The Godling: A Novel of Masalay

by CK Collins

  “Viv?”

  “Carodai.”

  “Viv, so lovely to hear your voice.”

  “Not so lovely hearing yours — I’ve been on five minutes.”

  “So sorry. I presume you had no trouble with the Dafoe?”

  “Might we employ a simpler system next time?” she shouts. “There are any number of protocols that don’t involve visiting the bookseller.”

  “I thought you already owned it?”

  “I know how much you fancy playing secret agent, Carodai. It’s no longer 1971.”

  “Noted.”

  “So, have we Sule as well?”

  “Hello Viv.”

  “Thanks be. Sule, you’ll keep him in line, won’t you?”

  “And my novice as well. Called Tchori. She’s here, and I must———”

  “———Well, I’ve received your correspondence.”

  “Lovely. I’m told by Sule, Viv, that it’s not entirely necessary for you to shout. You might try holding the microphone some distance from your mouth.”

  “Feels comfortable enough as it is.”

  “Yes well.” Sharing a conspiratorial grin, he gestures pleadingly for Sule to adjust the volume. “Excellent to hear you’ve received my letter. Any thoughts? Much to discuss but———”

  “Insanity.”

  “Ah. You think so?”

  “Perfect madness.”

  “Not worth pursuing, you think?”

  “‘God doesn’t roll dice.’ You know who said that?”

  “Einstein, was it?”

  “Einstein. Objecting to the theory that a particle could occupy more than one position at the same time. That it hasn’t a position at all, only the probability of a position. Said God doesn’t roll dice. Bright fellow.”

  “One hears that.”

  “Wrong, of course. Flat out. Been proven a thousand times over, quantum mechanics has. Seems God does little else but roll dice.”

  “Indeed.”

  “We’re ants on the hillside. You recall who gave us that analogy? We’ve limited capacity to know what lies above and below us — blind altogether to what lies on the other side of the hill.”

  “An apt metaphor.”

  “Even if it’s only the wind in the eaves, if you think you hear Heaven whispering, you’d best prick up your ears. It’s millions-to-one, Carodai, but I don’t see how you could justify not following this. I can’t imagine you’ve got anything better to do.”

  “A strong point.”

  “And I’ve another: Anything done to impede Aarum Sidaarik is a thing well done. His choice, not ours. Made the game zero-sum when he detonated that first pipe bomb. In Sagaro, do you recall? And not he, of course, he had that pitiful, daft girl do the deed.”

  “I have not forgotten it.”

  “If you informed me that Hilm Hivaa were attempting to corner the market on thumb tacks and nasturtium seeds, I’d buy warehouses of both. He’s no fool. Got sundry other faults, but he’s far from a fool. If he’s taking it seriously, which I gather from Sule he has done, then we’d be fools ourselves not to do the same.”

  “Well said. Aside from the nasturtium seeds, he can have those. Now, as long as I have you — rare pleasure — have you any news on our beloved copper scroll?”

  “Sorry to deprive you of the chance to pout, but indeed I do. Steam in the spout, as a matter of fact.”

  “Tell, tell.”

  “Extraordinary these new-production chips. A doubling in precision over what was possible but two years ago. A thousand-fold increase — thousand — from thirty years ago when you were convinced we ought to be dismembering the blessed thing with a carpenter’s saw.”

  “Ah, but you made me see reason.”

  “So they’ve agreed to give our job a go. Three years of playing nice and batting my eyelashes. Geniuses, this lot. They came near to selling the whole lab, stock and screw, to Toshiba last year. Point is they preserved their chastity, rare in this world, and they’re willing to grant me time with the toys. It will be similar to the technique employed for 3Q15 but much improved. You remember the technique there, Qumran?”

  “This is wonderful news.”

  “Have you heard me? I’ve said it’s like 3Q15.”

  “We’ve heard, yes, Viv. Hanging on your every word.”

  “I’ve booked a slot, didn’t care to wait on your approval.”

  “Smartly done.”

  “Won’t come cheap. And they’re not happy, either, about the hush-hush. Don’t want to be involved in anything improper. I’ve worn my vaalis and exhausted my repertoire of holyspeak. Persuaded them it’s all legitimate. We’re to have our go July next.”

  “July next?” he repeats disappointedly. “That’s near nine months, Viv. Less than ideal given our circumstance, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Oh bless it. Sule, are you still there?”

  “I am.”

  “Will you tell Carodai that under any normal conditions we’d be waiting three years? That’s their waiting list. If they even let us on the waiting list. And so that we can be spared his moping later, will you tell Carodai that the product will be virtual? The deed here is to scan all those captive markings and render them as bits. That glue and ink he likes to romanticise, the waxing poetic about smells — he’ll be getting a disk.”

  “All understood, Viv. You’ll not hear a churlish word from me.”

