The Last Crucible

by J. D. Moyer

  Hennik patted Tem on the shoulder. “You were always hot-headed, ever since you were a boy. Do you remember when you punched me in the nose, beneath the longhouse?”

  Tem had forgotten, but the memory flooded back. Hennik had told him to go home, to the ringship, that he wasn’t welcome in the village. Happdal – where he’d been born, where his grandfather had been jarl.

  Twenty years later, he still felt unwelcome. Nothing had changed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jana dreamed that she was strolling through the streets of Bosa, but the village was populated by mythical creatures: women with the legs of goats, giant squirrels with the faces of children, a long-necked lizard standing on its hind legs with the head of a cat.

  “They are sprites,” Sperancia explained. The maghiarja was walking next to her, unharmed and very much alive. “You can ask them anything, though each type has their specialty.” Sperancia pointed at the tall cat-lizard. “The tatzelwurm here is a master of plant lore and medicinal herbs. But the squasc –” she gestured to a small clan of the child-faced squirrels, “– are the ones to ask about mathematics and astronomy.”

  “Didn’t you die? I swear I saw your corpse, quite recently.”

  “I did die, and yes, you did see my corpse. And yet I walk beside you. I’ll explain again where you are. Try to remember this time – though I know it’s difficult.”

  In another dream Jana was speaking with the mayor, explaining how Sperancia had died. Livia had stabbed her to death, with Maro condoning the act. In that dream she felt cold and fatigued. It was difficult to stay awake and her vision was blurry.

  In a third dream – though this time Jana wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep – she was in bed, at home, being tended to by her father. That much made sense. But why was a blond woman with strange, beautiful features sitting next to her bed, watching her with eyes as bright and fierce as an eagle’s?

  “My name is Katja,” the woman said in a strange tongue. Jana understood the language, some version of English. But how? “I was like you, once,” Katja continued. “I was possessed by the Crucible. Are you hearing voices? Are you trapped in an unfamiliar place?”

  Yes, she was hearing voices. And eventually there were faces attached to those voices, and bodies. There was Agatha, a slight, dark-haired woman with a quick smile. And Giuseppina, an older, heavy-set woman with a deep, booming voice, always frowning. And Itria, with long, shiny black hair and eyes the color of the sea at night. And of course Sperancia, except her friend looked young again, only a few years older than herself, and it was only through the geometry of her facial bones, now covered in taut flesh and glowing olive skin, that Jana recognized her. Her wrinkles had completely disappeared, as had the black threads.

  They introduced themselves as members of Jana’s consorteria. Together, the group made decisions, decisions that Jana would enact. Though ultimately Jana decided what to do; she would maintain complete autonomy of her own body. But she would never again be alone in her own mind unless she explicitly willed it to be so. She was now the host of a community.

  Each woman had once had the same role, Sperancia most recently, their bodies and brains mapped by the Crucible threads. Each now existed only as a virtual being within the Crucible’s quantum core. They could see through Jana’s eyes and hear through her ears at will; privacy was a thing of the past. But they could only take control of Jana’s body if she allowed it, a privilege which she could revoke at any moment.

  The consorteria met in a small church that had been cleared of pews, the benches replaced with a massive oaken round table. Vines grew inside of the church, laden with orange and purple fruits. Tiny people with long dragonfly wings flitted from vine to vine, eating the fruit and speaking to one another in incomprehensibly high-pitched voices.

  “What is this place?” Jana asked.

  “The old church,” Agatha answered. “It stood in this spot long before the town hall was built.”

  “Are we still in Bosa?”

  “A version of Bosa, yes, but from many points in history, with creative liberties taken.”

  “Enough with the explanations, Agatha,” Giuseppina said, slapping her heavy palm against the table. “She’ll catch up soon enough. Time is of the essence – we have a decision to make.”

  “Is murder still the best course of action?” Sperancia asked. “Maro and Livia are now in Gregoriu’s custody. Are they even still a threat?”

  “Of course they’re still a threat,” Giuseppina insisted. “At any moment they could summon help from the Michelangelo. They could have us bombed to oblivion. They could call down a legion of warriors to gut us like fish.”

  “Then how does murdering them make us any safer?” Agatha asked.

  “On the chance that they haven’t already called for help, it prevents them from doing so.

  They’re not carrying any obvious communication devices, though who knows what they have implanted in their bodies.”

  Jana rose from her seat and walked away, even as the debate continued. So she wasn’t dreaming – this was real, in a way. She was inside the Crucible, along with Sperancia and at least three other women.

  And yet she wasn’t. She was also in her bed, at home.

