“We…we knew more,” he said.
“Yes, you did,” replied Ghort.
“Who then, are you?” Tamsin asked.
Ghort slipped his hand from Tamsin’s shoulder and cupped Tamsin’s soul pendant in his palm. His expression was almost wistful.
“These are your blessing, for you will never die. For the very same reasons they are my curse. You have believed that your souls are kept safe in your pendant after you die until the time that they transmigrate to heaven. How much truth can you stand, Tamsin?”
“All of it. Only truth is important.”
“Very well. You are recorded to your pendant and when you die that recording is transmitted to the Owner’s database. You essentially become part of him; a very small part of an immensely powerful mind. With me that does not happen. I am my pendant and there is no transmission. I have died and woken in a crib more times than I care to remember.”
Tamsin was silent for a long moment.
“I do not understand all your words,” he said, “but I will. Now we must return to the Wishpool to find out what has happened. Then I think we must pursue my brother.” He paused then pulled his pendant from Ghort’s hand. Ghort dropped his hand to his side. Tamsin went on, “Would the Owner accept the soul of a murderer?”
Ghort said, “Oh yes, he accepts all information.”
Baum, Torril, and three others lay dead. By the time Ghort and Tamsin had reached the pool the corpses had been laid out side by side and their pendants removed. Chand wept over the body of her husband and Ephis sat by her father. Tamsin wondered what comfort the truth would be to them. Most love, he realised, is selfish, and all they knew was that who they loved was gone. Tamsin walked over to Chester, who was now village elder.
“What of my brother?” he asked.
Chester glanced up, a mass of pendants clutched in his hand.
“Your brother? Your brother ran into the Rhode when no more charge remained in the weapon. A weapon that was your responsibility, Tamsin Logisticson.”
“I will get it back,” said Tamsin.
“Best you do that, boy, but before you do, go take a look at the corpse on the end there. Perhaps sight of it will stiffen your sinews.”
It was Jeleel. Tamsin could only feel horror and bewilderment at what Sapher had done to her. A fast anger and faster knife he could understand. What had been done to Jeleel had taken time. He stepped back and gazed around at the villagers. Many of them were walking around with stunned expressions, and leaden movement. He turned to Ghort.
“My brother must be found. Will you come with me?”
Ghort nodded as he surveyed the scene. “I’ll come, but Tamsin, what will you do when you find your brother?”
“I don’t know yet. But he must never come back.”
They set out just as it was becoming dark, into the perfumed undershadows of the Rhode.
“We could wait until morning, but daylight is my brother’s friend.” The steel eye of the moon provided enough silvery light to make travelling a possibility. In an hour they had reached the edge of the Rhode and were gazing out across the Plain of Landing.
“You sure this is right?” asked Ghort.
Tamsin said, “I am not the tracker my brother is, but I would guess he has headed for the Ship. The place has always held an attraction for him. Tell me, were you on that ship?”
“I was not. You people had been here some time when I arrived.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Another world, originally. The Great Ship at the last.” Ghort pointed to the moon as he said this and Tamsin wondered what he might mean. He knew about other worlds. The teaching was that they had come from another world to this one—a world that was owned. The Owner had agreed to let them stay under certain terms. Thus the Agreement had been made. But the Great Ship? What was that? It seemed now that everything Ghort said raised another question.
“Was the Great Ship like ours? Tell me about it,” he said, and while they travelled, Ghort did that thing. The long grasses of the plain rustled all around them in the night breezes. They heard the coughing growl of a tiger in the night, but it was not a sound that held any fear for them. Tigers will not attack men. It was written. An hour’s travelling brought the Ship within sight; a broken shell of metal lying at the end of the gully it had cut many centuries ago. They stopped and crouched down.
