by Terry Carr
“I have heard that,” said the foreigner. “It seems to be a very complete experience, except that you do not feel through your self. Surely your own reactions are the most important part of any experience. Well, you will soon see one of the creatures directly, and then you will know them fully.”
Nikki felt her heart leap. “You mean we’ll see one in person? Hey, this boat ends up at the Abyss, and that’s where the creatures were!” She turned excitedly to Robin. “Remember when we were getting into the boat, and it wanted to pay for damages or something in advance? Wow, that must mean—”
“No!” Robin said sharply. “I don’t want to run into any of those things! Let me out of this boat!” She began to fumble with the controls of her gravity harness, anxiously searching the quiet waters of the river for signs of movement.
“There is no need to be afraid,” said the millipede. Its body curled around Nikki and it tried to catch the young girl’s hands to stop her from unfastening her harness. “It will be best to sit still and watch.”
“Oh no,” said Robin. “Maybe you want to see those things, but I don’t!”
Nikki trembled with excitement; she was afraid she might burst into giggles, and she controlled herself with an effort. They were riding toward an adventure; she would finally get to see one of the strange creatures that everyone in Cirque had been talking about all day!
She didn’t think it would be really dangerous. The millipede didn’t seem to think so anyway, and it could see the future.
A thought came from deep inside her: since the foreigner was used to seeing the future, maybe it thought nothing could be changed. If they were going to be killed by monsters, would the millipede even try to save them?
She found that she had begun to undo her own gravity harness; she stopped. I’m Nikki-Four, she told herself. I’m not afraid of things; that’s Three who’s thinking like this. I’m the one who’s out now, and I’m not afraid!
Then suddenly the beast rose from the water directly in front of them, erupting as swiftly as a waterspout; tentacles whipped through the air and Nikki felt a jarring crash. The boat was thrown to the right, and she clutched at her seat. The prow lifted into the air, engines roaring as they tried to lift the boat over the obstacle. Robin screamed.
“Just sit still,” said the millipede.
But Robin had succeeded in loosing her gravity harness. As she tried to stand, two fur-covered tentacles curled over the boat, gripping. The boat plunged downward, striking the water and bouncing as its engines continued to lift it. Nikki grabbed at the girl, and clutched her around the waist to keep her from falling overboard. Robin screamed again and beat at her with small fists. Pale tentacles crawled on the prow, seeking purchase. Nikki saw the creature dangling in midair, its ropey limbs writhing. It was huge, twice the size of the boat.
The gravity engines hadn’t been designed to control so much weight; the boat nosed downward and plunged into the river with a loud crash. Nikki held on to Robin fiercely, at the same time trying to protect herself from the girl’s flailing elbows. She felt a giddy elation, blood pounding at her temples, and she realized she was laughing.
The boat seemed to jump through the air, veering to the right; the creature fell away. The wide expanse of fields tilted crazily, and Nikki’s stomach rose to her throat. The boat fell again, skidded in the water and struck a tree growing near the river edge. The tree trunk snapped with a great crack and they plunged past it, water splashing over them. Nikki was drenched, and she lost her grip on Robin. The girl fell to the floor of the boat, moaning.
The river churned to white froth around the boat as its engines continued to try to lift it; but then the engines died, and the boat settled among thick rushes. Nikki’s cheek throbbed painfully, and she tasted salty blood. She looked at the millipede; it had twisted its supple body around in its seat to look behind them. It was smiling softly.
Nikki turned and followed its gaze. The boat had cut a wake of clear water through the floating vines of the shallows; as she looked, the creature surfaced in that wake. Water streamed off its huge grey and white body; tentacles seemed to flow around it. Sunlight glistened on the creature as it began to swim toward them.
For a moment she saw it clearly—more clearly, it seemed, than she had ever seen anything before. It was no monster, only a sleek, graceful beast moving smoothly through the water. Strange, so strange. And beautiful; in that moment she felt overwhelmed by the wild grace of the thing.
Then she heard an engine droning overhead and saw a Guard flier swoop down toward the creature. A thick cloud of spray shot down from the flier, and the great beast dived, disappearing beneath the tangled vegetation of the shallows. The spray fell on roiling water and was washed downstream.
“They’re going to kill it!” she cried.
“No,” said the millipede. “They cannot poison it when it hides in the river.”
The Guard flier lumbered through the air toward them; the noise of its motors shook the leaves of trees and vines. She could see no sign of the great creature in the shadowed river edge.
“But it’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything so wonderful!”
The millipede only smiled its tiny smile, still regarding the wake of the boat. Robin climbed back onto her seat, her mouth opening and closing as she gasped for breath. Nikki drew the girl to her and felt her trembling.
“Don’t be afraid,” Nikki said. “It won’t hurt us; it’s beautiful, did you see it?”
“Are you crazy?” Robin broke away from Nikki’s arm and tried to climb over the side of the boat. Nikki grabbed at her, caught her and held her tightly. The girl thrashed in her arms. “Let me go, we’ve got to get out—”
The creature resurfaced, this time much closer to them—only fifteen meters away. Its supple tentacles curled in the water, and its great sleek body turned slowly; it seemed to be lost, disoriented, and Nikki felt a stab of pity for it. Poor beast, why are they trying to kill you?
