Just before Zulmal Street opened out onto the concourse, she stopped and looked at a building. It was one she’d passed a dozen times before as she came and went on her daily mission of exploration, but the relevance had never registered before. This was the baker’s where Boyd had been murdered by a deranged vengeful Mirayse. Justine’s farsight expanded into the shop, finding nothing in the front rooms. But in the back she could just perceive a mound of decaying metal which must surely be the old baker’s ovens.
Edeard, of course, had perceived Boyd’s soul lingering after his death. She could sense nothing like that, although the whole memory now made her cold. It was so much easier to sneer and scorn the foolish simplicity of Living Dream’s icons from the intellectual sanctuary of ANA rather than actually standing amid the movement’s sacred heart experiencing its reality for herself. Just looking at the ancient shop’s open doorway she finally understood why Inigo had decreed the construction of Makka-thran2. It was the ultimate act of worship and devotion. This alien city was the embodiment of Edeard’s triumph; a foreigner from some rural province had come here and given the citizens a hope they’d never known they’d lost and, from that, he inspired billions he never knew existed. All her lofty rationalized disdain could never weaken his phenomenal accomplishment. Here, tracing his footsteps in a very literal sense, she knew how small she was in comparison, on so many levels.
When she finally arrived on the concourse she’d recovered some self-esteem, but that moment of self-realization had left her more aware of her loneliness than she’d been since she arrived in the Void.
Come on, Dad, where are you? Whatever you’re waiting for it must have happened by now, surely?
Up until the last few days she’d managed to keep herself busy enough. Setting up camp in the Sampalok mansion, exploring the rest of the city, testing out and developing her psychic abilities. All that had kept her occupied well enough, venturing into the truly significant places: the Culverit ziggurat, the Orchard Palace with its fabulous ceilings with their astronomical images, the Jeavons Constable Station, and of course the House of Blue Petals – weirdly, an anticlimax now it had cast off its signature bar and doors and thick drapes. Without such rigging it seemed to lack substance. Even the grand Lillylight Opera House had been a disappointment. With the private boxes of the Grand Families no longer cluttering the tiered ledges of the massive ampitheatre, it lacked the character she’d witnessed in the dreams, though she was impressed by the domed ceiling with its white and violet stalactites. Sadly she didn’t quite possess enough courage to sing when she stood beneath them on the stage.
But now her interest in visiting the plethora of locations and buildings of significance to Living Dream was waning. All she seemed to be doing was reinforcing the core of Living Dream beliefs by her display of reverence and excitement.
I need to find something relevant to me.
The surface of the Great Major Canal was clotted with various green and purple puffweeds and fronds of the aquatic plants which flourished. They shivered occasionally as a fil-rat slithered through them, but other than that the whole length of the canal remained perfectly still. Only the centre of Mid Pool was clear, showing the dark water, which moved with a smooth slow flow as the Lyot Sea’s modest breakers washed in and out of the port district.
Justine had often considered building some kind of boat or raft to sail along the canals. With her tools and third hand it wouldn’t be that difficult, and it would at least keep her occupied.
She wondered if Rah and the Lady had felt this peculiar sense of expectancy when they first entered Makkathran. Something in human nature just called out to occupy and use the empty city.
The boat idea was a good one, she thought, both therapeutic and practical. It also overlooked the fact she’d never done any manual work in her life and didn’t know the first thing about carpentry.
Maybe tomorrow.
She went over the flat pink bridge across Trade Route Canal and into the tip of Pholas Park. From there she had to walk along Lilac Canal for several minutes until she came to a blue humpback bridge into Fiacre. The human bridges of metal and wood must have been the first artefacts to disappear after their builders left. Now she had to use the city’s own crossings. Her one attempt to do a Waterwalker and stabilize the surface of a canal with telekinesis hadn’t been enormously successful. How they must have laughed at that dunking back in the Commonwealth. Assuming Dad’s still dreaming all of this for them.