“Let us move quietly now,” said Tamsin. He had heard enough for a while. His head felt bloated with words, with confirmations and denials. He understood that what was religion to his fellows was just historical fact. He understood that the Agreement was real, but that worship was inappropriate. Much more he had yet to sort out in his mind. He glanced at Ghort, but the big man was looking away from him. He was staring back the way they had come. Tamsin followed the direction of his gaze. The tiger sat on its haunches with its tail flicking. Its eyes were silver stars and moonlight glinted on the moisture on its fur. It was magnificent; a full grown adult in its prime, easily capable of snapping a man’s spine with one swipe of its paw.
“Would Sapher have gone up against him,” said Tamsin, surprised at his own bitterness.
“Perhaps—he is sick enough,” said Ghort, and as if his words were an acknowledgement and a dismissal. The tiger growled then slid into the shadows. They listened to its hissing progress as it passed them and went deeper into the grasses. The silence that followed was broken only when Tamsin signalled that they should move in. This they quickly did.
The Ship was grey metal upon a lattice of white metal struts. It lay like a scattering of the broken eggs of some titanic bird. Monoliths of hull metal rose out of the ground. Skeletal lattice glinted in the moonlight where hull metal had been stripped away. This was all that remained. The contents of the ship had either been taken out over the centuries or decayed to dust. Grasses grew inside the shell and vines crept up the slick metal. With geologic slowness nature reclaimed what had been taken from it. Tamsin held his spear in readiness but did not know how he would react should he encounter his brother. They moved into the shadows cast by the ancient hull then split to search the length of the ship. Soon they returned to the centre.
“I felt sure he would come here,” said Tamsin. “It’s where he always ran when we were children. It’s where he hid when he did something wrong.”
“It is where he came to do wrong as well,” said Ghort.
“What do you mean?” asked Tamsin.
Ghort gestured for him to follow and led him to the part of the ship he had searched.
“There,” he said, pointing to a shape lying below mounded vines creeping up a section of hull. Tamsin stepped closer and saw that a tiger lay there. It was dead. Half its head burnt away.
“Is that the…” Tamsin trailed off as Ghort shook his head.
“It’s not the one we saw. This one is younger, and a female. It seems your brother did not empty the charge of the gun back there.”
“But why kill it?” asked Tamsin. “He killed Jeleel, not this tiger.” Ghort nodded then pointed. Tamsin turned to see the tiger they had first seen, standing close by and watching them. It shook its head and let go a short coughing growl. It turned away, paused, and then looked back at them.
“I think we should follow it, don’t you,” said Ghort.
“Why should we do that?” Tamsin asked.
Ghort pointed to the horizon, which was now made distinct by an orange glow. The steel moon was now at its zenith and the same glow etched one side of it. Sunrise was imminent.
“In very little time Sapher will again be armed. We must find him quickly. We must end this.”
“You still have not explained why we should follow this tiger,” said Tamsin.
“Because it will lead us to Sapher,” said Ghort.
“Why should it do that?” asked Tamsin.
“Tigers don’t behave like this. I think the Owner still has an interest here,” Ghort replied. Tamsin felt his stomach lurch: the things he had seen
this night, the things he had been told.
“You would know. You’ve had plenty of time to observe them,” he said.
“That I have,” replied Ghort. “That I have.”
The tiger led them away from the ship and along trails beaten through the grass. The sun broke the horizon and leached colour back into the world. The tiger’s coat was gold and snow and its eyes pure topaz each time it looked back at them. As the sun cleared the horizon they heard movement in the grasses all around them. The tiger brought them to a clearing beaten down in the grass. In this clearing tigers patrolled. Tamsin had never seen so many together. In the centre of the clearing lay a boulder of grey metal laced with golden pipes and strange cooling veins.
“Piece of a jump engine,” said Ghort.
Only because of what he had been told in the last hour did Tamsin understand what Ghort meant. He acknowledged this additional information, but could not relate it to any reality he knew. His attention focused on the tigers, and then on the figure crouching on top of the artefact. Sapher was naked and there was blood all over him. Keeping a wary eye on the tigers, which in turn completely ignored him, Tamsin walked towards his brother. He saw that Sapher had the gun next to him catching the rays of the early sun. He raised his spear to his shoulder, not sure what he would do next.
