The Circus Infinitus - Genesis Infinitus

by Ethan Somerville

  Del felt a sudden urge to sit down, and turned, searching for a seat. He couldn’t see a bed of any kind down here. Finally, he noticed a wooden stool under the work bench and trudged wearily over to it.

  The next thing Del knew, he was sprawled on the floor, blinking up at a strange face surrounded by a cloud of smoke. He sat up with a start, realising that he must have fainted. Shreds of dreams departed. He couldn’t remember them, but they must have been bad. A cold sweat shrouded him despite the blazing heat of the room and the powerful stench of smoke and sulphur.

  He assumed the face belonged to the cyborg creature he had helped. He had shed the hat and scarf, revealing half his head to be that dull, dark metal studded with rivets. His jaw was steel as well, a grille where his mouth should have been. Only his nose, one bright blue eye and part of his head remained. His skin was a very pale grey and scarred at the edges where his flesh met metal. Definitely not one of my people, Del thought. The Eridon Li Kari did not scar. But what features remained looked surprisingly like Del’s own. And the one flesh hand he could see also looked similar, with five fingers and long pointed fingernails. Del lifted his own hand, realizing with a jolt that his own nails were long as well. They definitely hadn’t been so clawlike before. Had he aged during his transference?

  “Who are you?” rasped the cyborg.

  “My name is Delsaron Delfay,” Del answered, then sprang to his feet in surprise. “Wait – I understood you!”

  “I thought it would save trouble.”

  “B-but how?”

  “Not important. What are you?”

  Del started at the gunfire of questions. “What am I? I’m an Eridon Li Kari! What are you?”

  “Not important. How did you get here?”

  Del lifted a hand. “Not important? You’re the one who shot at me! If you want me to answer your questions, how about answering some of mine first? What about your name?”

  The cyborg gave a hiss of frustration. “Very well. Since … we seem to be stuck with each other. My name is Icarus Abbacus. I am…” Suddenly, he seemed at a loss to explain himself. Del thought he sounded rusty. Not literally, but metaphorically, as though he hadn’t spoken to anyone for a very long time. “I am a mechanologist,” he said eventually.

  “A what?”

  “I work with machines,”

  “Ah, an engineer.”

  “I suppose. This is my laboratory.”

  “Now, why did you chase me?”

  “Because you came from the portal. I assumed you were an Immaterial demon. I realise now that you’re not. Eridon Li Kari? What is that? You look human, but you certainly don’t smell it.”

  “Huuumann…” Del rubbed his forehead and felt an odd mark between his brows. It stung like a freshly healed scab. What was it? “Human … human beings?” he exclaimed. “I’m on Earth?”

  “Yes. This is not your world?”

  “No, my planet is Eridon. My people exiled me for…” He dropped his gaze. “Murder.”

  If Icarus was surprised by Del’s confession, he gave no sign. “How did you come here?”

  “Via a fifth dimensional transportation unit, designed to open portals between realms. A computer chose a set of coordinates at random, the only parameters being that the world should be pre-technological and able to support life. I never realised it would send me here.”

  Icarus rubbed his chin with his other hand, a mechanical claw the same colour as his head. There was a squeal of metal on metal and Del cringed at the high-pitched noise. “No wonder I assumed you had come from the Immaterium. You would have passed through there to come here.”

  “What is this Immaterium?”

  “The featureless nothing between realms, inhabited by bodiless spirits who crave entrance here. They hunger constantly, seeking a way in. I do what I can to keep them out.”

  Del suddenly remembered the creatures who had accosted him in the darkness. Could they have been Immaterial spirits? The mark on his head stung again. “Have you got a mirror? I must find out what is on my head.”

  “What the hell would I need a mirror for?” growled Icarus. “I gave up trying to look pretty centuries ago.” But he started rummaging around the work bench anyway, shifting things aside and poking in boxes. Eventually he found a very ancient looking mirror with a dusty, cracked glass. He tried to polish it with a sleeve, but his leather coat only succeeded in making it even dirtier.