As she carried on parallel with Great Major Canal her farsight probed through the city substance below her feet, showing it as a thick shadow of brown grey, almost completely featureless. She didn’t have anything like Edeard’s perception range, but she had been able to glimpse the tunnels below the canals, which was a moment of extreme pride – even though they appeared like a particularly low-quality exovision display. Then when she added a biononic field function scan to the wavering spectre she was also aware of the faint fissures even further beneath her feet that represented the travel tunnels.
But that was definitely her limit. There was no way she could sense the city’s slumbering mind so far underneath, let alone wake it. She wondered if the Silverbird’s neutron laser could cut down into a travel tunnel for her, and if it did what Makkathran’s response would be. Field-function scans had confirmed that the city’s orange lighting was all electrically powered. That evidence of a technological base convinced her that the travel tunnels could take her a great deal closer to the controlling core of the city – whatever the city actually was.
Again, that would be a project for another day. If I just knew how long it’s going to be before someone arrives. Surely the Pilgrimage fleet must be on its way by now? That must be what Dad was expecting when he told me to come here.
Most of the buildings in Fiacre were covered in vines and creepers, growing out of the deep troughs that lined the streets. Without anyone tending them they now simply swamped the structures they were supposed to complement, sealing up the entranceways and cloaking the windows. Some of the narrower alleys were impassable tangles of dense vegetation. Even the wider streets were difficult to walk down. Fortunately the path along the side of the Great Major Canal was relatively clear.
The open bridge over Grove Canal was so smooth it verged on slippery, and that was with the rugged soles of her boots. She vaguely recalled it had a rope rail and wooden slats pinned on back in Edeard’s time. But she edged across it without falling into the water below. Then she was in Eyrie. The tall towers did have a distant kinship with human Gothic design, though no one on Earth had ever built anything quite so crooked as these. She walked though the broad thoroughfares between them, tipping her head back to try and glimpse the spires which formed a crown around each apex. The angle was all wrong, but she wasn’t going to climb up one to gain a view from the platform at the top, not today.
It was late morning by the time she arrived at the Lady’s church. Cathedral would be more accurate, she thought. The large central dome with its crystal summit radiated three long wings outward, each with five levels of balconies held apart by slim fluted pillars.
The doors had gone, as had all the pews. Justine walked in, feeling more nervous than she usually did when she scouted the notorious buildings. Sunlight shone down vertically through the huge transparent centre of the dome, creating a bright haze over the silver-white floor. Several default genistars gave her a curious look before shuffling away down one of the broad side cloisters where they were nesting. There were no sculpted genistars left, of course. Creating ge-chimps or maybe ge-hounds was another possible occupation for her, though the high probability that she’d mess up the sculpting made her squeamish. Even Master Akeem at the height of his ability had a regular quota of failures.
She thought she could see something moving on the other side of the bright shaft of light filling the centre of the church. Farsight and retinal zoom functions found nothing, but she was uncertain . . . Something about the church was un
nerving her, like a deep harmonic that she couldn’t quite hear.
Stupid. Come on girl, pull yourself together.
She marched straight through the intense splash of light. The giant white-marble statue of the Lady had survived, standing alone where the altar had once rested. One of the cloisters opened up behind it, and again she thought there was some movement in the shadows. Goosebumps were rising along her arms. She moved forward, more cautiously this time. Her third hand pulled gingerly at the secure flap on top of her holster. Just in case . . .
She moved into the relative gloom of the cloister, allowing her retinas to adjust. Farsight showed her there was nothing but empty air. Then her father stepped out from behind a pillar twenty metres away.
Justine let out a small sob of relief and took one step forwards before freezing. A big alien had emerged beside him.
‘Dad?’
‘Hello, darling. Glad you made it here. Not that I was getting worried, but . . .’
He smiled his half-smile, the one that was so familiar and welcome she just wanted to rush over and hug him. However . . . ‘Is that an Anomine?’
