by Terry Carr
Her thoughts turned to Gregorian: in just a few minutes she’d see him again. Only this morning she’d left him at his workbench, but she felt as though it had been weeks. So much had happened today, both in the world and in herself.
I’m a different person from what I was this morning, she realized. Yet I’m not—I’ve gone through my parts and come back to being whole. Had I lost so much of my self?
She seemed to see Gregorian’s lean face, his intense eyes staring at her from the Abyss, but she felt none of the excitement that he usually quickened in her. He seemed almost a stranger now. Where was her desperate feeling of dependence and love for him?
Her head whirled as though the antigravity motors of the fliers were inside her. Unconsciously she grasped Jordan’s hand and held it tightly.
It was harder than Mithra had expected, acting as monitor for Cirque all by herself. Edouard had recovered from his childish fright enough so that she no longer had to hold and comfort him, but he wasn’t much use to her in projecting broadcasts; his mind was still turned inward. And Livy, though she had returned to sit in the common room with them, spent most of her time trying to pick out some faint flickering of Annalie’s mind.
Mithra shifted uncomfortably on her pillows. I wish you’d forget about her, she said in her mind to Livy. She’s no use to us now, and she’s not going to be ever again.
Livy lay flat on her back in the bed, eyes closed. She’s certain not to get better if we don’t even try to help her, Livy thought. If we just lie here and think that Annalie’s gone, she’s lost her talent, she’s going to die, then … that will happen; she’ll die. But I guess you’d like that, wouldn’t you?
Mithra frowned; it was even more difficult trying to sort Livy’s directed thoughts from the thousands of images and emotions coming to her from the city.
I’m just trying to face facts, Mithra thought. She felt a wave of contempt wash over her; the sights and sounds of Cirque were drowned out for a moment by Livy’s emotion. You really don’t want her to get better, Livy thought. If we only have a few years to enjoy our talent, better to start using it as soon as we can—isn’t that right?
Mithra held her emotions in check. Better to do the job we’ve been given than to leave the city with no monitor at all, she thought. Did you know there were no broadcasts at all for more than two hours today? Because you were fussing over Annalie, and I had to take care of Edouard! We nearly missed broadcasting that dreadful attack on the tourist boat—I had to do it all by myself!
The people in Cirque won’t miss an hour or two of broadcasts, Livy thought. The city goes on whether or not we broadcast; Cirque is eternal. But Annalie needs us!
You’re being irresponsible, Mithra thought. Our job is to serve the city, not Annalie. She’s no use to anyone; now that she’s lost her talent, she might as well not exist.
A jab of dread jolted Mithra so sharply that she jerked up from the bed for a moment. What if she’s already died? Livy thought.
Mithra was aware of the bedclothes shifting as Livy stood up.
Livy! Come back! You shouldn’t leave me alone just for—
It’s what you really want, isn’t it? Livy thought. To be the monitor all by yourself, without Annalie, without me or Edouard. To be the center of everything—just you.
Mithra kept her eyes closed, but she heard the sound of Livy’s bare feet padding to the door and out. It’s not what I want! But somebody has to watch and see and feel, or—
Or what? Livy thought. Through the other girl’s eyes Mithra saw her walking down the dim hall toward Annalie’s room.
—Or Cirque will become just another city, like all the others on Earth or anywhere else, Mithra thought. Monitoring is a holy job; it always has been. It’s the monitors who have made Cirque a unified city, a place where everybody’s minds are linked and become something greater!
Nothing is greater than the life of one person, Livy thought; but her mind was only dimly on Mithra as she paused at the door of Annalie’s room, tapped softly and listened for an answer from inside.
That’s not true! Mithra was surprised at the vehemence of her own thought. That’s what Annalie used to say when she followed one person for a whole day and broadcast nothing but that person’s thoughts. She’s been doing that for years, and look what’s happened to Cirque—our sense of group is disappearing; people have stopped going to the temples; they think only of themselves. The city is falling apart!
Livy opened the door quietly and peered inside. Through her eyes Mithra saw the empty bed where Annalie should have been; she felt Livy’s rush of fear, eyes darting around the room in search of Annalie. The room was empty.
Gone? Livy thought. But she told me … She’s never lied to me before, never!
Mithra thought that was funny: How could she, Livy? Until today we could always see into her mind.
But where has she gone?
Even as Livy thought that, the answer came into her mind: She’s gone to the Cathedral! She wanted me to go with her, but I wouldn’t and I didn’t think she’d go alone—
Mithra felt a surge of impatience: Livy, you keep thinking of her as though she were still the monitor. But she’s not; she can’t hear anyone’s mind, and we can’t hear hers. She’s like any of the others now, and she even likes it. She wanted to go by herself—have one last fling!
Livy’s eyes were still searching the shadows in the corners of Annalie’s room; now she backed out and called for Sherrard. In a moment he appeared, rubbing his eyes; he had been napping in the warm afternoon.
“Annalie has gone!” Livy told him. “Did you hear her go past your door?”
Sherrard’s eyes opened wide, but he could only shake his head numbly. “Gone where? How?”
