The Rituals of Infinity

by Michael Moorcock

  Faustaff approached the heap until he stood immediately beneath it. At his feet lay a near-oval shield of wood and

  leather. It looked as if it belonged to the fourteenth century and the workmanship seemed Italian. It was richly decorated with gold and red paint and its main motif showed an ornate mythical lion; beside it, on its side, was a beautiful clock dating from around 1700. It was of steel and silver filigree and might have been the work of the greatest clockmaker of his time, Thomas Tompion. Few other craftsmen, Faustaff thought abstractedly, could have created such a clock. Quite close to the clock he saw a skull of blue crystal. It could only have been fifteenth century Aztec. Faustaff had seen one like it in the British Museum. Half-covering the crystal skull was a grotesque ceremonial mask that looked as if it came from New Guinea, the features painted to represent a devil.

  Faustaff felt overwhelmed by the richness and beauty— and the sheer variety—of the jumble of objects. Somehow it represented an aspect of what he had been fighting for since he had taken over the organisation from his father and agreed to try to preserve the worlds of subspace.

  He reached down and picked up the heavy Tompion clock, running his fingers over the ornate silver. A key hung by a red cord from the back. He opened the glass door at the front and inserted the key. Smoothly the key turned and he started to wind the clock. Inside a balance wheel began to swing with a muted tick-tock. Faustaff set the hands to twelve o'clock and, holding the clock carefully, put it down.

  Although the sense of unreality about his surroundings was still strong, this action had helped him. He squatted in front of the clock and tried to think, his back to the great mound of antiques.

  He concentrated his whole attention on the clock as, with an effort, he considered what he knew about E-Zero.

  It was fairly obvious that E-Zero was simply the latest 'simulation' created by whoever had employed Steifflomeis, Maggy White and the D-squaders. It was also almost certain that this simulation was no different from what the other

  thousand had been like at the same stage. His own world, E -1, must therefore have been created in the same way, its history beginning at the point where E-2's history had become static. That would mean that E-l had been created in the early sixties, shortly before his own birth, but certainly not before his father's birth—and his father had discovered the alternate worlds in 1971. It was unpleasant to consider that his father, and many of the people he had known and some of whom he still knew, must have been 'activated' on a world that had originally been a world like E-Zero. Had the inhabitants of his own world been transported from one subspacial world to another? If so, how had they been conditioned into accepting their new environment? There was no explanation as he wondered again why the inhabitants of all the worlds other than E-l accepted without question the changes in their society and their geography resulting from a series of Unstable Matter Situations? He had often wondered about it. He had once described them as seeming to live in a perpetual dream and a perpetual present.

  The difference on E-Zero was that he felt real enough, but the whole planet seemed to be a dream-world also in a state of static time. For all the bizarre changes that had taken place on the other subspacial worids, he had never got this impression from them—only from the inhabitants.

  Evidently the conditioning that occurred on the drastically altered worlds would be applied more or less in reverse on E-Zero.

  He could not consider who had created the alternate Earths. He would have to hope that at some time he would be able to get the answers once and for all, from either Maggy White or Steifflomeis. He could not even guess why the worlds had been created and then destroyed. The kind of science necessary for such a task would be far too sophisticated for him to comprehend immediately, even if he never learned its principles.

  The creators of the subspacial worlds seemed unable to interfere with them directly. That was why they had created the android D-squaders, obviously—to destroy their work. Steifflomeis and Maggy White had made a more recent appearance. Plainly, they were either human or robots of a much more advanced type than the D-squaders and their job was not directly concerned with demolishing the subspacial Earths but with eliminating random factors like himself.