‘Yep. Meet Tyzak, he’s slowly showing an interest in our story.’
The Anomine twittered away in its high-pitched voice.
‘He says he’s pleased to see you,’ Gore translated.
Justine sighed. ‘And here I was just starting to think everything was making sense.’
‘Trust me. You’re doing fine. That was a good landing, by the way. Nicely judged.’
‘What’s happening, Dad? Why am I here?’
‘You’re my link into the Void. And that makes you critical. People are on their way.’
‘The Pilgrimage fleet?’
‘Yeah, they made it past the warrior Raiel. But there’s someone else, too. That’s important, Justine. They should arrive before the fleet. They may even be in the Void already.’
‘Okay,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Who?’
‘The other Dreamers.’
‘You’re kidding?’ That made little sense. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. An old contact told me they got ahead. Or at least, they made it to the boundary. I don’t know anything more. But if they made it through they’ll head for Makkathran.’
‘Why, though? Why them?’
‘Because they’re what I need in place along with you.’
‘All right, Dad, I’ll watch for them.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Have you got any idea of timescale?’
‘Not really; I’m sorry, darling, you’ll just have to sit it out.’
‘Do I need to get anything ready?’
‘No. Just survive, however long it takes.’
‘I was thinking I might try and communicate with the city mind. Drill down into the deep tunnels or something,’ she said with a hopeful tone.
‘No point.’
‘Can’t you tell me anything?’
‘I will, I promise. But I’m contending with small local problems that might become unpleasantly physical if I show my hand too soon. And I should warn you that Ilanthe is with the Pilgrimage fleet.’
‘Ha! That bitch. I’ll sort her out if she tries anything with me.’
Gore’s golden features reflected anxiety. ‘No you won’t, darling. She’s not what she used to be. She’s taken on a different aspect which might be trouble, a lot of trouble. Even the Silfen are worried about her and what she’s doing. ’
‘Oh. Okay.’ Justine didn’t like the sound of that at all; it took a great deal for Gore to show caution.
‘I love you, darling.’
‘Dad. Be careful, please.’
‘My middle name.’
‘I thought that was bulldozer.’
‘I hyphenate a lot these days. Sign of the times.’ He raised his arm, and gradually turned translucent. After a while he was gone altogether, and Tyzak with him.
Justine stared at the space where they’d been, then shook her head as if coming out of a trance. ‘Oh crap.’ She tried to press down on the sensation of anxiety, without any real success. But at least he’d given her a clear objective. Stay alive. ‘Nice to know,’ she muttered. Not understanding came hard to Justine: it showed an alarming lack of control. And that just didn’t sit right at all.
Justine turned and walked back out into the cavernous central section of the church. If she was going to be staying in Makkathran for any serious length of time there were practical aspects she’d have to work out, not to mention contingencies should the Silverbird’s systems eventually fail. Food was the primary long-term requirement. She was sure there had been some sheep and goats roaming round on the Iguru; and seven days ago she’d actually glimpsed what looked like chickens on Low Moat. There must be seeds she could cultivate, too. The Grand Families all had kitchen gardens in their mansions, the plants must have survived in some form. And fishing . . . She grinned. Fishing would be easy with a third hand.
It wouldn’t be easy, but she could survive. After all, the city must have been in a similar unkempt state when Rah and the Lady arrived. Justine smiled up at the Lady’s face high above her. ‘And look what you did with the place,’ she told the statue. The Lady gazed down with her unchanging sombre expression. Justine’s smile began to fade. There was something about those features now she could study them closely – after all Edeard hadn’t been a particularly regular visitor to the church. She had to dig deep amid memories she hadn’t realized her body had retained, but there were connections sparking away in her subconscious. ‘No,’ she whispered in shock. This Lady as captured by the sculptor was a lot older than the time Justine had met her, and she had very different hair back then, not to mention figure. ‘Oh no.’ Justine’s eyes began to water as the sheer emotional power of recognition engulfed her. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Her shoulders started to shake, and she giggled. ‘It is you. Holy crap, it’s really you!’ Giggles gave way to hysterical laughter. She actually had to hug her belly it hurt so much. She couldn’t stop. This was the Lady, venerated and worshipped by two separate civilizations. The epitome of dignity and grace. ‘YES!’ she yelled out, and punched the air. Then the joyful laughter made her double up again. She waved her hands helplessly, trying to wipe the tears away.