“Have you come to kill me, Tamsin?” said Sapher. “Please try.” Tamsin halted and lowered his spear.
“Why, Sapher? Why did you do it?” he asked.
“Because I did not know right from wrong. Because I had no empathy. Because I was insane, brother,” said Sapher, and as he said it he looked at the gun next to him.
“I don’t understand,” said Tamsin.
Sapher looked up.
“You saw the tiger?” he asked, then after Tamsin nodded he continued, “We can kill each other with impunity and it is for us to decide if it’s a crime or not. The tigers are his, though, and if we kill them we will be punished.”
“What is your punishment to be?” asked Ghort, from beside Tamsin. Sapher glanced at the big man and Tamsin saw that there were tears in his brother’s eyes.
“Be?” said Sapher. “I’ve already been punished.”
“A whipping, is that enough?” asked Tamsin, his anger growing. Sapher stared at him.
“No, brother, I stripped myself and ran through the grass naked so it would cut and flail me. I wanted the pain, brother, but it was not enough. The Owner’s punishments are more subtle and more powerful than that.”
“What was your punishment?” Tamsin asked.
“Sanity,” Sapher replied, and picked up the gun.
Tamsin threw his spear. There was a flash of light and that spear turned to ash. Its blade fell red hot out of the air to clang against the base of the artefact and there set a small fire. For a moment Tamsin thought Sapher had shot his spear out of the air. He had not. The gun was pointed off to one side.
“Too easy,” said Sapher, then he put the gun up against his own face and pulled the trigger. Tamsin ran to his brother as he fell to the ground. Sapher lay in the grass gasping in agony. His face was burned down to the bone. He had not waited long enough and there had not been sufficient charge in the gun. Tamsin halted then turned to Ghort.
“Please,” was all he said.
Ghort drove his wide-bladed spear into Sapher’s chest, and ended it.
All but one of the tigers slid off into the grasses the moment Sapher died. The tiger that remained was the one that had led them to the clearing. How could it have been any other? It watched them while they dug a hole with Ghort’s spear and placed Sapher in it. It watched them while they filled it in, then it moved towards them when they were ready to return to the village.
“Is that it now?” said Ghort. “Have you finished?”
The air distorted and emitted a low plangent groan. In place of the tiger now stood the shape of Temron.
“I’m never finished,” said the Owner.
Tamsin stepped forward. He held the gun at his side.
“Why are we less than animals to you?” he asked.
The Owner regarded him, eyes changing to red now, face slewing and blurring and changing.
“We have an agreement,” he said.
Tamsin fought his anger. He’d just asked the question one might ask of a god. The Owner was not a god. He had to remember that. He glanced aside as Ghort stepped forward.
“I’m ready now,” said the big man.
The Owner nodded and gestured for him to come forward. Ghort did so. The Owner reached out and took hold of his pendant, pulling and snapping the chain. Ghort sagged, sank to his knees, then with a sigh he fell over onto his side. Tamsin moved closer. His brother had killed himself because of this…man. He knew that the Ghort he knew was now dead. He had the gun. It was charged…But he knew that was wrong. He knew that he didn’t understand anywhere near enough.
“He was Ghort—quiet and dependable and distant…yet he told me he has lived many lives. Who was he?”
With Ghort’s pendant clutched in his right hand the Owner carefully studied Tamsin.
“He was a foolish man who served me badly. Now he is a wise man who will serve me well,” he said. Tamsin closed his eyes. Quite deliberately he raised the gun then shoved it into his belt pouch. He said,
“You are real and now everything has changed. How can I be at peace? How can I just live the life I have always lived?”