  Therefore the creators, whoever and wherever they were, were not able to control their creations completely. The inhabitants of the worlds must have a fair degree of free will, otherwise he and his father would never have been able to set up the organisation they had used to preserve and bring relief to the other alternates. The creators, in short, were by no means omnipotent—they were not even omniscient, otherwise they would have acted sooner than they had in sending Steifflomeis and Maggy White in to get rid of him. That was encouraging, at least. It was obvious, too, that Steifflomeis believed they could be disobeyed, for Steifflomeis had plainly reneged on them and was out to oppose them. Whether or not this opposition would succeed Faustaff could not tell since only Steifflomeis and Maggy White knew exactly what was opposed. Maggy White was still loyal. Perhaps she had some way of contacting her 'principals' and had already warned them of Steifflomeis's treachery. Steifflomeis hadn't appeared to be worried by this possibility. Could these principals be relying solely on Steifflomeis and Maggy White? Why, if that were the case, were they so powerful and at the same time so powerless? Another question he could not yet begin to answer.

  Faustaff remembered that he had recently considered temporarily taking Steifflomeis up on his offer. Now he rejected the idea. Steifflomeis and Orelli had both proved untrustworthy—Steifflomeis to his employers, Orelli to him. But Maggy White seemed loyal to her principals and she had once said that Faustaffs ideals and theirs were not so different in the long-term.

  Maggy White then, must be found. If he were going to seek anyone's help—and it was evident that he must—then she was the one. There was a strong possibility, of course, that she had now left E-Zero or been captured by Steifflomeis.

  All that he could hope for now, he thought, would be a chance of contacting the creators. Then at least he would know exactly what he fought. Perhaps Maggy White could be convinced. Hadn't she said to Steifflomeis that he, Faustaff, would be of more use to her principals than Steifflomeis now? Faustaff had failed to thwart them, but he could still hope to find a way of convincing them of the immorality of their actions.

  He had no idea where Maggy had gone. The only course open to him was to retrace his journey and see if he could find her.

  All this time he had been staring at the clock, but now he noticed the position of the hands; exactly an hour had passed. He got to his feet and picked up the clock.

  Looking about him he still felt disturbed by the continuing unreality of his surroundings; but he felt less confused by them, less at their mercy.

  He began to walk back towards the car.

  It was only when he had reached it and climbed in that he realised Nancy Hunt and Gordon Ogg were no longer there.

  He looked in all directions, hoping that he would see them; but they were gone.

  Had they been captured by Steifflomeis and Orelli? Had Maggy White found them and forced them to go with her? Or had they simply fled, totally demoralised by their fear?

  Now there was an additional reason for finding Maggy White as soon as possible.

  14

  The Crucifixion in the Cathedral

  As he drove back down the highway, seeing the spires of the cathedral over the roofs of the houses ahead, Faustaff wished that he had brought one of the guns he had seen on the dump. He would have felt better for possessing a weapon of some kind.

  He slowed the car suddenly as he saw some figures approaching him down the middle of the highway. They were behaving in a peculiar way and seemed oblivious to his car.

  When he got closer he recognised them as Orelli's men, but differently dressed. They wore unfamiliar, festive costumes of the kind normally seen at carnivals. Some were dressed as Roman soldiers; some, he gathered, as priests, and others as women. They ca
me down the highway performing an exaggerated high-stepping walk and they wore rapt, uncomprehending expressions.

  Faustaff felt no fear of them and sounded the car's horn. They did not appear to hear it. Very slowly, he drove the car around them, looking at them as closely as he could. There was something familiar about the costumes; what they represented struck a chord in him, but he could not analyse what it was, and he did not feel he had the time to work it out.

  He passed them and then passed the house in which he'd been transported to E-Zero. The house still looked much more real in contrast to the others near it. He turned a bend in the street and saw the cathedral ahead. It was in its own grounds, surrounded by a stone wall. Let into the wall were two solid gate-posts and the big wrought-iron gates were open. He drove straight through them. He felt that caution would be useless.

  He stopped the car at the west-front of the cathedral where the main entrance lay, flanked by tall towers. Like most cathedrals, this one seemed to have been built and rebuilt over several centuries though in general appearance it was Gothic, with the unmistakable arches of its stained-glass windows and heavy, iron-studded doors.