Well what do you know, the universe has a sense of irony after all.
11
The thin sleet of blue sparks cascading through hyperspace’s pseudofabric faded away as power was withdrawn from the ultradrive engines of the Lady’s Light, and the ship dropped back into spacetime. Blackness pressed in against the vast transparent wall at the front of the observation deck. Radiation from the glowing loop of interstellar detritus behind them struck the ordinary force field which was protecting them from the hostility of the Gulf, creating a disagreeable claret glow around the edges of the transparency. Araminta put on a pair of sunglasses, and stared through the polarized lenses at the greater darkness four lightyears ahead.
Ethan stood beside her, immaculate in his Cleric robes, leaking awe and expectation into the gaiafield. Taranse, Darraklan and Rincenso waited loyally behind their Dreamer, also subdued at the sight of the barrier which they had doubted they would ever witness for themselves.
‘We’re here,’ Araminta told the Skylord. ‘Ask the Heart to reach for us, please.’
It responded with a pulse of near-human happiness.
Exoimage displays showed her the starship’s hysradar return. The Void boundary was rippling, distending upwards at hyperluminal speed. Reaching for the pilgrimage fleet. For her. Its summit opened.
A soft gale of nebula-light swept over the twelve pilgrimage ships.
Hysradar detected another ship emerging from stealth mode, tiny beside the waiting goliaths, but with an impenetrable force field.
‘I wondered where you were,’ Araminta said.
‘You knew,’ Ilanthe replied equitably.
Ethan’s delight chilled rapidly at the reminder of the cost of his victory. ‘What now?’ he asked.
&
nbsp; ‘We go in,’ Araminta told him. ‘Together. Correct?’
‘Correct,’ Ilanthe said.
‘Taranse,’ Araminta said. ‘Take us through.’
He gave a dreamy nod. The Lady’s Light accelerated forwards, with the other ships matching their course.
‘My Lord,’ Ethan’s mind cried, his thoughts amplified by the three confluence nests on board, then reinforced by those on the remainder of the fleet. ‘Please take us to the solid world which used to be inhabited by those of our species.’
Shit! Araminta shot him a furious glare. He returned a satisfied sneer. ‘Did you overlook that part of the request, Dreamer?’ he asked mockingly.
Araminta watched the tortured red glare fade from the edge of the transparency as the glow of the nebulas strengthened. Somewhere behind them, the boundary was closing again. For the first time in days the infestation of nausea and confusion from living at two speeds abated. Her thoughts cleared.
‘And your uniqueness would appear to be at an end,’ Ethan continued. Araminta’s farsight showed her his thoughts, the malice which festered there, naked to taste as he slowly realized the abilities of the Void and recalled the techniques Edeard had applied. Farsight also showed her what he was hiding within the copious folds of his robe.
‘True,’ she said. ‘But that leaves us leading the real life of the Void.’
Ethan reached for the old-fashioned pistol he’d concealed. Araminta’s third hand picked him up and threw him across the observation chamber. He screamed as much from shock as fright as he flew through the air, a cry that was cut off as he thudded face-first into the bulkhead. He crashed awkwardly to the floor, whimpering in pain from the broken bones. Blood was dripping from his mouth and nose.
‘When Rah and the Lady came to Makkathran they had only politics and brute force to enforce their rule,’ Araminta said lightly as she walked towards Ethan, who was trying to scramble away. ‘How fitting that such gifts are also what we will be starting out with.’