Time's Dark Laughter Part 19

Josh began walking north, but hadn't taken two steps before Jasmine stopped him. "Josh, what are you doing? What's going on?"

Suddenly the entire camp was aware that something was amiss. The joyous din withered quickly to a hush.

Josh looked confused, intent. "She calls," he muttered.

Jasmine and Beauty moved around in front of him. "Who calls?" questioned the golden Centaur. "The Queen?"

Josh shook his head. "My daughter," he said.

Father, come.

Josh started walking north again; again, Jasmine stopped him. "You can't go there," she said.

Father, come.

"I have to," he answered. There was an edge in his voice.

"We will go with you, then," Beauty declared.

"I have to go alone," Josh insisted.

"We won't let you," Jasmine said quietly.

Father, come.

"There's no other way," he answered her just as quietly. Then, turning to the attentive crowd, he shouted: "I'm going to the castle, now. Alone. You're all to wait for me here."

There was a dense silence. Even the spring wind died in the trees. This was The Serpent speaking. The hunter. The master Scribe, and friend. Not a soul breathed.

Gently, Josh lifted Jasmine's hand from his shoulder. Uncertainly, she stepped aside.

Father, come.

With pounding heart, Josh walked, alone, toward The City With No Name.

The storm was at hand.

It took him over an hour to reach the main gates, but long before that, he could see strange events were underway.

First, there were the Great White Birds. Flocks of them pa.s.sed overhead, flying low, flying north. They had thirty-foot wingspans, huge, scaly talons, and heads like Albatrosses. Even singly, they were rarely seen this far north; they were never seen in flocks. Except now.

There was the sky, sparkling bright only minutes before, now purple-black.

As he approached the City, caravans of Neuromans were making a disorganized exodus north, or east. And droves of Vampires swooped out the main gates and away, over the sea, screaming hi a cacophony of high-frequency beeps.

And of course, there was the voice in his head.

Father, come.

He walked right through the door to the Outer City, past the outpouring of citizens, without anyone paying him much heed. Inside, the City was chaos.

There were large cl.u.s.ters of Vampires and Neuromans talking and shouting. Others ran here and there, like ants in a burning box. Humans were in the streets, too, wandering, dashing, wailing. Occasional stragglers were run over by hysterical packs; or pulled, screaming, into empty houses.

Father, come.

Black smoke rose from some corners of the fortress. Josh crossed a bridge and walked steadfastly into the Inner City. Here all was quiet. Deserted, even. It was eerie, like a dreamscape, devoid of color or movement. Somewhere, an animal cried. Josh entered the castle.

Father, come.

The castle, too, was in turmoil. Smoke and the acrid odor of chemical fires filled the air. Dimly outlined creatures flapped and crawled up and down the corridors- carrying objects, fighting, gasping, curling up in corners. Distant explosions rumbled the stone. Somehow, unerringly, hall after hall, Josh knew exactly where to go.

Father, come. Father, come.

A flaming door blocked his entrance to a stairwell at one juncture. Without losing a step he retraced his route until he found a more accessible path; and went on.

Father, come.

Up stairs, through burning rooms, over crumbling arches. He felt entranced. Finally into a room he knew: the laboratory. Beakers broken on the floor; steam hissing from a twisted valve. He stepped gingerly around the debris, into the next room. Communion. Row upon row of Humans, in-circuit. All dead.

Josh did not look at them long. He went on to the next room. The Queen's Chamber. He approached the throne: on it sat two small isolated figures. One of them instantly jumped down, ran across the floor and leapt at Josh. The furry little creature hit him full in the chest; he caught, and held it there.

"Rowr!" Isis purred, trying to burrow into his breast. She flipped completely upside-down in his hands, rubbed her head hard against his arm, licked him ferociously, and said again, emphatically: "Rowr!"

"h.e.l.lo, Fur-face," whispered Josh. He rocked her softly a moment, holding her soft black face to his face, stroking her tenderly behind the ear, just the way she liked. Then he dropped her to the floor and approached the throne. Isis remained where she had landed, purring and preening herself.

When Josh was ten feet from the throne, he stopped and studied the child-Queen-as, poised, she studied him. He was surprised to see she seemed to be near ten or twelve years old. Nor was she exactly Human. Her head was elliptical, and port-wine feathers sprouted from her temples. Her eyes and nose together looked more like a mirrored beak-mask than anything else, though her lips were full and red. Her naked body was Human enough, and female, certainly-though markedly androgynous. Her hands had fingers that were both delicate and clawlike; her feet resembled velvety talons. She had a downy, prehensile tail. And along the back of the length of both arms ran an array of short feather buds, mostly gold and green.

Josh felt his heart beating faster. This was his child.

After a long silence of mutual examination, she spoke to him-though he sensed that even if she hadn't spoken, he would have understood her meaning. As it was, certain words or thoughts clearly rang through telepathically.

"You are my father. Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you."

"Where is your mother?" Josh asked her. He didn't feel afraid.

"In my infancy / killed her, which act / regret. I have grown since then. You have nothing to fear, father-creator."

"What are you about?" Josh asked. His immediate sense was of her vulnerability.

"I am yet to learn. I have powers. But I change daily. Each day I get new visions of the Ether-Mother. She is ever changing, ever sly. And each day my powers grow. I can change things. And I change. You see, I am in metamorphosis."

"How do you do these things?"