  Faustaff mounted the few steps until he stood at the doors. They were slightly ajar and he pushed them partially open, just enough for him to pass through. He walked into the nave, the vast ceiling rising above him, and it was as empty of seats as it had been when he had last been in it. But the altar was there now, and candles burned on it. It was covered by an exquisite altar cloth. Faustaff barely noticed these, for it was the life-size crucifix behind the altar which drew his attention. Not only was.it life-size but peculiarly life-like, also. Faustaff walked rapidly towards it, refusing to believe what he already knew to be true.

  The cross was of plain wood, though well-finished.

  The figure nailed to it was alive.

  It was Orelli, naked and bleeding from wounds in his hands and feet, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his head hanging on his chest.

  Now Faustaff realised what Orelli's men had represented—the people of Calvary. They must certainly have been the ones who crucified him.

  With a grunt of horror Faustaff ran forward and climbed on the altar reaching up to see how he could get Orelli down. The ex-cardinal smelled of sweat and his body was

  lacerated. On his head was a thorn garland.

  What had caused Orelli's men to do this to him? It was surely no conscious perversion of Christianity; no deliberate blasphemy. Faustaff doubted that Orelli's brigands cared enough for religion to do what they had done.

  He would need something to lever the nails out.

  Then Orelli raised his head and opened his eyes.

  Faustaff was shocked by the tranquillity he saw in those eyes. Orelli's whole face seemed transformed not into a travesty of Christ but into a living representation of Christ.

  Orelli smiled sweetly at Faustaff. 'Can I help you, my son?' he said calmly.

  'Orelli?' Faustaff was unable to say anything else for a moment. He paused. 'How did this happen?' he asked eventually.

  'It was my destiny,' Orelli replied. 'I knew it and they understood what they must do. I must die, you see.'

  'This is insane!' Faustaff began trying to tug at one of the nails. 'You aren't Christ! What's happening?'

  'What must happen,' Orelli said in the same even tone. 'Go away, my son. Do not question this. Leave me.'

  'But you're Orelli—a traitor, murderer, renegade. You— you don't deserve this! You've no right...' Faustaff was an atheist and to him Christianity was one of many religions that had ceased to serve any.purpose, but something in the spectacle before him disturbed him. 'The Christ in the Bible was an idea, not a man!' he shouted. 'You've turned it inside out!'

  'We are all ideas,' Orelli replied, 'either our own or someone else's. I am an idea in their minds and I am the same idea in my own. What has happened is true—it is real—it is necessary! Do not try to help me. I don't need any help.'

  Though he spoke distantly, Faustaff had the impression that Orelli also spoke with preternatural lucidity. It gave him some insight into what he feared on E-Zero. The world not only threatened to destroy the personality—it turned a man inside out. Orelli's outer persona was buried within him somewhere (if he had not lost it altogether) and here was revealed his innermost self; not the Devil he had tried to be but the Christ he had wanted to be.

  Slowly, Faustaff got down from the altar while Orelli's calm face smiled at him. It was no idiot's smile, it was not insane—it was a smile of fulfilment. Its sanity and tranquillity terrified Faustaff. He turned his back on it and began to walk with effort towards the door.

  As he neared it a figure stepped out from the shadows of the arches and touched his arm.

  'Orelli does not only die for you, professor,' Steifflomeis said smiling. 'He dies because of you. You began the activation. I compliment you on your strength of will. I should have expected you to have succumbed by now. All the others have.'

  'Succumbed to what exactly, Steifflomeis?'

  'To the Ritual—the Activation Ritual. Every new planet must undergo it. Under normal circumstances the entire population of a fresh simulation must play out its myth roles before it awakes. "The work before the dream and the dream before the wakening", as some writer of yours once put it. You people have some reasonable insights into your situation from time to time, you know. Come,' Steifflomeis led Faustaff from the cathedral, 'I can take you to see more. The show is about to start in earnest. I can't guarantee that you will survive it.'