  “No, I’m not trapped,” she told Katja. “I can see and hear you.”

  “You can understand me! And you speak English.”

  “Apparently so.”

  The blond woman narrowed her eagle eyes. “But how can I believe you? You might be the gast, lying to me. Tell me something that only Jana would know. It is still too soon for the gast to know all your thoughts.”

  “My grandmother’s name was Ànghela. My father’s mother. She always pretended to like mirto to be polite, but she hated the taste.”

  “Your farmor?” Katja repeated the name to Papà, who nodded.

  Katja squeezed her hand. “So you are not a prisoner within your own body. But are there others there with you?”

  “Yes. Four others.”

  “Who are they?”

  Back in the church, the consorteria’s meeting had ended. Jana approached young Sperancia. “Who are these women? Why didn’t you tell me about them before?”

  “I tried to tell you, but you refused to understand me.”

  “You never told me their names.”

  “I wanted you to meet them for yourself, without preconceptions. We don’t always get along, but I thought you should make your own judgments.”

  “You don’t get along with Giuseppina, do you?”

  “She can be stubborn. She was the host before me, and when I was a child she was very strict. Giuseppina adjusted poorly when I became the host and surpassed her in power. So yes, we have a contentious relationship, even now.”

  “And now I am more powerful than you?”

  Sperancia nodded. “You have much to learn about being the host, but ultimately you decide what we do in the physical world. It is only through you that we can influence the course of history.”

  “The course of history? That sounds…a little pretentious.”

  “History is composed of people making decisions. We all make history, whether we acknowledge it or not. We all create ripples in the fabric of reality.”

  “How can I understand English?” Jana asked. “There’s a woman caring for me. She spoke to me and I could understand and answer her.”

  “Agatha speaks English fluently. It’s she who understands, and she who moves your mouth and tongue as you form your thoughts. Your minds are already joined in such a way.”

  “So Agatha can read my thoughts?”

  “Only your prevocalizations, and only as you allow it. Eventually you’ll be able to communicate with each of us by thought alone, but only when your brain is fully mapped and virtualized.”

  Jana knew there were important matters to discuss. But an id
ea had been nagging at the back of her mind since the moment she had first seen Sperancia. “This world we’re in now – it’s made up, isn’t it? Mythical creatures, and vines with strange fruit, and you young again….”

  “Yes. We’re in a programmed simulation.”

  “Does that mean we can change things easily?”

  “What do you want to change?”

  “The way I look. My body. My physical appearance.”

  “How do you want to look?”

  “I…I don’t know yet. Different.”

  “Let me know when you decide. But right now, you need to speak with Katja. Did you know that she is considering murdering you?”

  “What?”

  “She thinks that you – that we – are some kind of monster. She was a Crucible host herself once, but something went wrong. You need to explain to her what we are: a community of women that makes decisions together.”

  “How can I explain anything? I understand almost nothing.”

  “You understand that you’re still yourself, don’t you?”

  Jana wasn’t sure that she did, but she nodded. Certainly she didn’t want Katja to slit her throat. She brought her attention back to the bedroom.

  “Do you mean to kill me?”

  Katja looked surprised, but shook her head. “No. Not if it’s really Jana that I’m speaking to. And I believe that it is. If you’re well enough, I’ll return to my home and leave you alone. I apologize for the intrusion.” Katja rose and dusted off the seat of her pants.

  “No!” Jana grabbed Katja’s hand. “Don’t leave, not yet. Stay and be my guide. Help me decide what to do about the visitors.” She was curious about the older blond woman, who was not only beautiful but had a fierce physical confidence that Jana envied.

  “You mean the prisoners? Maro and Livia?”

  “Yes, but also the people from Ilium. I could use your advice. Stay, and become part of my consorteria. At least for a while.”

  Jana explained to Katja what she had experienced in the church, describing her initial impressions of Agatha, who Jana guessed was the oldest of all of them, and Giuseppina, who was a bit of a bully, and quiet Itria, who was still a mystery. As she did so, Jana could hear the voices of the women protesting. They were used to living in the shadows, their existence entirely unknown, and as Jana shone light on them they found it uncomfortable. But Agatha still allowed her to understand and speak English, and the women eventually quieted, having accepted Jana’s choice.

  Jana was the host now. She would do things her way.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A week later Jana assembled the town council. She, as the new maghiarja, was now a full member, along with the mayor, Gregoriu, Micheli the barkeep, and the merchant Austino. They all wanted to know if the transfer of the Crucible had worked. Was Sperancia still alive within Jana? Could they speak to her? As old as they were, none of them had been alive at the previous Crucible ceremony.