“My answer should be that it is not for me to answer you. But you are somewhat unique, Tamsin. I can give you more if you wish it. Most people don’t. Most people lack the imagination to see beyond the simple act of living. Would you serve me, Tamsin?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Then first, Tamsin, you must learn wisdom and the patience that is integral to it.” Tamsin felt his soul pendant grow hot against his chest, then slowly begin to cool. He pressed the palm of his hand against it and tried not to be frightened of what he knew it meant. As the air around him distorted and the immensity behind reached out to pull him back the Owner spoke again.
“Raise your people up, Tamsin,” he said.
Tamsin knew that he would, and that he had more than one lifetime in which to do so.
ABOUT “THE GURNARD”
I have to say this is one of my favorite stories and surprise surprise here I am again having a go at religion, getting wrapped up in a weird planetary ecology involving a nasty parasite, and liberally sprinkling it all with some gratuitous violence. This story was another casualty of Tanjen folding, for Anthony had started his own magazine called Night Dreams in which he published the first half of this in ’96. The mag did not last long enough for anyone to see the second half. However, in ’98 Graeme Hurry came to the rescue and published the complete story in Kimota.
THE GURNARD
Either side of the door to this church of the Fish, two iron-scaled creations gaze down from posts of heather wood. They are representational of Gurnards only in that they are readily identifiable as fish. Church artisans, like the Clergy, have never allowed anything so irrelevant as fact to get in the way of their calling.
On the iron scaling of the door itself, Sirus Beck knocked with the butt of his gun, then holstered the weapon. Whilst waiting impatiently, he gazed out at hills like pregnant seals below the falling box of the moon. Beyond the hills, snow-clad mountains faded into green sky and could be mistaken for cloud. There flowed the Changing Waters. He knew this just as he knew so much else about the Church, for his teachers had driven it into him with a leather strap. It was his conceit that he would have fled this place even without the feel of the strap across his back. At an early age, he had learnt to read, and absorbed much from the church library that the other acolytes had missed. It was his conceit that he had left because he had not been stupid enough to believe, and he had not expected to come back. Returning his attention to the nearby hills, he noted a flock of sheep flowing across the land, and dropped a hand to the butt of his gun before turning at the sound
of the view-hatch grating open.
“Yes?” asked the belligerent face beyond the grid of thick wires. Beck recalled that someone had ordered the grid fixed there after a sheep had knocked on the door then ripped off the face of the acolyte who had opened the hatch. This sort of thing often happened.
“I am summoned,” said Beck, not trying too hard to hide his irritation.
“Hah!” came the informed reply.
When there was no further reaction, Beck felt the impetus build. It frightened him. If this fool did not let him in on request, he would have to attempt bribery, or scale the lichenous wall, or pick the lock. The only other option would have him throwing himself against the door and clawing at the iron.
“Will you let me in or will you explain to the Wife of Ovens why you turned away a Baptiser?” That brought a frown to the bristly visage and Beck then saw, by the broken teeth and scars, that this man had already run contrary to Church law.
“You know what’ll happen if you’re lying?”
Beck nodded. Of course he knew. He did not want them to seal him in a drowning jar, but he had been summoned. Choice did not come into it, for the voice of the Gurnard had spoken to him on a cellular level and he did not have the knowledge to resist it. Bolts and latches clacked and rattled inside before the door was quickly drawn open. Scarface stood there in stiffened hide armour, a crossbow across his arm, cocked and loaded with a barbed quarrel. With a glance over his shoulder, Beck quickly stepped inside.
The inside of the church was all dank stone across which biolights crept in search of the bladders of blood that were hung to feed them, and as a consequence of that nourishment, the glow of the genfactored creatures was red. The algal life coating the floor in patterns as of frost on a window, was scuffed by the passage of many feet, but still regrowing in places it all but concealed the mosaics. On the ceiling these mosaics were clear behind translucent stone. They depicted strange hoofed animals with woolly pelts, the like of which Beck had never before seen—though their heads were similar to those of sheep. Other just as unlikely herd beasts crowded the ceiling along with birds and fishes, plants, insects. The doctrine of the Church had it that these were creatures of Earth. And as real, thought Beck.