The flier approached again from above, but the creature disappeared into the roots of water-growing trees. Nikki saw it pulling itself through tree roots and vines with amazing speed, the flier following overhead. Another cloud of poisons shot downward, but she couldn’t see the creature any longer. The flier began to circle the spot where it had dropped its last spray.
“Did they get it?” Robin asked. Her body was tense and hard as she strained to see what was happening under the foliage.
“They must have,” Nikki said softly. She felt like crying—such a wonderful creature, like nothing she’d ever heard of, beautiful and powerful, but they had hunted it down like vermin.
“The creature has escaped,” said the millipede. It had stopped looking back; now it calmly loosened its gravity harness. “We can stand up now; our boat has settled and is steady.”
Nikki undid her harness and rose, leaning on the seatback to steady herself. The world seemed so peaceful all of a sudden; the current at the river edge moved slowly, and the soft light of the sun slanted through leaves to dapple the water with touches of gold. Even the motor of the Guard flier was only a drone in the distance.
“Are you sure that thing won’t come back after us?” Robin asked the millipede.
“It has gone away,” said the foreigner. “Your Guard flier will pick us up and return us to the city.”
Gone away, Nikki thought. And I’ll never see it again. Oh, but what a wonderful thing to have seen it at all, even for a moment!
The flier was coming toward them now. Nikki waved her arms over her head to make sure the pilot would see them.
Robin was still trembling. “I’ve changed my mind about surprises,” she said. “I sure didn’t like that one.”
“But it’s just the beginning, don’t you see?” Nikki said. She turned to the millipede. “That’s right, isn’t it? You traveled here to see wonderful things come out of the Abyss—creatures like that one. Because they’re so beautiful.”
“Yes. It is like your ancient build
ings; it is beautiful not only for the present moment. It is a future glory being born.”
Then maybe I will get to see it again, Nikki thought. Her heart leaped joyously—maybe soon, while I’m still out.
She searched the river once more, looking for some sign of the creature. But all she saw were blackened leaves and branches in the shallows where the flier had sprayed its poisons; downstream from each spot the path of dying greenery was spreading as the chemicals diffused in the current. The Guard flier settled beside them, its motor shattering the quiet afternoon.
“I want to show you something,” Salamander said. Without waiting for Gregorian to reply, she turned and led him across the empty Cathedral to her quarters.
She closed the heavy wooden door behind them, and they stood in silence for a moment. The small room was lit by the single candle of her personal shrine; its fire danced in the wall draft, moving shadows across Gregorgian’s face. His expression seemed to waver with the light, and she thought: How odd to see his face come to life in this way. He’s so serious, so unemotive; only an illusion can bring expression to his features.
Yet she had felt much warmth from him despite his reserve. It had been there in the way his eyes met hers, in his infrequent smiles.
She sat on the floor before the small shrine: the candle resting on an island of dirt surrounded by water drawn that morning from the river. After a moment he came and stood behind her.
She touched the packed-earth floor next to her with her fingertips. “Sit here.” He did, trying to emulate the way she knelt, but the position did not come naturally to him. “No, sit comfortably,” she said. “Now look at the flame for a minute. Silently.”
She turned her attention to the dancing drop of light, allowing her self to be drawn into its brightness. The room enlarged around them, and after a while she heard his breathing slow, become regular. They sat in silence for a timeless interval.
At last he shifted his weight and said, “This is a form of self-hypnosis, isn’t it?”
She smiled to herself. “If you like. I think of it as opening my self.”
“To what? To your gods? To infinity?”
The edge of cynicism in his voice amused her; she had heard it from so many people, especially in these last few years when Cirque had become infused with rationality. We’re an old city, she thought; we think we can discard the things that have brought us to where we are now.
“I open to anything,” she said. “Otherwise I am not open at all, you see.”
Gregorian said, “I’m afraid I’m not a good subject for conversion. When I’m working, I don’t open my mind—I focus it on what I’m doing, nothing else. And I’m not much of a believer anyway.”
“Yes, so you told me earlier.” Salamander continued to stare at the flame; she felt its tiny warmth reach out and enfold her.
“I haven’t even heard any of the broadcasts today,” Gregorian said. “That’s how much I get involved in my work.”
“There have been no broadcasts since this morning,” Salamander said. “Not since the monitor broadcast my vision.”
“None at all?” Gregorian uncurled his legs and leaned back on his elbows. “That’s strange. Especially when there’s something happening in the city like those things they found in the Abyss. Whatever they are.”
“They are one thing,” she told him. “They are the Beast.”
“Whatever they are,” he repeated. “I’m surprised the monitor hasn’t shared anything more with us.”
“The Beast may have ways of silencing even our monitor. Its powers are only the negative ones, but those powers are great. Observe Fire before you.”
“I see it,” he said. “What are you trying to tell me?”
