looked ready to cry.

  Tar`ro and Bits were ushering the others towards their classes—not the noblest work, pretending to be teachers.

  “It’s for your mom,” the girl repeated.

  Diamond said, “Yes.”

  “My mother wanted me to do this,” said Prue.

  Diamond nodded.

  Then she made a glad smile to show how amiable she was. “My mother wants us to get married,” she confessed. “But I’m not old enough. I will be, but not today.”

  Laughter led the way into the classroom.

  Master Nissim was standing behind an old bark-and-heart desk that he rescued from the school’s trash. Every drawer had its own way of sticking, and one leg had been repaired by a sloppy carpenter, leaving a distinctive tilt. But their teacher claimed to like the gouges and mysterious pale stains decorating the desk’s historic top, and in particular, he liked the slick bright face of its caramel-colored wood. Selected books stood in neat stacks, flanking a tablet of lined paper. There was also a broad coral bowl full of pens and charcoal sticks and—kept as ornaments—a corona’s broken tooth and an intact corona’s scale, plus the pickled chrysalis from a giant green thunderfly.

  Nissim was tall, almost a giant, sporting a butcher’s forearms and big hands. A plain face was wrapped around bright black eyes, and inside the man was a smile that could fill the room. But the smile was hiding. A stern voice, deep and disapproving, asked, “Now what is so funny, my boy?”

  Everybody was laughing, but the Master was staring at Diamond.

  Dipping his head, Diamond said, “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Maybe you should be. But I want to know why you were giggling.”

  Why was he?

  “Because that girl wants to marry him,” Seldom offered.

  “I am sorry, Seldom. I was speaking to Diamond.”

  Nissim had a warm nature, and in d
ifferent circumstances he would be everyone’s favorite uncle, the jokester in the middle of the fun and the storyteller who went last because nobody would willingly follow him. But he ran his classroom as if this was the Grand University in the District of Districts. Manners and tone were as important as facts and calculations. Every student existed inside a ring that defined what was proper, and if the most important pupil stepped out of the ring, he would suffer a well-deserved dressing down.

  Diamond was self-conscious, wary. “I don’t know why I was laughing, sir.”

  “Well, I think I do,” the Master said.

  Everybody paused. Even the guards seemed curious. Only Good ignored the coming lesson, jumping off the boy’s shoulder to scramble onto the windowsill.

  But just as the tensions rose, Nissim said, “Later. We’ll talk this through later.”

  Six students were already sitting at their desks, books open and lessons begun. Invitations to join this class came only from the Master, and nobody was certain about his reasons. Intelligence was rewarded, and he was a champion of imagination, but there were smarter, more artistic students sitting bored and unappreciated in the ordinary classrooms. These six were bright enough, but all of them were older than Diamond, and as a rule, each of them tended to be suspicious and sometimes hostile towards him.

  “Humans are social beasts,” Nissim liked to say. “You need to learn how to get along with them.”

  “I feel human,” Diamond would respond.

  “And you’re putting the emphasis on the wrong word, my beast.”

  Three empty desks waited beside the open window. Their classroom was perched just under the highest roof. The police blimp had already locked its anchor arm with the overhead iron loop, and now it was floating close to the window but not too close. A black-clad officer was linking the blimp’s call-lines to the school’s lines and the world’s, and the growling engines began throttling down, preparing for the day’s sleep.

  Seldom sat in front of Diamond, always, and Elata was directly behind him. The classroom was meant for twice as many students, but the extra floor space had been consumed by tools and distractions. Reinforced bookcases held a library as big as the school’s, drawn from Nissim’s stocks as well as donated by the local Archon. Heavy, historic tables held scientific equipment, including microscopes and dissection kits and growth chambers and fancy corpses floating inside thick-walled jars. Cages controlled what was small enough and tough enough to survive captivity. The final three desks were dedicated to the guards. Tar`ro usually claimed the desk beside the door, while today Bits took the back wall and Sophia sat facing the classroom from the window-side front corner, looking like a second teacher ready to leap in should Nissim lose his way.

  Bits was in charge of both receivers—the school call-line and the secure line to the Ivory Station. Regulations required waving to the blimp, letting them know that they were in place, and then he lifted the line to the Station, informing Prima’s office that they had arrived and everything was normal.

  Diamond often spent the first recitation staring out the window. The window was a long rectangle protected at night by heavy shutters that were lowered and stowed after the rain. Living higher up on Marduk and on the opposite side, he normally faced smaller trees and the distant wilderness. This vista was dominated by Rail and Hanner—enormous blackwoods, thicker and even older than their home tree. Each giant was surrounded by huge reaches of empty air. There was always blimp traffic that wanted to be watched, and there were birds and leatherwings, and certain species of insects preferred flying in the damp brilliance of morning, and even after endless practice, Diamond couldn’t keep track of which creature made what music, squawk or shrill whistle or weightless trill.

  Nissim was giving the newcomers instructions.

  Seldom opened the right book and found the proper page.

  “Which page?” Elata asked.

  Diamond knew. He wasn’t consciously listening but still knew, except that he didn’t offer any help today. He had already disappointed the Master, and silence seemed to be the best course.

