by Terry Carr
“Beauty and truth are the same thing,” he said.
She frowned. “No, do not play with words. To say that without understanding it only builds defense against it.”
He shrugged, continuing to touch the smooth skin of her back, tracing the line of a shoulder blade. She looked across the dark room at her shrine, the pale candle; she was surprised at how much colder the room was without the flame. She pulled one of her furs over them.
He said, “I see the beauty in you. Isn’t that enough for now?”
“For now, yes.” The room seemed to grow lighter, and for a moment she thought Erich must have opened the door. But when she looked up the light was gone again.
A shudder ran through her, and reflexively she pressed against him. But he was shivering too. The light came again, a sharp burst of it, an explosion. The dark ceiling became a brilliant blue that hurt her eyes; the bed seemed to tilt under her.
She saw rushing water, the prow of a boat, and she tore at the imprisoning grip of her gravity harness. Pale-furred tentacles writhed in the air, and she screamed.
Someone grabbed and held her; she fought, and from far away she heard Gregorian say, “It’s a broadcast.” The boat climbed into the air, but two of those huge tentacles had caught hold of the prow—she saw a monstrous creature hanging from the boat, saw its entire mottled body with chilling clarity. Then the boat nosed down into the river again, and the light flickered and disappeared; she was in her room again, staring into darkness.
She was freezing; even her furs held no warmth. Gregorian’s body against hers was cold as river rock.
He said wonderingly, “That was the thing you told me about.”
“Yes. The Beast.” Her lips were numb.
Light returned, bright sky and white water flashing for several moments. The boat was settling in thick rushes near the bank. She heard the drone of an engine and looked up to see a Guard flier overhead.
The dark room closed in again. This time she quickly got to her feet and went to her shrine. She lit the candle, her hands shaking.
The light of her small Fire flared into bright blue, and she was on the river again. She swayed and caught at the wall beside her shrine; then she was clutching her seat in the boat, and Nikki was saying, “It won’t hurt us; it’s beautiful, did you see it?”
Darkness strobed. She tried to focus her gaze on Fire, but it disappeared. She was struggling to free herself from Nikki, and the creature came out of the water again. This time she deliberately forced the scene from her mind.
Fire returned, and she fastened her gaze on it, opened her self to its familiar warmth. The room became real again, and now it stayed with her. She leaned one hand on the wall and gradually steadied herself.
Gregorian came and wrapped a fur around her shoulders. “It’s only a broadcast,” he said. “Something wrong with it, though—it keeps fading in and out.”
Yes, she thought. The monitor’s presence had felt different too: straining, unsure.
She picked up her robe and drew it over her head, thoughts whirling in her mind. That thing, the Beast … it was loose on the surface, probably less than a kilometer from the Cathedral. She thought: What if it gets away? If it attacks here tonight, there will be hundreds of people trapped inside.
She heard Gregorian’s shaky laugh. “Well, you did open me,” he said. “But I don’t think what I saw was beautiful.”
The room’s chill would not leave her; she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and stood looking at the shrine. “Did they get it?” she asked; but her voice was Robin’s and the bright sky was exploding into the room again.
“The creature has escaped,” said the millipede.
The sky faded away, but those words seemed to echo in the room. A draft of air blew in past the shrine, cold from the river just outside.
Annalie forced herself to sit up, piling pillows against the great carved headboard so that she could lean against them till her dizziness passed. After a moment, the vertigo was gone. The darkness retreated into the corners of her room.
“I want to go outside,” she said to Livy. “Will you go with me?”
Livy looked hesitantly at her. “You should rest,” she said.
“No, I feel much better. Really, Livy, I feel fine.” She realized as she said it that it was true: the sick weakness, even the fright, was gone from her.
“You need to get your strength back,” Livy said. “I’m glad you feel so much better, but you can’t—”
“Livy, this wasn’t a sickness like other people have. We’re not like other people; you know that. I think … it was a mindstorm, that’s all. And it’s gone now.”