  “Write that down, Sule.”

  “I wonder if we might move to that Oriydu Codex? Have you had time for that particular analysis?”

  “Up half the night on it. You might have given me more time.”

  “Events are moving a bit rapidly at the moment.”

  “Yes, well be patient another 120 seconds. My PC has chosen this exact moment to reboot itself.”

  “Not a security problem, one hopes?”

  “No, rather the daftness of Windows. I’m sure you can think of something to talk about for two minutes.”

  “As a matter of fact . . .”

  “Thought so.”

  “Yes, well, it’s directly related to what you’ve been working on. And I do appreciate your staying up half the night. I know Sule recalls, perhaps you do as well, that the most intact portion of the Commentary pertains to the pregnancy of Lirim.”

  “I recall every centimetre of that document.”

  “Excellent. Tchori, I realise there’s something important that I’ve neglected to tell you about the Commentary . . .”

  “Who’s ‘Tchori’?”

  “My novice, Viv.”

  “She’s been there all this time?”

  “I’ve introduced her at the outset.”

  “Sule, you told me the palsy was in his hands — you’ve said nothing about his brain. He’s come with a teenager? Could we not get him a puppy instead?”

  “Tchori has every reason to be here, Viv. She’s proven herself quite capable. And we’re woefully undermanned as it is.” A rude snort from Viv. “Indeed it’s Tchori who discovered the message from Rith Idiiye. And it’s she who’s been looking after the flowers these weeks.”

  “Lovely.”

  “She’s set everything up in the most systematic way. You’d be quite impressed.”

  Tchori would prefer if he moved to new subject. It’s all she can do to remain dignified in front of Sule. And she doesn’t like discussing the flowers, it feels too personal.

  “And as it happens, Viv, I’ve only just learned from her that we have a change underway.”

  He’s giving her the floor. She clears her throat. “Hello.”

  “Begin with how many we have and tell her what you’ve done.”

  “Well, we’ve 18 specimens in all. I’ve assigned them to different experimental conditions — with and without water, with and without sunlight, sealed, open, etcetera. My process has been to take digital photographs daily and make written notes as well. We’re approaching two months since they’ve been picked and each one is alive still. I’ve researched it and
found no record of any flower having such durability out of soil.

  “As to what species it might be, there again I’ve found no record. Comparing the photographs, one notes a thickening of the petals and a deepening of the colour. And there’s been a thickening of the hairs on the stem. And a growth of the bulge under the stamen. It appears as well — I believe this is the change you were referencing, Brother Carodai — it’s quite recent, but the petals appear to be closing in. Almost a reverse bloom. All subtle, but one can see it in the photos.”

  “Fascinating,” Viv says, much of the sneer vanished from her voice. “I should like to see those photos at some time. You’ll continue to take them, one hopes.”

  “I will do.”

  Carodai beams at her. “Thank you, Tchori. Splendid work.”

  “My privilege.”

  “Now, I was about to say regarding the Commentary: If we were to trust the traditional Godling sagas, we would believe that Lirim knew immediately that her child was divine. The Commentary indicates differently, and we’re most fortunate that this passage survived with such fidelity. It’s plain that the historical Lirim did not comprehend her child’s divinity until months after his birth. Not but the scarcest few did comprehend.”

  “I’ve not forgotten any of that, Carodai. Have you got pen?”

  “Fetching one now.” Sule presents a pad and pencil from the side table. “As I’ve said, Viv, I believe this might be of greatest importance.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have neglected the Oriydu all these years then.”

  “Yes well, once-per-millennium miracles are famously difficult to plan around. Ready when you are.”

  “Let’s see then,” she says, her voice receding to normal volume as she reads a series of twelve or thirteen letters. Middle-Masalayan, but without writing them herself it’s difficult for Tchori to follow. Sule, who’s done the writing, turns the pad around for Carodai to see, but he’s already worked it out. “You’re absolutely certain, Viv? The suffix is shev – hist – hru – uch, precisely that?”

  “Exactly so, five times in the text. The most common construction in the text after the words for wind.”

  Carodai taps his leg rapidly, lost in concentration.

  “Are you still there then?”

  “Brother is giving it some thought,” Sule tells her.

  “The viyka hiding in the closet hasn’t chosen this moment to spring?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Probably fallen asleep waiting for Carodai to speak.”

  “This will be pivotal,” he murmurs, “and Aarum won’t see it.”

  “Nor will we if you keep it to yourself.”

  “Extraordinarily precise people,” Carodai muses. “There is no chance that the construction is inadvertent. The meaning evolved subsequently, came to mean something else, but at that time — it can only have signified one thing.”

  “Bless it, Carodai, what are you talking about?”