  Del gave it another clean and squinted at his own reflection, at first not seeing anything different. His skin was still very clear and pale, his lips blood-red, his catlike eyes a bright emerald green. His long, straight chestnut-coloured hair framed his face in tangled rat-tails.

  But between his eyebrows lay a red mark, a wound that hadn’t healed and never would. It resembled a stylized bird in flight, wings arcing out above his brows.

  It was the mark of Singularity, the mark all Necronites wore. Only it was blood red instead of black. Del screamed and threw the mirror from him. It smashed on the hard stone floor.

  “What did you do that for?” shouted Icarus. “I didn’t think you looked that bad!” He scurried over to the fragments of his mirror. “I’ve been holding onto this for centuries!”

  Ignoring him, Del clapped a hand over his head and turned away, his mind in turmoil. How had he been branded? It must have happened while he was in transit, while he was passing through that cold, dark realm! That emptiness full of demonic voices might not have been the Immaterium after all, but rather … the Pit of Dark Flame!

  He sank back down onto the stool in despair. The unholy realm of Necronis was supposed to be sealed off from the rest of the multiverse, blocked forever from access. But a fifth dimensional transportation unit could break through – this same thought had consumed that Necronite priest Shansaric Aelsan. And somehow Delsaron had been pushed right through the Wall of Fire and into the darkness, into the waiting arms of the Dark God and his followers. His guts clenched as he realised who those voices had belonged to, the ones who had managed to grab hold of him.

  But that still didn’t answer the question of why he had been sent to Hell. That is until he recalled the dimensional stabiliser – the one Adelrid had pushed down to minimum. That vile, sadistic youth had condemned him! Del’s stomach contracted again. He wanted to be sick, but nothing came up. Then he realised someone was standing over him. He looked up, realising it was Icarus, holding the broken bits of his mirror. Slowly he returned to reality.

  “Are … are you alright?” Icarus asked uncertainly. Del realised that concern did not come easily to him.

  Del still had his hand over his head. Slowly he lowered it. Icarus stared at the mark.

  “It doesn’t look that bad. It should be gone in a few weeks.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s a brand, a mark of damnation. It will never heal. And one day, guaranteed, it will fade to black … along with my soul. You were right. I am a demon. I passed right through Hell to get here. You might as well pick up that electric rifle of yours and send me back there, because there is no hope for me. I carry the cancer of the Dark God inside me.” He dropped his head into his hands.

  “I can’t shoot you now, not after you helped me. A demon wouldn’t have done that. A demon would have left me for the police to find.” He deposited the bits of mirror on his work bench. “I suppose I can glue these together,” he muttered. “I don’t like any Immaterial beings, but I only hunt a specific clutch of demons – those accursed followers of Abraxas. They’ve been after me for years, especially that scum-sucking slime Vladrakov.”

  “Abraxas? Never heard of him.”

  “A lesser god of the Immaterium.” Icarus gave a humourless chuckle. “Even realms of nothingness have their own gods.”

  Del rubbed his head, starting to feel overwhelmed again. He decided it would be best he didn’t think about the mark too much. “You might as well tell me where I am. I know this is Earth, but that’s about it.”

  “You’re in the city of
London. Or rather under it. The Thames is that way, and on the other side of that wall is the river Fleet. It’s been covered over.” He pointed out the directions. “This is the year…” He tailed off. “Well bugger me, I have no idea! I’ve been lurking down here so bloody long I’ve lost all track of time.”

  “You did mention you had been around for centuries. I take it that’s not normal for a human?”

  “I’m about as far from normal as you can get!” Icarus laughed again. “I think it’s still daytime upstairs. You might want to go for a wander. You, at least, look human enough to walk about. Although that pretty face of yours might attract a bit of attention. I’ll stay down here … where I’ve always stayed.”

  A walk would clear Del’s head. And he wanted a better look at his new surroundings. He was also beginning to suspect that the mysterious Icarus wasn’t entirely sane. Still – a gloomy cellar was as good a base to start from. “Very well. I will be back.”