Except that I still can’t see anything outside this room; I can’t hear except with my ears. But maybe that’s temporary too.
She tried to remember what she’d heard of mindstorms. They were rare, usually striking less developed mind talents than hers; she couldn’t remember ever hearing of a monitor having one.
Maybe we only get them when we’re too old, she thought. When we’re ready to die.
She thrust the idea from her. “Please, Livy. Do you realize how long I’ve lived in this one room, never going out to breathe fresh air? I want to smell the grass.”
“We don’t need to go outside,” Livy said. “Why should we, when we can see everything through other people’s—”
She stopped, embarrassed.
“That’s what I mean,” said Annalie. “I can’t see anything else now. I never realized how small this room is. It oppresses me, Livy; I need openness.”
Livy stood up, turning to go to the door. “I’ll ask Sherrard.”
“No.” Annalie threw back the blanket and slid to the side of her bed. Carefully, grasping the headboard, she raised herself to her feet.
“Sherrard!” Livy called to him anxiously, then hurried to Annalie’s side; she took her firmly by the elbow. “Here, lean on me.”
“It’s not necessary, Livy.” And it was true; Annalie felt strength returning to her moment by moment. As soon as she’d thought of going outside, she’d begun to feel better.
It’s the feedback, she thought. Stuck inside, living in shadows, I can only be sick. But outside is freedom, brightness. Maybe when I get outside these walls I’ll even be able to see the city again.
Sherrard hurried into the room. His eyes widened when he saw Annalie out of bed; he rushed forward, saying, “No, you mustn’t!”
“Bring me clothes,” Annalie told him.
“Please, you’re not well!”
Annalie felt a sudden surge of annoyance. She stood straight and stared hard into Sherrard’s eyes. “Do what I tell you. I make decisions about me. If I die, who will lose? No one, only me. I can’t function for the city as I am now.”
Sherrard fumbled for words; finally he said, “But you don’t have any clothes.”
Annalie laughed as she realized he was right. She hadn’t been out of this house since she’d first come here; she had left her bed only to see to the needs of her body. What clothes she had had when she came wouldn’t fit her now.
“Then bring me some of Livy’s clothes,” she said. Annalie was slight for her age; Livy, five years younger, was almost her size. “Not a body-suit; nothing tight like that. But maybe you have a robe?” she asked the girl.
Livy sighed. “My blue one,” she said to Sherrard. “It’s warm, and it should be big enough.”
Sherrard hesitated a moment longer, then turned and left the room. Annalie drew her sweat-dampened nightshirt over her head, dropped it onto the bed and went to stand before the oval mirror by her dresser. She studied her naked body as if for the first time: white, slender, ribs stretching the skin of her torso. The swelling around her nipples had grown into small but recognizable breasts; she was surprised. Farther down there was soft dark hair.
I’m becoming a woman, she thought. I hadn’t realized.
The thought brought with it a sharp instant of sadness. I haven’t thought of my self fo
r so long. … If I hadn’t gotten sick and lost my talent, I might not have noticed the changes at all.
Livy snatched up the blanket from Annalie’s bed and threw it around her. “Sherrard’s coming back; he’ll see you,” she said.
Annalie laughed, her exhilaration returning. “Oh, Livy, you’re treating me like an ordinary person!”
“Sherrard is an ordinary person,” Livy said. “A grown man.”
“He’s tended me for years,” Annalie said; “he’s seen me naked more often than—”
She stopped. —More often than I’ve seen myself, she thought. But now I’m no different from him. I’m really naked for the first time.
She stood silently as Sherrard hurried into the room, brining Livy’s heavy blue robe made of micro-woven wool. He handed the robe to Livy, glanced at Annalie, and abruptly turned and went out again.
Livy helped her put the robe on; it was a bit tight under her arms and across her chest, but it fit well enough. Annalie looked at herself in the mirror as Livy tied the belt at her waist. Am I pretty? she wondered. She noticed that the robe was the exact color of Livy’s eyes—but her own eyes were grey.
