Cirque

by Terry Carr

  The crimson ball in Annalie’s mind threatened to explode her head. She had begun to cry in breathy, hopeless sobs; her whole body shook, and she tried to withdraw into herself, her own mind, retreating desperately into that empty darkness where she had gone earlier today. But there were too many minds nearby, all of them filling her with insistent terror; she couldn’t escape.

  She heard the guns of the Guard officers firing again, and she heard a different sound: a sharp crackling. She saw Gregorian holding in both hands a clumsy laser knife whose beam dug furrows into the ground near the creature and crisscrossed the thing’s body with dark stripes. It shuddered each time it was hit, but it came on purposefully; ragged craters in its body oozed dark blood onto the ground.

  Jamie hurried to Gregorian’s side and rummaged in the toolbox. “Take that one,” Gregorian said, turning briefly to point at one of the smaller knives. Jamie hefted it in one hand and began to move cautiously toward the beast.

  It was more horrible than ever as it crawled laboriously forward, every movement of those powerful tentacles showing pain. Annalie’s eyes seemed to be held wide open by invisible threads as she stared at the creature. How magnificent it seemed, so enormous and eerie and yet so overmatched by the onslaught of proton and laser beams. Still it struggled to move, to stay alive …

  It was doomed. It must be nearly dead already.

  “Please,” said a voice. “Please stop shooting it. It only wants the heat of the Fire.”

  And Annalie realized that she was the one who had been pleading for the creature.

  The beams continued, but they became less frequent as the monster’s tentacles scrabbled more weakly across the dirt floor. The creature was dragging itself now, trailing a broad wake of blood-soaked earth. The vast, high-vaulted room had gone silent, only the tearing sounds of the proton beams and the crackling of the lasers disturbing the quiet dimness.

  “Don’t you see?” Annalie said, more loudly this time. “It wasn’t trying to hurt anyone; it only needed warmth! It would have died outside!”

  The creature continued to crawl slowly forward. Another yellow beam struck it, and it shuddered weakly.

  And it’s so beautiful, Annalie thought. Why didn’t I see that before?

  “Gloriana! Tell them to stop firing!” said a man’s voice. Annalie looked wonderingly and saw that it was Jordan.

  Her mind was whirling. She couldn’t understand why the huge creature suddenly seemed so different. Its body-sac was flayed and gouged open in countless places where the beams had struck it, yet even the torn flesh continued to pulse with life; its tentacles curled forward along the floor, suckers opening to grasp dust. The sight was chilling, yet she was filled with an overwhelming sense of pity for the monster. Even now, torn and oozing, it was magnificent.

  She realized then that she was seeing the creature through someone else’s mind—that she must have been seeing that way for some time. Strong arms were holding her, and she looked up to see the face of Nikki.

  Of course! Nikki had been nearby all evening, and Annalie had felt her calm strength several times during the service. It was she who saw the creature as beautiful, who had felt that stabbing pity for it even while it was still able to lash out with deadly force. And when Annalie had become so terrified, her mind must have reached out for the nearest person whose feelings could reassure her.

  But Nikki was … what had Robin told her? She’d taken something that sent her through personality changes. And now she’d come out of them as a whole human being; she was riding the crest of reintegration.

  Gloriana’s voice came: “Why should we stop shooting? This monster has killed a dozen people!”

  And Jordan said, “Don’t you see yet?—It needs warmth; that’s all. It’s used to the heat in the Abyss, and it’s trying to get close to Fire.”

  Gloriana’s expression wavered. She looked at the great beast through narrowed eyes. “This creature broke in—”

  “But it didn’t!” cried Nikki. “The doors were open. Please, no more shooting!” She looked pleadingly at Gregorian. “Put your knives away—you’re cutting it up like a block of wood!”

  Gregorian met her eyes for a moment, then glanced at the creature. He lowered his laser knife and motioned for Jamie to do the same.