  “See if you can find out the date. I’m interested to know.”

  Icarus instructed him on how to find his way back through the labyrinth, and Del crept out of the alley and into a larger cross-street. A bright golden light immediately stabbed into retinas that had grown accustomed to the subterranean gloom. He squinted, trying to adjust. Despite a thick layer of smog there was very little cloud, enabling a bright yellow sun to blaze down. Del scuttled into the shade, where he immediately felt better. On his world, a thick layer of cloud protected the Li Kari people from the sun, hence their large eyes and pale skin.

  Even so, Del’s presence didn’t attract undue attention. The first human beings he spotted looked very similar to him, although their skins appeared rougher and hairier. When he’d gotten used to the light, the warm air and all the weird smells of the day, he ventured down the lane, brushing past several roughly-dressed women carrying buckets to a communal tap. He attempted to look into the mind of one. To his relief he found the task difficult, but not impossible. Her feelings were the easiest to divine, with only a minimum of effort, and he was able to plumb her surface thoughts as well. She was tired and sore, fed up with being poor. Her mind told him she needed to make several trips to the tap to fetch enough water for her growing family.

  Even though she appeared very old to Delsaron, she was only twenty seven Earth years of age – and pregnant for the sixth time. He withdrew, realising that his probing was making her nervous and glance over her shoulder. She felt like she was being watched, and he quickly averted his gaze from her.

  He realised he needed a drink himself and joined the end of the line at the tap. His stomach growled. He would have to find food as well. Something told him that Icarus wouldn’t have any. Could he even derive sustenance from what humans ate? He would be in trouble if he couldn’t. He could exist on energy for a while, but he would lose body mass, eventually becoming as skinny as s skeleton.

  When he reached the tap he took a long drink. The water tasted foul, but at least it was wet and cold. He washed his face and hands. Aware the locals were staring at him, wondering who he was, he departed the lane for busier streets in which he could lose himself. Picking his way back through more side lanes, he soon came to a broad thoroughfare crowded with individuals from all walks of life. For several minutes he simply stood and stared at the myriad of people; short, tall, fat, thin, dark, light – a far greater and more intriguing variety than his own people. Men had hair of varying lengths and some even cultivated hair on their faces – something Eridons hadn’t been able to do for generations. He swept across a few minds, hoping to find out more about this world, but the surface tidbits told him very little. He would have to totally immerse himself in this milieu.

  He glanced down at his grey prison tunic; drab by Eridon standards and plain by human, and decided that if he wanted to fit in, he would need some new clothes. Crossing the road, he spotted a tailor’s wedged in between a pie shop and a hat store. Unfortunately he didn’t have any money. Would his crippled suggestive abilities even work? Only one way to find out. He slipped into the tailor’s shop. Before he could examine the wares on display, a portly, smiling man with impressive sideburns approached him. Del could tell from his feelings that he was happy to get such a tall, handsome customer, but deeper he was concerned about the fellow’s ability to pay. Despite his aristocratic features, he was dressed in what appeared to be a dirty work tunic…

  The tailor said something, and Del had to remain inside his head to figure out his words. “I take it you’re after some new clothes? Fortunately, we have something here that will fit you.”

  Del nodded, hoping the gesture which signified assent on Eridon meant the same thing here. Apparently it did, for the man immediately started pulling out garments and holding them up to him. Del pointed out things he liked; a cloak, a white silk shirt, a red waistcoat and matching cravat and narrow blue trousers. Then the man stopped and asked something else. Del, still inside his thoughts, broke into a sweat. Mind-reading while he was so incapacitated was hard work! In the old days he would have been able to absorb all the fellow’s memories! Now he was sure he was even weaker than the average Eridon!

  The man questioned him again. “And how will you be paying?” Del translated. He could tell the man was getting irritated, thinking that Del was a penniless vagrant.

