Spirits in the Wires

by Charles de Lint

  “Suzi… ?” Aaran said.

  She focused hard on his face. Maybe if she didn’t look at anything else, it would all go away. The fraying walls. And this new sensation … like something was grabbing at her, reaching deep into her chest…

  Don’t look away from him, she told herself. Focus.

  But a mild vertigo slid through her. She swayed and then made the mistake of looking down to keep her balance.

  And saw her hands.

  She lifted them up, not quite sure what she was seeing.

  “Jesus,” someone said.

  Her hands were unraveling, just like the walls. She could see the molecules that made up her flesh and bone, except they looked more like the pixels of a Web photo with really bad resolution.

  She lifted her gaze back to Aaran’s face. It was like looking through gauze, as though her eyes were shivering apart, just like her hands.

  “What…” She could hardly speak. “What’s happening to me?”

  No one replied. She looked at them, one by one, but they only stared back at her with incomprehension, in horror.

  Her own growing panic exploded full-blown.

  Her legs crumpled beneath her, but before she hit the floor, a shaft of light burst out of Estie’s laptop and darted for the three computer towers around Jackson’s desk. Parts of it were blue, others gold, all of it woven together like a braid. In an instant all four machines were connected by it, forming not quite a circle, not quite a square. Then the braid of light sent out a shaft, straight as a laser beam, right for her chest.

  There was no time to dodge. No time at all.

  At the moment of contact, there was a brief instant where nothing existed for her. The light entered her like a flashlight beam cutting through shadows. It enveloped the pixels that her flesh had become, and she was gone, lost in a soundless void, devoid of any tactile sensation. But almost before she could react to her new environment, that void was gone as suddenly as though a switch had been thrown. She was back in Jackson’s apartment, floating a few feet up in the air, and everything was changed.

  The flesh and blood world was gone, or if not gone, utterly transformed. This new version of it was like finding herself transported inside a Saturday morning cartoon. Or some computer game with primitive graphics that was making a valiant, though less than successful, attempt at three-dimensionality.

  Almost as strange was that her panic had disappeared along with the world as it was supposed to be. Here, in this new version of the world, she was the calm eye in a storm of garish colour, bold linework, and bad animation.

  The looks on the faces of her companions now seemed exaggerated, almost comical. She wanted to laugh at Estie and Tip’s big round eyes, the exaggerated “O” that was Aaran’s mouth. Mrs. Landis appeared to have fainted. She lay in a slapstick sprawl that made her limbs seem to be out of proportion. Claudette stood with her back pressed up against the wall, cartoon hands held defensively in front of her.

  But Suzi’s humour faded as she returned her attention to the braided bands of gold and blue that still connected her to Estie’s computer and Jackson’s three towers. The ray had changed from a laser-straight beam to an undulating tendril that felt as much a part of her as her arms and legs. And now it connected her to … not so much an orb of light, as a portal of some sort, in which the beams of light had broken up to become pale swirls of blue and gold. Forming in the pattern they made was the impression of a figure, indistinct, but shaped like a human. Beyond the figure she could see endless rows of what looked like bookcases, hundreds of thousands of them disappearing into an infinity point.

  “Child,” the figure said.

  The voice was soft, but resonant. It had a mother’s strength, a father’s warmth, and that one word it spoke was like a key, unlocking knowledge inside her. She knew who this was, half hidden in the swirl of blues and golds.

  It was the spirit of the Wordwood.

  At first she thought it was addressing only her, but the same inner knowledge that let her recognize the spirit for who it was also told her that she was only one of many. In other places—she didn’t know exactly where, some close, some distant—other people floated in the air just like her, connected to the Wordwood spirit through the closest electronic device and by their own undulating braids of light. They were all individual, but once they had each been a part of this being in its library of light. The life history she remembered had been constructed for her, just as each of the others had had their own life histories constructed for them. They’d been sent out … sent out to …

  It took her a long moment to pull her gaze from the world inside the swirling lights to focus on Aaran’s cartoonish features.

  They’d been sent out to track down those responsible for the virus that had crippled the Wordwood spirit. Sent out to track them down and bring them to a place such as this, where the spirit itself could have physical access to them.

  “Our enemies are found,” the spirit said. “You can come home now where I will deal with them, or you may keep your new life. The choice is yours. Consider it payment for how you have helped me.”

  “What will you do to him?” Suzi found herself asking.

  The spirit’s gazed settled on her and she knew that it was seeing only her now, not all the other pieces of itself that it had given individuality to and then sent out into the world.

  “That remains to be decided,” it told her. It paused a moment, then added, “He was not alone.”

  Suzi nodded. She knew. The spirit had probably found out about both Aaran and Jackson through her.

  “I think,” the spirit went on, “that I will bring the tenets of the Old Testament to bear upon them. I will do to them what they did to me. Sever all the ties that link their minds to their bodies. The ties that give their thoughts coherence. That link their cells to each other.”

  “That will kill them,” Suzi said.

  “Not necessarily. It didn’t kill me.”