“To the Cathedral of the Five Elements,” Livy said. “She must be cart-hopping. Few people ride north this late in the day; she must have gotten a cart with no other riders, and that’s why none of us was able to see her!”
Silently, Mithra agreed; she’d been monitoring everyone in Cirque all afternoon, and she hadn’t seen Annalie on any of the carts. But if she just hopped on the back and didn’t speak to the driver, and if there were no other riders, she could have remained invisible even to the monitors.
“I should go after her,” Livy said.
No, Mithra thought. Your place is here; now that she’s gone, you’re the monitor, Livy. Your term starts now. You’re ahead of me, and you’ve got to take the responsibility. Now, Livy!
Sherrard hurried into Annalie’s room to look for himself. Livy thought: But if she goes to the Cathedral, she may run into that creature. You know what that did to her this morning, seeing it through someone else’s eyes. What if she meets it face to face?
She’s not our responsibility anymore, Mithra thought again.
She felt Edouard stir slightly next to her on the bed, and a faint, tentative thought came from him: I think she’s being brave. I was scared too, and I wouldn’t take a chance on meeting one of those things!
Oh, shut up, Edouard! thought Mithra. Then, instantly regretting her anger, she thought to him: I’m glad you’re feeling better; you were almost as far away as she was for a while.
I know. But I was still able to see and hear the city, and—Mithra, Livy, did you see how that creature looked when it attacked the tourist boat?
Mithra fought down impatience with him. Big and wild, she thought; its tentacles slapped across the boat like roofs falling.
But did you see how it looked to that woman Nikki? She thought it was beautiful! It was so different from the way everyone else saw it!
She wasn’t seeing things the way a normal person would, Mithra thought. She took one of those capsules this morning, remember?
Mithra felt a surge of excitement from Livy, and heard her thought: But the capsules don’t bring on hallucinations; they only change people’s personalities.
Mithra abandoned her efforts to monitor the city for a moment: it was impossible to keep track of
it all with everybody around her thinking so loudly. She opened her eyes; as the dim shapes of the common room swam into focus, she saw Edouard sitting up, straightening his bedclothes. The look of dull terror that had haunted his face all day was gone.
What do you think it means? Mithra asked Livy.
But Livy’s thoughts were chaotic, and she could only shake her head.
Edouard’s thought came: Can there be some kind of creature that looks different to different people?
How blind we were, minds choked with facts,
no knowledge of what lies between.
(What? Can anything squeeze between two moments?
Say Instead that moments punctuate the truth.)
Watch love and fear, destruction and new birth
blossom from colorless ropes of life.
—The Book of Causes
IT WAS nearly dark, and Annalie shivered as the cart bumped over the dusty road that led to the Cathedral of the Five Elements. Tall pines stretched into the sky, their upper branches holding the last light of the sun in a golden glow. It had been a long trip all the way around the Abyss, and she’d had to switch carts several times, always making sure she didn’t board a cart where people were already riding—people through whose eyes Livy or Mithra could see her.
Once out of the monitor’s house, traveling alone, she had felt a surging elation that she didn’t want to give up: she was herself, Annalie, and she didn’t want to be followed. So many years she had spent living only through others, serving the city, never able to explore what was unique to her own mind. But now she was alone.
It was a little frightening. But mostly she just felt cold and wished she’d been able to find warmer clothing than Livy’s robe and shawl.
The cart bumped to a stop in the great open area beside the Cathedral. As Annalie slid to the back of the cart and dropped off, the cart’s driver got out and, seeing her, said, “You’ve come for the service tonight?”
For a moment Annalie hesitated, still afraid of being seen; but then she realized that the man’s first glance would have identified her to Livy and Mithra. She smiled shyly at the man. “Yes. It’s because of those creatures, you see.”
“Ever been here before?” He was a small, round man, his hair sprinkled with grey, his face dark and lined with years. How old? Annalie wondered. He could be eighty or a hundred and eighty.
“I’ve never … well, never really been here. But I’ve seen broadcasts from here, of course.”
He nodded. “Well, come on; the entrance is up the road this way. My name is Alton.” He set off without looking back, walking slowly along the darkening path beneath the trees. Somewhere in the dark, crickets trilled. (They’re always out of sight, Annalie thought: even for a monitor, who sees everything in the city, crickets are just sounds in the distance.)
She felt an urge to say something more to the man, something that Livy would hear and know that she was all right. She hurried to catch up with him and said, “I haven’t been out for a while; I’ve been sick. But I feel fine now. Wonderful, in fact.”
“Good,” Alton said, not looking at her, continuing to walk deliberately along the path. Annalie saw now that he was indeed very old; his movements had the careful sureness of one who had to will every step.
Other people were converging on the path from the cart areas: couples, people alone, groups of four or five who chattered excitedly among themselves. Everyone was moving toward the tall-chimneyed Cathedral ahead.
“Will it be crowded?” Annalie asked the old man.
He glanced sideways at her without interest; his eyes were such a pale blue that they seemed to blend into the whites around them. “Usually the Cathedral’s half empty, but I guess not tonight,” he said.