  A sun now shone in the sky, bringing bright lights and heavy shade to the world, though it still did not live. The sun was swollen and a glowing red; Faustaff blinked and reached into his pocket to get his sunglasses. He put them on.

  'That's right.' grinned Steifflomeis. 'Gird on your armour and prepare for an interesting battle.'

  'Where are we going?' Faustaff asked vaguely.

  'Out into the world. You will see it naked. Every man has his role to play today. You have defeated me, Faustaff— perhaps you had not realised that. You have set E-Zero in motion by your ignorant actions. I can only hope that E-Zero will defeat you in turn, though I am not sure.'

  'Why aren't you sure?' Faustaff asked, still only half-interested.

  'There are levels that even I had not prepared for,' Steifflomeis answered. 'Perhaps you will not find your role on E-Zero. Perhaps you have resisted and retained your personality because you are already living your role. Could it be that we have all underestimated you?'

  15

  The Revels of E-Zero

  Faustaff could not understand the full implication of Steifflomeis's statement but he allowed the man to lead him out of the cathedral grounds and into a wooded park behind it.

  'You know there is little left of E-l now,' Steifflomeis said casually as they walked. 'The war was very brief. I think a few survivors are lingering on, by all accounts.'

  Faustaff knew that Steifflomeis had deliberately chosen this moment to tell him, probably hoping to demoralise him. He controlled the feelings of loss and despair that came to him and tried to answer as casually.

  'It was only to be expected, I suppose.'

  Steifflomeis smiled. 'You might be pleased to know that many people from the other simulations have been transferred to E-Zero. Not an act of mercy on the part of the principals, of course. Merely a selection of the most likely specimens for populating this Earth.'

  Faustaff paused. Ahead he could make out a number of figures. He peered through the trees at them, frowning. Most of them were naked. Like Orelli's men, they were moving in a ritualistic, puppet-like manner, their faces blank. There was an approximately equal number of men and women.

  Steifflomeis waved a hand. 'They will not see us we are invisible to them while they are in this state.'

  Faustaff was fascinated. 'What are they doing?'

  'Oh, working out their positions in the world. We'll go a little closer, if you like.'

  Steifflomei
s led Faustaff towards the group.

  Faustaff felt he was witnessing an ancient and primitive ceremony. People seemed to be imitating animals of various kinds. One man had branches tied to his head in a familiar representation of a stag. A combination of man, beast and plant which was significant to Faustaff without his understanding quite why. A woman stooped and picked up the skin of a lioness draping it around her naked body. There was a pile of animal skins in the centre of the posturing group. Some of the people already wore skins or masks. Here were representations of bears, owls, hares, wolves, snakes, eagles, bats, foxes, badgers and many other animals. A fire burned to one side of the glade.

  Soon the whole group had clothed itself in pelts or masks.

  In the centre now stood a woman. She wore a dog's skin around her shoulders and a crudely painted dog's mask on her face. She had long black hair that escaped from behind the mask and fell down her back. The dance around her became increasingly formal, but much faster than previously.

  Faustaff grew tense as he watched.

  The circle drew tighter and tighter around the dogwoman. She stood there impassively until the group suddenly stopped and faced her. Then she began to cringe, raising her head in a long drawn out canine howl, her arms stretched in front of her with the palms outwards.

  With a roar they closed on her.

  Faustaff began to run forward bent on trying to help the girl. Steifflomeis pulled at his arm.

  'Too late,' he said. 'It never takes long.'

  The group was already backing away. Faustaff glimpsed the mangled corpse of the girl lying on the ground, the dogskin draped across her.

  Bloody-mouthed, the horned man ran towards the lire and pulled a brand from it. Others brought wood that had already been gathered, heaping it around the girl. The wood was ignited and the pyre began to burn.