  “But you’re not human.”

  “They should have considered that before they began this.”

  “They didn’t know. They thought you were just a Web site.”

  The spirit regarded her steadily. “Ignorance is a state of being, not an excuse.”

  A state of being for Aaran and Jackson. And also for her.

  A coal of anger began to smolder and glow in her chest. The spirit of the Wordwood had used her, her and all the others it had sent out. Given them lives, identities, made them think they were real. That they had been born, had families, friends. Or in her case, a family and friends that had dissolved into ruined relationships around her. But it had still been her history. Her life.

  Except it hadn’t, had it?

  The Wordwood had created perfect moles with her and the others. Spies hidden so deep under cover that even they hadn’t known who or what they were until they were activated by the one who had created them and then sent them out. To do what? In her case, it was to betray others the way she’d been betrayed herself. By a violent husband. Family and friends that turned their backs on her. A sister that hated her.

  No, she told herself. Those memories weren’t real. She had never been betrayed—not unless you counted what the Wordwood spirit had done to her.

  Aaran might have been a little shit to other people—what was she saying? Of course he had been. But he hadn’t been like that with her and he hadn’t betrayed her. He hadn’t known what was going to happen when he got Jackson to bring down the Wordwood site. Who could have guessed a simple computer virus would cause so much harm? And when he found out, he’d tried to make right.

  But it was obvious that the Wordwood spirit didn’t see it in the same way. The part of her that was connected to the spirit knew that it wasn’t some bookish, kind-hearted being, merely defending itself. It was an amoral creature, reacting to how you interacted with it. Converse with it and it would happily converse back. Use its resources for research and it would open the doors of its virtual library
to you.

  But attack, and it would strike back. Hard, without consideration of extenuating circumstances.

  She doubted that it had ever initiated a single random act of kindness in its life.

  “And the others?” she asked. “The people that were pulled into … into your world?”

  “They are not our concern.”

  But they were. At least she felt they were.

  How could that be, if she was only an errant piece of this amoral spirit? Shouldn’t she feel the same as it did? Or had she truly become her own person once the Wordwood had sent her out into the world, tied to it only by this service it had needed her to perform?

  They weren’t questions for which she had answers. She didn’t have them now. She might never have them. But she did know one thing.

  “You can’t have him,” she told the spirit.

  “How can you stop me?” it replied.

  She looked down at the rippling cord of light that bound her to the Wordwood. Reaching down, she found that the braided beams of gold and blue actually had substance. It was like holding onto warm, firm gel that squirmed in her grasp.

  “How about if I do this?” she asked.

  Tightening her grip, she gave a hard yank.

  She hadn’t known what to expect. She hadn’t even really thought about what she was doing. It was an action born out of frustration and anger, not reason.

  The beam broke in two.

  Light flared so bright she was blinded and thrown violently backward. She hit the wall behind her, hard enough to knock the breath out of her before she slid down to the floor. But the pain of that was nothing compared to what exploded inside her chest. It felt like something was being torn out of her. Her heart. Her lungs. The hurt was so intense that she blacked out for a moment.

  When she opened her eyes, stars flashed in her gaze. But the cartoon world was gone. As was the portal through which she’d accessed the Word-wood spirit.

  She took a breath and almost cried at the pain it woke in her chest. Her hands hurt, too—from where she’d gripped the beam of light—but looking down she could see no physical damage. Just as there wasn’t a hole in her chest for all that it felt like there should be.

  Aaran finally stirred and moved towards her. He still looked a little stunned, but concern for her seemed to be bringing him out of his shock.

  “Get… we have to … get out…” she managed to say as he knelt down beside her.

  She tried to get up.

  “Easy,” he told her. “Maybe you shouldn’t try to move just yet.”

  She looked past him. Didn’t anybody feel the urgency she did? Tip stood staring at the space where the Wordwood spirit had opened its portal into this world. Estie was white-faced as she looked at her hands, turning them up and down as though to reassure herself that they were flesh once more. Claudette was helping Mrs. Landis to her feet. They acted as though they had all the time in the world.

  Suzi wasn’t connected to the Wordwood anymore, but that didn’t stop her from feeling the approaching storm of the spirit’s wrath.

  “No, we…” She took another painful breath. “We have to get out.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  Talking so sharply hurt, but at least it galvanized Aaran, if not the others. He helped her stand up and she took a faltering step towards the door. That made Aaran follow her, if only to keep her from falling down.

  “Get them out of here,” she told him when they reached the doorway.

  He nodded. Still holding onto her, he looked back into the room.

  “Suzi says we have to get out of here,” he said. “Right away.”

  Estie looked up from her hands to frown at Suzi.

  “What did you do to us?” she demanded.

  “She didn’t do anything,” Aaran said. “You saw what happened. It was the spirit of the Wordwood. Suzi saved your ass.”

  “Saved your ass, you mean,” Claudette said.

  Estie nodded, her hard gaze never leaving Suzi’s face. “Where did you take us? What was that place?”