Grey? Did I ever know that before?
She took Livy’s hand and drew her through the door into the long hall that led to the large entrance of the house. As they passed the common room she glanced in and saw Edouard huddled into himself, eyes closed; but Mithra, holding him protectively, met her eyes with a challenging gaze. Annalie smiled faintly and went on past.
I know what you’re thinking without hearing it, you ambitious child. You want what I’ve lost. But I wonder if it will make you happy.
She and Livy went outside, Annalie closing the great glass-paneled door firmly behind her. The light of afternoon dazzled her; she blinked her eyes clear and walked out onto the sward that stretched for hundreds of meters out to the line of pine and cypress trees that surrounded the monitor’s house. She chose her steps carefully on the lawn, setting down each foot tentatively. The clean, sharp aroma of mown grass rose around her, and the huge vault of blue sky opened out overhead. Annalie let go of Livy’s hand and twirled in the open space, heady with the feeling of freedom.
“Oh, Livy, it’s so wonderful!”
Livy stood still in the open air, her eyes narrow and worried as though she were peering at shadows.—Or hearing distant thunder, Annalie thought. Of course! She’s still seeing the whole city, living in everyone else’s minds; she’s only partly here. Is there something frightening in the city? Is that why she’s so worried?
“Annalie, you mustn’t stay out long,” the girl said.
“Yes, I must!” Annalie said, raising her arms to the air. “I’ve never been here before!”
Livy frowned. “But you’ve seen all this before. You’ve seen everything!”
How strange Livy’s expression was! Such a young face, round and soft yet so serious!
“No, I haven’t,” Annalie said. “I’ve never seen it myself, alone, with my own eyes and my own mind. Livy, don’t you understand? I’m free for the first time in my life! Everyone else is gone!”
Livy reached out a hand to her. “Don’t worry; it will all come back soon.”
Annalie laughed. “Maybe it won’t. Maybe my talent is gone and I’ll never see the whole city again. Maybe I’ll just be me. Just me.”
“No! It will come back to you; I know it will. It has to—we need you, every one of us. Especially today—” She stopped suddenly and bit her upper lip.
She’s so anxious, Annalie thought. “Why today?”
Livy stared at her, her blue eyes shining with tears. “You know,” she said softly.
“No,” said Annalie. “I don’t know anything. Especially today, I don’t know a thing.” She said it happily, without regret.
Annalie tried to meet her gaze, but Livy’s eyes flooded with tears and she looked down suddenly, blinking them away. “Because of those things from the Abyss,” she whispered. “They’ve gotten out. They’re loose in the city!”
“What things?” Something pale and sinuous stirred deep in Annalie’s mind; a shudder ran through her. Is it cold out here? she wondered.
“You saw them this morning,” Livy said. “Remember Jamie and Gloriana flying over the Abyss, and the creature they saw on the wall?”
“No,” said Annalie, frowning. The sky seemed to narrow above her. “I don’t remember anything like that,” she said firmly.
Livy looked uncertainly at her. “But you were still seeing everything then; I remember that for sure. It was a little later that you—” Her eyes widened. “That must have been what happened,” she said softly.
“What must have?” Annalie still felt that strange crawling movement in the depths of her mind; it was trying to climb up into her awareness. She rubbed her arms through the warmth of the wool robe, arms crossed in front of her body.
Livy grasped her hand and tried to draw her back toward the house. “You shouldn’t be out here; you’ve got to go back and get into bed.”
But Annalie resisted. Her world was open and free for the first time; she wouldn’t be wrapped in a dim bedroom again.
“Tell me, Livy. You’ve got to; whatever it was, it’s freed me, so it can’t be so awful. What happened to me this morning?”
Livy tried to smile, but she shuddered with it. Her eyes had gone unfocused; she was seeing somewhere else with her mind.
“Tell me!” Annalie said again.