  The guards kept their guns trained on the monster; they looked to Gloriana for orders. From the corner of her eyes Annalie saw the millipede stir, its many legs waving awkwardly as it struggled to a sitting position against the high wall of the fireplace. The tentacled monster heaved itself forward on the floor, reaching toward Fire.

  The sense of beauty and overwhelming pity that had filled Annalie earlier came back, and this time she was fully aware that she was seeing through Nikki’s mind. The sense of well-being that filled Nikki calmed Annalie’s mind too; she realized that her talent was completely restored if she wanted it. Dimly in the background, like distant echoes, she heard the minds of thousands of citizens in the homes of Cirque. Their attention was here in the Cathedral too: Livy and Mithra were broadcasting.

  Yet at the same time Livy’s mind was searching for Annalie’s. Can you hear me now? You can, can’t you?

  Annalie breathed deeply, summoning strength. Yes, I can hear everyone again.

  Annalie, what’s happening? That creature looks different to different people! The ones up near the front, where you are, see something … I don’t know—wonderful, beautiful! But everyone else sees it the way it was earlier.

  Annalie looked calmly at the tentacled beast; its motions, even as it dragged itself painfully across the floor, were grace personified. Its torn, bristled body seemed to glow with life.

  Now that her mind was filled again with the familiar sights and senses of so many people, Annalie felt a peaceful clarity descend on her. Her talent had come back, but now it was her tool instead of her master; she could choose what she wanted to see. And she knew which vision of the beast she wanted.

  It’s all right, Livy; I understand now. The creature is … it was born, all of them were, out of what we threw into the Abyss. Not only its body, but its mind. It’s a projection of all of us.

  Annalie held Nikki’s encircling arms tightly in her own and opened fully to her mind. Livy, stop broadcasting—you too, Mithra. I know what to do.

  She felt Livy’s confusion and Mithra’s resistance, but in a few moments the minds of Cirque were empty of visions from them. The people crowded against the walls of the Cathedral were open.

  Annalie began to broadcast.

  She sent what was in Nikki’s mind: her fright and dismay at the events of this night, her sense of being trapped against the wall of the great fireplace as the beast crept forward, her love for Jordan … and her desperate sadness as she saw that magnificent creature from the depths of the Abyss torn and bleeding, only half alive yet still trying to move toward the warmth of Fire.

  She sent all of it, even the half-submerged visions that whirled through Nikki’s mind: her memory of the beast running from the death sprays of the Guard flyer in the river, or how it had looked when it was whole and unharmed … vast and beautiful, awesome in its grace.

  The crowd quieted as these visions filled them; they stared in surprise at the beast.

  It seemed to gain strength as it moved forward across the packed-dirt floor; its movements became less spasmodic, more flowing. The bristles on its body and tentacles lay smooth and sleek.

  Gloriana said, “Stop firing.”

  The creature crawled forward, reached the steps of the altar and began to haul itself up them. Dim patterns from the black and crimson fire played across the beast’s body, and it hesitated, tentacles twitching uncertainly.

  The crowd was utterly silent.

  “The Fire is too bright,” said Jamie. “In the Abyss, these creatures ran from our light.”

  “I can adjust the chemical jets,” said Gregorian. The fire sculptor looked to Salamander. “Shall I?”

  The priestess’s eyes were wide wit
h wonder. “Yes, do it,” she said softly.

  Gregorian went toward the fireplace, carefully skirting the beast’s massive tentacles. He reached into the grate and punched tiny buttons; the twisting red lines in the Fire died down and disappeared. Gregorian looked around at the beast as it began to move forward again; then he looked directly at Nikki.

  “It’s you who are seeing it like this, isn’t it?” he said.

  Nikki nodded, and Annalie with her. Gregorian looked again at the beast coming toward him; he shook his head and left the fireplace, going to stand again beside Salamander.

  Fire coiled darkly in the grate, sending up long tendrils of deep violet. The rear of the Cathedral had gone dark; only the figures nearest the dim Fire could be seen now. A pale-furred tentacle groped forward, then another, and another. The creature pulled itself painfully up the steps.