  “Our only hope to beat Aarum at this is to be smarter. We must be more perceptive, we must read the evidence better. So, help me — let’s be certain. I’ll tell you what I posit, and you’ll tell me if you disagree. Ashma is an eternal force. Her essence does not alter — certainly not in the span of a millennium or two, ages to us but a mere blink to Her. And the same can be said of Oblivion. Yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Their ‘instincts,’ as it were, have not changed. But the world in which those instincts are expressed has changed in nearly every respect. So we must be careful in how we extrapolate from the past. Yet — the Commentary tells us that the field sprouted within about a fortnight of conception. If the same pattern has unfolded — I think I’ve managed correct dates — the pregnancy would now be at about ten weeks.

  “It’s suggested as well that Ikidris was forced to wait for the scent of the child to grow. The first assault did not occur until the mid-point of Lirim’s pregnancy. And we’ll do well to remember something Khaadum said during the Liashe encampment. That the Skythk exists ‘only as urge and gale.’ As the annihilator of reason, it is incapable of reason. There is power in Ikidris, but weakness as well.

  “Now, the matter of Aarum. We can’t out-fight Hilm Hivaa on its terms and wouldn’t wish to — the cost to our souls — so we must out-think them, as I’ve said. We must give them respect. They’re a disciplined force. Sincere in their convictions, willing to embrace death, unquestioning in their devotion. With the consequence that their heads are empty and their souls are cold. And we have, as well, Aarum’s need to keep everything in compartments.

  “It’s a brilliant set-up if your mission is to kill MPs and foil the intelligence services. But it is not a structure designed for creativity and initiative. Brute force and impalement by daaka can achieve only so much. And unless Aarum has changed very much indeed, we can count on his committing the error of every ideologue. He has divided the world into firm categories of good and evil, deserving and undeserving, and will view all information through that prism. Aarum will look for a woman who is Talid. And we will not. In fact, we’ll not look for a Masalayan at all.”

  “Why is that?”

  Sule looks offended at Tchori’s tone. But Carodai replies with a wink, “You recall dear Thaadi — she called the mother a ‘tramp’ and wished us to know that the woman ‘should not have come.’ That she ‘does not belong.’ Have I remembered correctly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aarum will look for someone pure. We will look for an outsider. For someone who does not belong.”

  “Well, Brother, I know that Ashma doesn’t ‘choose’ in the way that humans do. But She’s not going to choose just anyone. If you’ve a precious seed to plant, you take care where you drop it. You find the best soil you can.”

  “Agreed — she will not be Masalayan.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I mean it’s a bit insulting, isn’t it?”

  “Insulting?”

  “Are you suggesting that we’re not good enough by ourselves? Has there got to be some purer stock, some Aryan blood?”

  “Have I said that the person should be white? Demographically speaking, I’d say the odds rather favour the Chinese.”

  “It’s the same point. Apologies for being impertinent but . . .”

  “Well, you mustn’t apologise, child — blind acceptance is the way of Hilm Hivaa. Disagreement is healthy indeed. And I will argue that you are entirely mistaken.”

  “Alright then.”

  “The argument — you mustn’t look so hurt — the argument is not only theological, it’s biological as well. We advanced organisms exist as we do thanks to the genius of sexual reproduction, do we not? Amoebas and mould and the like remain primitive because they can reproduce only by splitting into identical halves. Have I got that right, Viv?”

  “It’ll do.”

  “There is a common fallacy of equating God exclusively with perfection. In fact, Ashma’s first gift was the introduction of imperfection. Randomness. The opportunity for error. Without them the universe would have remained forever flat and uniform. Perfect uniformity is perfect Oblivion. It’s imperfection that gave us the galaxies and this world. It’s imperfection that gives us the infinite creativity of sexual reproduction. If nature’s preference — Ashma’s preference — is clearly for diversity, should we not expect Ashma’s seed to take hold in genetic soil that is more diverse, not less?

  “We have this same word — different tongues, but the meaning persists — appearing in all three primary sources. It appears in the Av Udaan as a descriptor for the mother of Ashma’s first child. It appears in the Riyain Valley Scroll as a descriptor for the mother of Khaadum. And Viv has just told us that it appears no fewer than five times in the Oriydu Codex, reputed to contain Kaadum’s own anticipation of a future Godling. We could engage the most lovely debate about translation, but the meanings cluster the same: an outsider, an alien, a whore, not clean, and not of us.

&n
bsp; “And it’s here that we have a decisive gap betwixt ourselves and Hilm Hivaa. Aarum believes, above all else, in purity. Racial purity, theological purity, political purity. And I do not. We must cast our lot one way or the other, and I will cast mine with the aliens and tramps. We will search for a woman who is unlike us. There will be other things to guide us, but let’s start there. If it happens as it happened before, the dear woman will not know what is coming. But come it will.”