  With a yelling whisper, Seldom told her the page number.

  Thin netting covered the otherwise open window, keeping wildlife outside. Good was leaning against the screen, in a place dented by hundreds of past naps, contentedly closing his eyes.

  Beneath the sill, stacked in neat heaps, were cloth sacks painted red and needing no further explanations.

  Diamond opened the textbook.

  “ ‘There are colors of light that humans cannot see,’ ” the Master read aloud, “ ‘and we rely on our machines to define them. But what if there are shades and tones and even nations of color that our best devices cannot define? What if we are so blind that we don’t know how to put a measure to our blindness?’ ”

  Silly questions deserved abuse, and Tar`ro laughed.

  Too polite to do the same, Sophia showed a smile and nothing more.

  The guards often believed that the Master’s ideas were idiotic. They kept every opinion secret in the beginning, but familiarity put an end to that sanction. And besides, the teacher welcomed their scoffing attitudes.

  “They are the voice of the world,” Nissim would say with force.

  Lessons wrapped in lessons: that was the ex-butcher’s way.

  Once again, the Master said, “Blindness.”

  Everybody was sitting up straight.

  “Let’s discuss the idea,” he said.

  Everybody had the opportunity, and they knew it.

  Diamond kept his arm from lifting. Three of the older students had the first say, and then Seldom, and Diamond listened to every word even as his eyes watched blimps dropping toward the canopy and lifting when they made the return route. Then the school call-line came alive, its distinctive buzz ending when Bits lifted the receiver.

  “Yeah?” the guard said.

  Sometimes Diamond heard the voice on the other end, but not today.

  Bits offered a hard curse.

  Seldom’s ideas were finished, or maybe he had merely stopped talking. Either way, everybody else had turned in their desk, watching the man who was sitting erect against the back wall.

  The handset had to be returned to its cradle, and Bits looked at everyone, the usual smile missing.

  Tar`ro had the highest rank. He leaned forward, asking, “What’s wrong?”

  “Karlan,” said Bits.

  Seldom spun and sat straighter. “What did my brother do?”

  “Just slugged two teachers.” The guard sucked air between his teeth. “And he’s battling a couple others right now. He’s too damned big to bring down.”

  Tar`ro cursed.

  But it was Sophia who stood up. “I’ll go help, I guess.”

  “Not you,” said Tar`ro. “Where is the bastard?”

  Bits named a classroom four stories below.

  Tar`ro got up, and talking to himself, he said, “No.” One possibility had been thrown aside without being discussed. Then to Sophia and Bits, he said, “Stay here. Both of you stay. I won’t be long.”

  He left.

  Whenever Karlan’s name was mentioned, Sophia’s eyes grew big. But her fear triggered a sense of duty, the need to help take care of this problem.

  Bits watched his colleague standing at the front of the room.

  She looked down at her little desk.

  “Go,” said Bits.

  She thought about sitting, and she thought about following.

  “I can handle this crew myself,” Bits said.

  The police blimp was huge but not close. The morning breezes always pushed it as far out into the air as possible. Only one young officer was watching the classroom, plainly untroubled by whatever he was hearing and seeing. Meanwhile the Master and every student had fallen silent, each watching the tiny drama play out. Nobody was moving, except for Seldom, who squirmed in pain while he imagined what his fierce brother must be doing and what it would mean to his family.

  “No, I’
ll go,” Bits said. “That kid’s a terror. You stay here.”

  Diamond focused on Elata’s book, the printed page begging to be read.

  Then Sophia muttered, “No, I’m going,” and the woman’s feet slipped across the smooth planks of the floor, carrying her out of the room.

  Normalcy tried to return.

  Diamond looked at the police blimp and then turned his eyes forwards. The Master smiled at no one in particular, and then glancing at Diamond, he said, “Remind us. What were we just talking about?”

  The boy repeated phrases and sentences, pointing at each speaker in turn.

  The monkey was dreaming, one cheek pressed against the dished-out screen.

  Two recitations and part of a third had passed since Sophia left, and that’s when what might have been nothing was felt. Everyone in the room noticed what wasn’t very large. There was no movement but there was the possibility of movement, subtle and then gone in the next moment. And then suddenly, instantly, the outdoor air was jammed with desperate birds, and insects boiled out of every crack and wormhole on the tree, and Good screamed as he woke, giving the room one wild glare before jumping on his boy, biting Diamond hard on his little nose.

  TWO

  One forest filled the top of the world, while a smaller, simpler forest thrived inside the relentless mind, and stretched tight between those two realms—the real and the imagined—was a creature named Quest.

  Quest was flesh, liquid, and ever changing. She was invention and potential and the utter absence of play. She was emotion, joy, and wild wonder buoying the flesh upwards while metal-clad fears constantly threatened to drag her off her perch. But this morning hadn’t been especially fearful. She rode the light winds and drank the rain before eating a city of beggar bees, and then swollen by the bodies and their honey, she pulled herself into the shape and feel of a mature sap-thief.

  Her roost was high in the wilderness, on the fringes of the Corona District. She came here as often as she went anywhere. A human boy lived in the District, except the boy wasn’t human, and she saw him by chance once but the next eleven events were done by design.