  This is the moment of truth, Del thought, and held out a hand. Luckily, the man was thinking of money, and Del was able to visualize the correct bank note. The tailor blinked at his hand, then smiled broadly.

  “That will do nicely!” He took the invisible cash. Del had to maintain the illusion until he’d ferreted it away in a purse. Then the Eridon heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Th… thank you,” Del managed to say in the man’s native tongue. The tailor showed him into a dressing room where he could change. Alone, behind a heavy woolen curtain, he sighed again, mopping his brow on the sleeve of his tunic. This was going to take some getting used to. Well, whoever said lifelong exile was easy? he thought as he started changing out of his old things. At least his boots were presentable enough to wear beneath the new things, although they needed a polish.

  Del dressed, shone his shoes with his old shirt, then combed his fingers through his long, tangled hair until he got all the knots out. Then he checked out his appearance in a full-length mirror. No longer did he resemble a straggly-haired labourer. He looked far more respectable and trustworthy – save for the red mark on his forehead. For a short blissful while he had completely forgotten all about it. The sight of it sent him reeling backwards in shock, an icy hand clenching around his stomach. Once more it reminded him that he was damned. He could try his hardest to follow his Kamryte vows but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. Once someone wore the Necronite mark, their soul was lost forever…

  Del spun from the mark. Perhaps he could buy a hat to cover it. He swept from the change room. The tailor called something after him, but he left without responding, and headed into the hat shop next door. Did he have the energy to coerce another human into giving him something for free? The hatter approached him eagerly, and he gathered his strength to penetrate his thoughts.

  It was harder this time. He could feel his power flagging. His stomach growled again, more mournfully this time. But it actually didn’t take him as much to convince this fellow that he was handing over ten pounds, now he looked the part! The hatter pocketed the imaginary money and handed him the hat he had pointed out; a black leather top hat that made him look even taller!

  “Thank you,” he said again, growing used to the harsh, alien sounds coming from his lips. The hatter smiled and waved as he departed.

  Del had to lean against a wall to catch his breath. It was getting hotter outside, and his new clothes didn’t help. Coming from such a cool planet, Del would need time to adjust to the weather here. But he had one more job to do before he could relax – he had to get himself something to eat. He couldn’t remember his last meal – it could have been several thousand years ago now.

&nb
sp; Del straightened and left the area, moving through the crowds in search of food. While he had been “buying” clothes, the main street had gotten even more crowded, and several times he had to dodge oncoming carriages and carts. That’s odd, he thought. Judging by what he’d seen down in Icarus’ lair, these people should have had powered vehicles by now.

  Odd smells reached his nostrils, and he followed one strangely tantalising thread to a pushcart parked beneath the awning of a tavern. A smartly dressed fellow in a high-collared shirt and striped waistcoat was selling some sort of hot baked tuber. He called out; “Potatoes, hot potatoes, freshly baked with onions and sour cream!” Del decided they looked filling and wandered over. The man smiled up at him, and Del slipped into his mind. It was like climbing a steep hill after a day of hiking, but he had no other choice. He still didn’t have any money. I should have convinced that hatter I’d given him twenty pounds, he thought darkly. Then at least I’d have change!

  As it turned out, the baker would probably have given him a potato for free, so impressed was he with Del’s new appearance. Del sensed desire mixed with shame, and was curious. He knew he was handsome – why shouldn’t people be impressed? But he didn’t have the strength to probe further. He handed over another invisible bank note and this time received some coins he could use later.

  “Thank you!”

  “My pleasure,” said the baker with a truly simpering smile. Del took the hot food and wandered a few yards away to start picking at it. It tasted hot and light and savoury – like eating a fluffy cloud. Perhaps all carbon-based food was this soft. He wolfed it down in under a minute. But almost immediately a strange lightheadedness overcame him, and he had to grab onto a lamp post to steady himself. Not good – I’m reacting to the food, he realised. But he didn’t feel sick – almost the opposite. Like he had just taken a delicious drug. He wanted to buy another potato, but held himself back. Must adjust to this one first, he thought.