Livy shook her head as though she were trying to free it of something. “Mithra says I should, but if you’ve managed to forget it—Oh, all right; yes. Shut up, Mithra!”
Annalie stood in the open grass, waiting. Ignoring the deep darkness within.
“Two people flew over the Abyss this morning in a glider,” Livy said. She started to speak slowly, but then her words came in a rush. “They saw something down below near the Final Cataract, something huge with tentacles that ran down into the darkness. You saw that with them, and you broadcast it. Then Salamander, the priestess at the Cathedral of the Five Elements, saw the broadcast, and she had a vision that the creature was something completely evil, a monster, that had grown from all the sins and hatred people have dumped into the Abyss. She was scared, and you picked that up too and broadcast it. … Then, after that, your mind stopped. I mean, you stopped seeing, and that was when you—”
“When I got sick,” Annalie said. She felt curiously empty, as though she had lost all capacity for emotion; only her reasoning mind was alive.
“Yes. But there was more than just one of those things, because when Gloriana and Jamie and some others went back down into the Abyss with a light, they saw that the whole floor of the Abyss was covered with them; it was just crawling with those dead-colored tentacles. The creatures kept reaching up at them, grabbing at the flier; but the lightbeam seemed to hurt them, and the flier got away.”
“I was unconscious then,” said Annalie.
Livy nodded, a quick jerky motion. “Gloriana got a life-control flier and dropped poisons at the Final Cataract. The walls there were just covered with vines climbing up to the edge, but when the poisons hit them they died and fell down into the Abyss. But those creatures just went wild running from the poisons, and one of them got out onto the surface; it disappeared in the undergrowth around the edge of the river.”
Livy stopped, wide eyes staring at Annalie, searching for her reaction. But Annalie felt none; what Livy had told her seemed like something read in a book, a legend that could be shut between safe bindings. Reality for Annalie had always been experienced directly, right at the moment and with all her senses —through everyone’s mind.
Yet she was conscious that there was something missing from even her own perceptions at this moment. It was as though her peripheral vision had dimmed, and she could only see straight ahead—seeing with incredible clarity but knowing that there was more that she wasn’t seeing.
Well, how else should I feel? she thought. I’ve lost my talent. This is t
he way everyone else sees the world, and they don’t feel anything missing. And I’ve found a sense of my self that I’ve never had.
“So that’s what happened to me,” she said. “I panicked and tried to hide from what I saw.” She smiled faintly. “It’s strange, isn’t it, that when we use all of our minds we have so little control over them? You’d think it would give us more strength … but it’s all a matter of opening ourselves, making ourselves vulnerable. And sometimes we can’t take it.”
“Edouard did the same thing,” said Livy.
“But he’s so young, and he’s still new here. I’m older; I should have been stronger.”
Livy touched her arm consolingly. “You’re much better already. In another day or so your talent will come back.”
Annalie met the warmth of her eyes for a moment, then looked away at the open spaces of the field, the endless blue of the sky above. Freedom. But did she want it if it cost her the ability to see as she had all her life?
Something crystallized within her. “I want to see Salamander,” she said, “the priestess who had the vision. I have to understand what she saw that frightened me.”
“But why should you trust what she saw?” Livy asked. “She’s just one person; what she saw was only something that a priestess would imagine.”
“No, Livy. I’ve seen religious visions before—you have too. What a priestess does is a lot like what we do; we open our selves and let in whatever comes. You and I see into the minds of people, but she saw something else. A different level of sight, probably. If Salamander saw into the minds of those creatures, then I want to know what she found.”
“But you saw—”
Livy’s large blue eyes were so anxious. And Annalie suddenly realized that the girl’s fright was not for her alone—it was for herself, for her own future when she would be the monitor. Which would be soon, if Annalie didn’t recover quickly.
All the more reason I have to face this as directly as I can, Annalie thought. I’m fighting for her too.
“Come with me,” she said. “Let Mithra monitor the city today; her talent is strong enough.”