"A powerful mind generates a powerful energy field. When this field is strong enough, it can bend the substance of s.p.a.ce-time-like a great star, a black hole. All minds do this to a small extent-it is usually undetectable, though, as is the force of small ma.s.ses, or the effect of small veloci- ties. But just as time slows and matter contracts at velocities near the speed of light, and just as s.p.a.ce, light, and time curve around the densest of ma.s.ses, so are s.p.a.ce-time distortions created by the energy field of the megamind. Do you understand?"

"No," said Josh. "I understand you're very powerful."

"Understand also this: you have nothing to fear from me. You or your people. You are my father-creator, you have manifested me. I am the twist in the Ether-Mother produced by the spasm of you and my mother-creator, whom I have killed in ignorance and entropy. But you are safe."

"And the rest of Earth's creatures?" He felt he could take her at her word-at least, her intentions. What she actually might do, he felt just as surely, was beyond even her control.

"I cannot say. My powers are untrained, my visions incomplete. I cannot see what will come."

"What do you wish?" He felt hopeful. He felt strangely powerful in her presence, though he suspected she could extinguish his life with a blink.

"/ wish for harmony. Yet / cannot grasp the scale. Still, it will come. / could wish for your help."

"Why mine?"

"/ am your manifestation. You are my progenitor. Help is the theta field of that relationship. Love is the Electro-Motive Force. Balance is the wave-form. Wavelength is tha pa.s.sion. Do you understand?"

"No."

"No matter. Time is our grace. Go, now. I will call again-you must help me. I can send thoughts, yet I receive them still only imperfectly-at close distances of s.p.a.ce or time, in the absence of interference by other fields. But the simple wavelengths are simple-for transmission and reception: Come; go; help; love; hate. Do you understand?"

"No."

"No matter. / am your child. Will you help me?"

"You're my child; I'm your witness."

"Go now."

Josh turned and left. Isis padded along beside him.

Together they weaved their way through the smoking castle, the desolate Inner City, the thrashing Outer City, and south, beyond the walls, to the tense, waiting Bookery camp.

CHAPTER 15: In Which the Gentleness of Friends Does Not Always Suffice

JOSH arrived back at camp in the frosty shadow of evening. His friends were huddled around small fires; silent, tense. There was a palpable sense of relief on everyone's face as he strode into the oak grove, accompanied by the proudly strutting Isis. They all converged on him, wrapped him in blankets, sat him down before the central fire, and even dared the night's black forces by putting another log on the tenuous flames.

He told them of his meeting with the child; and for a long minute after he finished, n.o.body spoke.

Finally Jasmine said, "And you're certain she said the Queen was dead?"

"Positive," answered Josh. "Said she killed her."

"And the City? . . ." ventured Beauty. "It was in ruins?"

"Not completely. But on its way."

There was another long silence. The group was totally mystified-they could not quickly a.s.similate this confusing new data, and were at a loss for response. After several minutes, Jasmine spoke again: "Joshua, what do you think?" Her look was pensive.

The crowd edged closer, hanging on his words.

"I'm not sure what to think." His tone was measured. "I know we personally have nothing to fear from this new being. The old Queen's experiments are over now-the City is coming apart, most of its inhabitants are fleeing, the harems are dispersing. Our vigil is over . . ."

"But?" said Rose.

"But the child is strange beyond understanding. She has powers I don't grasp. But she is my daughter. But she murdered her mother. I believe she means well . . ."

"But . . ."

"She's changing," resumed Josh. "I think we should wait and see. I think she wants to do what's right. Let's watch and see if she can find out what it is. Part of her is wondering child, part is monster, and part is darkness itself. But she's my child, and part of her is me."

They all nodded solemnly, straining for comprehension. Josh stared into the fire. Isis lay curled, asleep, in his lap. The others withdrew in groups of two or three to consider the meanings of what had been said.

That night was one of strange and chill occurrences. First, the clouds descended, lower and lower, until they hung, black and puffy, barely a hundred feet above the ground. And then it began to snow.

Fat, wet flakes sank quickly to the ground, covering everything like a shroud. Lightning ripped through the cloud bank, too-cracking loud as cannon, piercing the bloated clouds with white sparks and thunder.

Just as suddenly, the snow stopped, and a hot wind blew through the forest, melting the ice and blowing out the campfires.

Lost sounds floated on the air. As if the sky were moaning, or the Earth rolling off its...o...b..t.

Once, a tree fell. Just one tree, in the midst of all the others, near the north edge of the encampment. It buried itself several feet underground.

The campfires relit spontaneously, but now their flames were blue, the color of burning methane, with streaks of violet, as if suffused with pota.s.sium vapor.

The clouds settled lower, and the abiding chill returned.

In the morning, the sun returned emphatically, dissolving away the ghosts of the darkness.

Jasmine had not slept at all. She had brooded darkly through the night, occasionally talking to herself. Now that Josh was awake again, she walked over to him and spoke quietly. "We should a.s.sume a friendly stance with this child; show her we're friends."

Josh nodded. "I feel hopeful."

"Good. So do 1.1 think you should go back and see her. Make an overture of friendship."

"You think I should go alone?"

"Well, take a couple of friends. Not so many as to be intimidating. Just some good comrades. Take Beauty. And Isis, the child likes Isis, you said. And take a good bottle of Scribe wine."

"How about Ollie? He's her uncle."

"Better wait on Ollie. He still gets moods, he's temperamental. Take Beauty-he has balance and tact."

"What will we say?"

"Pay homage. Toast her health. Offer our support."