  Annalie concentrated on the view through Nikki’s mind: she saw beauty. The bristled tentacles were soft now, and the great mottled body of the beast glowed warmly in the violet light of Fire. Fear fell away from her like a dropped cloak; joy began to swell within her.

  The creature moved forward into the glow of Fire, and as it did so it … changed.

  The slowly moving light of Fire played over the creature, casting soft light across its body, and it seemed to shimmer for a moment, its outlines shifting and rearranging. As it gained the dais and settled quietly before Fire, the coarse fur on its tentacles became delicate filaments that reached toward the flames like petals stretching into sunlight. The mottled body lay quietly and changed color: its grey and white markings faded into a pale rose color, quiet and peaceful.

  Murmurs started among the crowd, whispered exclamations of wonder. The creature’s colors became more intense: its roseate body seemed to glow from within, and the filaments reaching toward Fire sprouted tiny white flowers that opened slowly.

  Its body began to break up, the pink flesh separating into clumps of petals soft as clover. Delicate roots sank into the ground of the dais. The clumps of pink petals seemed to swell and subside as though it were breathing, but the movement was slow and languorous.

  The white flowers were fully open now; they swayed almost imperceptibly in the warmth of the flames, violet light playing softly over them. More tiny white flowers had opened among the main body of pink petals.

  The changes ceased. On the altar before the great chimney there was now only a great clump of rose-colored clover dotted with points of white.

  Annalie had been holding her breath! She let it out and inhaled deeply, letting relief wash over her as she stopped broadcasting. She smelled the rich scents of Fire’s burning chemicals and, mixed with them, a delicate perfume like jasmine, like mint, yet like nothing she had experienced before. The white flowers, she thought.

  Annalie? Livy’s mind-voice. I don’t understand.

  Yes you do, Annalie said.

  She felt Nikki’s arms loosen their hold around her; she stepped away from Nikki, turning for a moment to meet her eyes. They were shining with tears that made them seem violet in the light of Fire. Annalie smiled at her, and after a moment Nikki’s answering smile came.

  Jordan touched Nikki’s face softly with his fingertips. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly.

  Nikki shook her head, laughing a bit shakily. “No, it was …” She looked again at Annalie. “It was you who did that. You’re the monitor, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Annalie said. “But it was your vision I broadcast.”

  Nikki said, “It never occurred to me that you were a real person.”

  “I didn’t know either,” said Annalie. “Thank you.”

  The crowd was moving away from the walls, still hesitant but drawn forward to look in amazement at the luxuriant mass of flowers the creature had become. Annalie saw the millipede, recovered from its crash against the wall, as it reached the rose and white clump first. It lifted its head from the ground and regarded the flowers for a long moment with its dark eyes; then it thrust its head into the soft petals, and she saw the fur along its body ripple slowly.

  More people came forward and surrounded the clump of flowers, but Salamander stepped in front of them, holding up her hand. “Wait. We mustn’t cut off the warmth of Fire. Please stand back.”

  They did, forming a semicircle on the steps of the dais. Many people were talking at once, telling each other what they’d seen, agreeing furiously, exclaiming and shaking their heads. The priestess silenced them.

  “We have seen a miracle tonight. We called Spirit to us, and Spirit has come.” Salamander drew a breath, glanced at the flowers and frowned slightly. “It came first as confusion and pain, but that is the way of birth. Ultimately, it is beauty, and now that beauty lives before us. We shall nurture it forever, here on our altar.”

  Annalie, we’re broadcasting this. Is it all right?

  Yes, Livy. Thank you, and please continue. You’re the monitor now.

  She felt sudden fear. But your talent came back—you haven’t lost it!

  No, I haven’t lost it. But I’ve learned to control it. You must take my place till you learn that too. She withdrew from Livy’s mind.

  The old man, Alton Techniksson, was standing near her on the altar; he said, “You’ll have to change the services, priestess, if we’re to keep the flowers alive. Fire will have to be kept low and soft, not like the bright Fires we’ve had.”