He didn’t seem to want to talk, and Annalie shrank back into herself. She followed him silently up the steps into the Cathedral. People jostled her, and they came to a complete halt in the building’s wood-paneled foyer. Shoulders and elbows surrounded her.
Alton turned to her suddenly and said, “It isn’t usually like this; these are just people who came here tonight because they’re scared. Usually they never come to a service unless it’s a Midsummer Chant. They’re not believers; there are hardly any believers left in this city.”
There was bitterness in his voice; Annalie wondered if it was because he disapproved of the less religious people or because he was annoyed by the crowd.
“Everybody in Cirque believes,” she said. “Whether or not they come to services here or somewhere else, they all believe. They all tune in to the broadcasts; they’re all part of Cirque. We’re really all one people, aren’t we? Because of the monitors.”
Alton sniffed disgustedly. “Monitors. Broadcasts. It was different when I was young. The temples were always full then, and people came because they believed in more than what they could see. Cirque isn’t a religious city anymore—it’s just a place for tourists.” He cast a sharp glance at her. “I guess you don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not sure,” Annalie said. She was intimidated by this old man: his bitterness and disapproval were things she’d seen many times in people’s minds, but they’d always been just a few among thousands. She realized that being a monitor had made it easy to disregard the feelings of people who were in a minority; now she was alone with the people around her, unable to listen to the minds of those who stayed home and thought of other things.
“These people here tonight haven’t come because they understand the Elements, because they want to touch the higher things,” Alton said. “Half of them came because some new fire sculptor has done Fire tonight, and the other half are here because they want to be reassured that the thing from the Abyss isn’t going to rip up their homes. Look at them, dressed up as though it were opening night at a star symphony.”
He was right; Annalie was almost smothered by the furs of the people surrounding her. Gold pendants inlaid with stones from Earth and the worlds of the stars gleamed in the elaborately styled hairdos of the women; many of the men affected shoulder jewelry. Their faces betrayed faint lines left by long years of boredom. These were the elite of the Inner City, she realized—many of them probably from the villas near the Final Cataract.
But there was an alertness in their eyes that seemed oddly out of place, as though their senses were fully open for the first time in years. Excitement filled the room with electric intensity.
The danger has opened them, Annalie realized. They’re frightened, but it’s brought them awake.
A slender boy opened the doors at the end of the foyer, and the crowd began to push through into the Cathedral; Annalie and Alton were carried along with them. The interior of the building was a high-vaulted room devoid of furniture, lit by small fires in wall braziers. The wooden floor of the foyer gave way to hard-packed earth, neatly swept; Annalie saw several of the expensively dressed people near her looking in consternation for chairs or benches on which to sit.
Alton took her hand and pulled her toward the altar that stood in front of the giant fireplace. Low, dark flames bubbled in the wide fire pit. The room smelled of dry earth and the breaths of centuries.
“You want to get near the front,” Alton told her. “That way you can hear better when—” He stopped, and she saw him staring toward the front of the room. But then he resumed his deliberate progress through the crowd. “Well, well,” he said, “even the millipede is here.”
Annalie had difficulty seeing over the shoulders of the crowd, but in a few moments she caught a glimpse of the raised dais before the fireplace where several figures stood—among them the foreigner from Aldebaran, its fur glowing redly in the light of the low fire. As they got nearer the front of the Cathedral, picking their way through people sitting in groups on the floor, she recognized others who stood near the dais: the slim figure of the priestess, Salamander, her long red hair splashing over her white cape; a young man with blond hair and aristocratic features, Jamie Halle.
The events of the day crowded back into her mind; she remembered the millipede’s arrival this morning, the conversation at the Morning Gate that she’d broadcast. (Why, it had been Alton who had spoken with the millipede! She hadn’t recognized him, seeing him tonight only from the outside, not touching his mind as she had this morning.) She remembered a flight over the Abyss when Jamie Halle and the Guardian had seen those frightening creatures scuttling up and down the rocks of the Edge. And Salamander’s vision of the Beast …
It all seemed very long ago, like something from another life. Annalie had been in other people’s minds then, her vision dictated by their emotions; now she was herself, whole and self-willed. She felt strangely light, as though at any moment she might drift up from the floor into the high shadows of the Cathedral.
Alton led her right up to the front, where he chose a spot and sat on the dirt floor, carefully arranging his legs in a half-lotus position, back straight, head up. Annalie sat beside him in a full lotus and looked around with great interest.
On her left was a young girl in a precisely fitted orange body-suit; the girl smiled brightly at her as she sat down, then turned her attention back to the people up on the dais. Annalie saw that she was watching two people who stood a little to one side of the great fireplace: a lean dark-haired man and a woman with long blonde hair whose full body seemed to spill out of her body-suit. They were standing close together, talking intensely.
“That’s Nikki, my friend,” the girl said. “She’s talking with her lover, Gregorian. I sure hope they aren’t going to get into a fight or something.”
“Why should they fight?” Annalie asked.
The girl rocked back and forth as she sat. “Well, see, Nikki took one of those pills that change your personality, and she’s been getting real close with my teacher today. If Gregorian’s going to be jealous—”