She said nothing for a moment. They sat before the small shrine, and she listened till his breathing became slow and regular again. She heard the sound of Erich’s footsteps approaching her door; there was a hesitant knock, and after a few moments the steps moved away.
“I want you to see that you are not what you think you are,” she said to Gregorian. “You believe you are a logical being, untouched by anything irrational—is that not true?”
“You said yourself that I’m not a cynic,” he said.
“No, but you like to think that you are. Observe Fire before you.”
He sighed. “I see it, priestess. But I look at fires all my life; I work with them, I mold and shape them. They don’t hold the mystery for me that they have for your followers.”
“Then why do you work with Fire?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s beautiful.”
“Beauty is an aspect of godhood—of mystery. It transcends the things of ordinary life; it is beyond understanding in that way.”
“No,” he said. “I understand beauty. That’s the difference between us, you see—you’re a priestess, I’m an artist. You worship things you think are beautiful; I study and understand them.”
Salamander smiled softly. “Do you really think you understand beauty?”
“I create it,” he said. “I control it.”
“Do you? This tiny candle flame is not sculpted; no one controls it. Yet it is beautiful—you see?”
Tiny shadows leaped on the brick walls; golden light winked in the basin of water surrounding the candle.
“Wait till you see my fire tonight,” he said. “This is pretty, but I’ve created a work of art in flame. It will be spectacular.”
“Yes, it will be aesthetic. How long will it last?”
“Hours,” he said proudly. “You saw how carefully I built it.”
A smile tugged gently at the corners of her mouth. “This tiny flame has lived since before I was born. It is not spectacular, but it continues. We do not shape it or feed it or make it conform to our ideas. It is itself; observe it.”
The flame danced in her eyes; the room around her became a dream, and Gregorian part of it.
“I don’t know what it is you want me to see,” he said impatiently.
“Only this: you have not created Fire; it exists without you and has existed since before thought came into the world. Do you know how ancient our planet is? Our most ancient and prized records have crumbled to dust so long ago that we cannot even guess. Yet before humans could write records, Fire existed. Before humans came to be, Fire existed.”
She looked away from the flames, and met his eyes. Shadows of light flickered in her vision, obscuring his features. “And you think that because you have learned how to coax Fire into patterns, you have made the beauty in it?”
“Every artist has to work with some material,” he said evenly.
“Exactly. No artist can fashion beauty from nothing. Now observe Fire. Regard your material.”
She saw a slow smile go across his face. “You do argue cleverly, priestess.”
“This is no argument,” she said. She turned back to the candle flame, and he joined her in silent contemplation of it. After a moment she was able to hear the soft sound of the flame as it leaped in the air. After some further moments this sound too left her.
They shared the room with Fire. They sat on packed earth and smelled the fresh air blowing across the basin of river water. These things were eternal, quiet, deeply peaceful. The room enlarged around them and became a world. The world ceased to exist, and they were in a void. Even time faded; they simply existed.
The distance between them ceased to have reality. They were no longer two separate people; they were a mote of consciousness in peace, surrounded by nothing and filling it with their presence.
Abruptly she leaned forward and blew out the candle flame.
The darkness of the room closed in around them; silence took on the quality of sound. But the afterimage of the flame glowed in her eyes and in his, and silently they watched that dim, subtle flickering. Fire was gone, but it remained.
Her sense of oneness was still incomplete; she reached out to touch Gregorian’s face, fingertips brushing his skin. There was warmth there, the warmth
she had felt only in momentary flickers before. She remembered not to think as she slid her arms around him, feeling the taut muscles of his back; then, as she ran her fingers down the seams of his body-suit and touched his cool skin, she had no need to remember at all. Her cape fell away; everything fell away, and they met in darkness, using touch for eyes. His warm breath was on her face, and his hands on her belly, her hips; she was not surprised at their roughness.
There was no direction, no sense of weight; the brick walls did not exist, nor the deep-piled furs of her bed. They moved in quickening pulses of emotion. He made soft sounds in his throat; the sounds grew more urgent, and eventually he cried out, or she did.
There came a time when breath returned. She brushed her hair from his eyes and lay back in damp furs. The room became real again, pungent with the aroma of the candle she had extinguished minutes or hours ago.
He was looking wonderingly at her in the dimness. At length he said, “I don’t think I understand you.”
She smiled. “Oh yes, you do.”
“No, not completely. What was all that talk about godliness for? Sitting in front of your shrine, arguing about aesthetics?”
She stretched lazily on the furs. “Not a preparation for lovemaking, if you think that. I only wanted you to open. When you did … I had not planned the rest.” She laughed. “Even a priestess does not plan everything, you know.”
“Then what did you expect?”
“I thought you might see some of the things I see when I am alone with Fire. Instead, it was I who discovered new things.” She blew softly on his sweat-dampened chest, drying it. His nipples were hard amid soft hair.
He stroked her back slowly. “I’m glad the subject got changed; I’m not comfortable with religion. You’re very beautiful.”
She said, “I wish …” The room was growing cold; she shivered and moved closer to him. “I wish you would let yourself see the truth inside beauty. It seems such a shame to be an artist and not know what you work with.”