  Salamander smiled. “We can do that. Gregorian, will you stay on long enough to make the changes in our Fire?”

  Gregorian glanced at Nikki, at Jordan; they stood close together, arms around each other. He grinned. “I’ll stay as long as you like.”

  The priestess nodded. “Perhaps it is time for changes here anyway.” She looked again at the mass of flowers, and her expression softened as she watched the play of Fire’s light over the rose and white petals. Then she turned away and descended the dais steps to join Gloriana and several of her Guard officers as they tended the wounds of people who had been hurt earlier. Even they were staring in awe at the flowers on the dais.

  Annalie saw the outlander woman who had been hit by a proton beam talking excitedly to a similarly dressed young man. Then she felt an elbow nudging her insistently; she looked down and saw Robin. The girl whispered to her, “Hey, that wasn’t really a miracle, was it? I mean, I bet those things are some kind of chameleon, only they’re telepathic and they change their shape depending on what people are thinking. Right?”

  “I don’t know,” said Annalie. “Does it matter?”

  “Sure it does,” Robin said. “Maybe not to you; you’re an adult. But I’m still a kid, and I’m trying to learn things. Hey, Jordan, that wasn’t really a miracle, I bet.”

  The teacher looked at her with amusement in his lean face. “I think you’ve practiced enough negatives for one lifetime,” he said. He knelt beside the girl; very deliberately he said, “Now comes the hard lesson, if you think you’re ready for it. Starting right now, I’d like you to practice positives. No more negatives, Robin, not a single one. See if you can find a positive for everything that happens.”

  “Everything?” She looked around uncertainly at the crowd in the dim Cathedral, the millipede smiling silently before the mass of flowers growing on the altar, Gloriana and the Guard officers clearing a path to carry out the wounded. “But what about—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “No buts. No exceptions, no reservations. You’ve graduated from that; now go on to the next lesson.”

  Robin stared at him; slowly a smile crept onto her face, and she hugged him.

  Annalie watched silently, her mind aswarm with wonder. Robin had called her an adult—yet she was only fifteen. Of course she would seem old to a child, especially since she knew her face reflected the accumulated experiences of the entire city of Cirque for so many years. But she didn’t feel grown up.

  But, she thought. She laughed softly at herself.

  Can time end? Moments multiply causes,

  extend
ing eternity.

  —The Book of Causes

  ALTON TECHNIKSSON had come to the Morning Gate long before dawn; he sat wearily at the base of the ancient portal, trying to slow his racing thoughts. Stars swarmed in the sky, campfires of distant tribes; Alton wondered if the people of their worlds had seen anything this night as strange as the events in Cirque. He thought of the crystal armies orbiting Procyon, fighting their enigmatic wars of alignment; the Six Sleepers of Tenebrum, their dreams still shaping storms on their planet; the subtle power dances of lost fetuses in the Great Cloud, each striving for birth.

  No, he thought; all of these things are normal to their worlds. What happened in the Cathedral was new, something none of us could have expected. And despite the priestess’s little speech, it was nothing we can explain either.

  A miracle? He was surprised that he found it so hard to believe—hadn’t he always followed the teachings of the Five Elements? Hadn’t he known that life was always a miracle, a focus for infinite possibilities?

  He sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the cold ground; he wished he’d brought a blanket to sit on. We thought we understood everything, he told himself wryly, but we got caught in our understanding. Our planet is so old, we thought it had no more surprises.

  The distant stars seemed to swim in the sky as though they’d been cut loose from their paths.

  Presently he heard voices behind him, and he shifted position to look over his shoulder. Half a dozen people came toward him along the worn road out of the city; he recognized the white cape of the priestess, Salamander, and the dark figure beside her was … that fire sculptor. Gregorian. Just behind them came the low, long figure of the millipede, its flowing movement unmistakable even in the night. There was others behind them.

  He heard the voice of the priestess: “I only regret that your sculpture of Fire could not follow your plan. You must believe that I would never have asked you to change it if it hadn’t been necessary.”