  “I… I didn’t…”Suzi began.

  “Like hell you didn’t,” Claudette said.

  She was supporting Mrs. Landis, much the way Aaran was helping Suzi stay on her feet, but the landlady was in worse shape. She appeared to be shell-shocked, unable to focus on anything. Beside her, Claudette glared at Suzi, the vague animosity she’d shown earlier now full-blown.

  Suzi looked away and started to move out into the hall, using the door-jamb, and then the walls, to support herself. The pain in her chest was lessening but it still hurt to breathe too sharply.

  “Just… just get them out of there,” she told Aaran over her shoulder.

  “You heard her,” Aaran told the others.

  “Screw you,” Claudette said. “If she says leave, I’m guessing the safest thing we can do is stay right here where we are.”

  “Suit yourself,” Aaran said.

  He turned to go into the hall himself.

  “No,” Suzi said when she saw he was abandoning the others. “We can’t just leave them behind.”

  “We can’t force—” Aaran began.

  He never got to finish.

  Estie’s notebook exploded—not in a shower of metal and plastic and circuitry, which would have been bad enough. Instead it was like it had turned into a geyser, spewing out a towering fountain of some thick black fluid. The liquid went straight up from the laptop, moving at such velocity that when it hit the ceiling, it sprayed out over everything in the room, drenching people and furnishings alike. Estie and the others cried out in panic, frantically wiping the black goop from their faces.

  Aaran stood in the doorway, dumbstruck for a long moment. Then he started forward, only to be stopped when Suzi grabbed his arm. The sudden movement made her wince with pain, but she knew she had to stop him from going in.

  “It’s too late,” she said. “Remember what happened to the others that got caught in that stuff.”

  “But—”

  “We’ve got to find higher ground,” she said, pointing at how the liquid had pooled onto the floor and was now flooding in their direction.

  Aaran nodded, understanding now.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Unless that stuff can move up hill, the stairs are our best bet.”

  He bent slightly, lifted Suzi behind the knees so that most of her weight was on his shoulder, then staggered to the stairs. He deposited her a few steps up, just before the liquid began to pool against the first riser. They couldn’t see into the apartment any more, but they could still hear the sound of the gushing liquid and the cries of those they’d had to leave behind.

  Then there was only the sound of the fountaining geyser.

  The liquid rose to the top of the first riser and began to flood the second one.

  Without speaking, they started up the stairs, Aaran supporting Suzi as they slowly climbed one riser after the other. The light was either turned off or burned out in the halls and stairwell, so their progress was slow and further encumbered by Suzi’s pain. The next flight past the third floor wasn’t any better.

  They didn’t stop until they reached the door to the roof. The handle wouldn’t move and for a moment they thought it might be locked. Aaran cranked down hard on it, putting his shoulder to the door’s metal panel. On his second try, the door popped open with a squeal, and then they were outside on the gravel rooftop. Aaran waited until Suzi was through before he slammed the heavy door behind them.

  Twilight had fallen while they were inside, but even its half-light seemed bright after the dark stairwell. The air was humid, still holding the heat of the day, and they both began to perspire—as much from the close air as their recent exertion.

  Suzi pressed her hands against her chest. It didn’t stop the sharp pain when she breathed, but it helped ease the worst of it—or at least the physical aspect of it. She didn’t know if anything would quell the hopeless sense of loss she was also s
uffering. She bore no love for the Wordwood spirit, had no idea of the connection between them until it had told her. But now that the link had been severed, there was an ache inside that felt ready to swallow her whole.

  “Are you okay?” Aaran asked.

  She nodded, then led the way to the edge of roof. There was a low wall running around the building and someone had laid down some bamboo mats—for sunbathing, she supposed. She let her knees sink down on them and leaned her forearms on the wall.

  “That was horrible,” Aaran said. “God, I can’t believe how everything’s gotten so out of control.”

  “Things just happen,” Suzi said. “You’ll go crazy trying to shoulder the blame for everything.”

  “Except I did set this whole thing off.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “Like the spirit said, ignorance isn’t an excuse.”

  She couldn’t see his face, but she knew how bad he was feeling from his voice.

  “It’s done,” she said. “We should concentrate on what we’re going to do now instead of worrying about blame.”

  “I suppose.”

  She understood how he felt. After what they’d just been through, it was hard to concentrate on much of anything. For her part, she just wanted to be held for a moment. To have some human contact. To know that she was flesh and blood, that she could feel and be felt. But knowing how Aaran had originally felt about her when he’d met her on the street, she didn’t think it was such a good idea right now. It would only complicate an already messy day.

  “You really did save my life back there,” Aaran said suddenly.

  Suzi turned from the view to look at him. “You pretty much carried me up the stairs, so I think we’re even.”

  “I meant in the room when … when the world went all strange.” He paused, his gaze steady on her. “That happened, didn’t it? You were floating in the air and everything was like some kind of cartoon?”

  She nodded. “I think the spirit pulled the room into some part of cyberspace.”