  Jana permitted Sperancia to speak through her. When she did she noticed her voice changed slightly, sounding rougher but also more melodic. The men rejoiced at hearing the old maghiarja’s voice and welcomed her back. But they also insisted that she explain her actions.

  “You put us all in danger, murdering Felix,” Gregoriu said. “Why didn’t you come to us? We could have discussed it.”

  “We were already in danger the moment they arrived,” Sperancia said through Jana. “And we’re still in danger, as long as Maro and Livia are alive. I was willing to take on the burden of killing alone, and I only regret that I failed.”

  Jana resumed control, and relayed to the council what Sperancia had told her about the origins of the Michelangelo, how they had stolen Earth’s greatest works of art as a means of hoarding wealth, not protecting culture. Then she put forth her resolution: that Maro and Livia be executed for the murder of Sperancia. Livia for the actual deed, and Maro as her accomplice and co-conspirator.

  Her proposal was instantly met with resistance.

  “Execute?” said Micheli. “Are we not still Italians? The death penalty was abolished in our country in the eighteen hundreds. We’re not savages.”

  “I don’t know if we’re still Italians or not,” Gregoriu said. “Italy no longer exists. But my last name is Busincu – from Bosa – and we are all from Bosa, aren’t we? No one has been executed here for centuries. Why should we bring back such a backward punishment?”

  “It’s also worth asking,” Austino said tentatively, “if the penalty should be less harsh, considering that Sperancia isn’t really dead. And that she attacked them first.”

  “Sperancia lives on in a way, but the murder was real,” Gregoriu said. “Livia didn’t just try to kill her – she did kill her. It doesn’t matter that Sperancia was a Crucible host. Livia and Maro didn’t know that.”

  “We need to consider the possibility of retaliation,” Micheli said. “These are powerful people who built their own world. Surely they have weapons that could annihilate us.”

  “Then what would you suggest?” Jana asked.

  “We imprison them. Just as we would our own.”

  Bosa did have a small jail with two cells, now containing Maro and Livia. Normally the cells were used when men got drunk and fought, and then for only a night. Bosa had few formal laws, and thus little crime. Land disputes were resolved by the council. Theft was remedied with the return of property and fines. There’d been no murders during Jana’s lifetime – until Felix and Sperancia – and the stories she’d heard of killings had been remedied by either revenge or exile.

  A short discussion of long-term imprisonment followed; everyone agreed it was impractical.

  “If the choice is between execution and releasing them, I say the latter,” Gregoriu proclaimed. “We killed one of theirs, they killed one of ours. Perhaps that makes us even. We’ll tell them we have no interest in trade, and to never come back. We’ll wash our hands of it and be done with the matter.”

  “Would they leave us alone?” Austino asked.

  “Of course they wouldn’t,” Jana said. “We’re playthings to them. If we release them, they’ll only return in greater numbers, with more demands. You don’t understand how powerful they are.”

  “If they are as powerful as you say, we shouldn’t risk angering them further,” Gregoriu pointed out.

  The debate continued in the circular fashion that many arguments take, with points and counterpoints dancing in a predictable choreography. Jana began to feel frustrated, and understood why Sperancia had taken matters into her own hands. But now it was too late for any fast decisive action. The matter was in the hands of the council and everyone would speak until their breath was spent.

  Jana squinted as the dim hall was flooded with light. Someone had flung open the heavy wooden doors and was advancing toward the council members.

  “Father – the prisoners have escaped!” It was Antonio, addressing Austino, who had charged his son with securing and guarding Maro and Livia. “It was Cristo who helped them. He tricked me.”

  Wood scraped on stone as the council stood, pushing back their chairs. “When did it happen?” Austino asked. “Is there still a chance to catch them?”

  “The balloon!” Gregoriu exclaimed. “Was anyone guarding it?”

  Jana led them outside, fearing the worst. From the town square she had a clear view of the sky. It was a beautiful day, and her dread receded when she saw nothing but blue sky and white clouds. But her heart dropped when Antonio pointed. Following his gaze, she saw a glint of gold.

  The balloon approached them, purposefully it seemed. As it passed over the square Maro and Livia waved and smiled gloatingly. To Maro’s right was Cristo, looking down on them solemnly.

  There was a fourth passenger as well, a woman. To Jana’s horror she realized it was Filumena. Her friend blew her a kiss, looking sad but determined, a
nd in no way a prisoner.

  It appeared that both Cristo and Filumena were leaving Bosa of their own free will.

  PART TWO

  Ancestral Realism

  Chapter Fifteen

  Seeing the Michelangelo’s familiar cobalt-blue glow as they approached, Maro felt giddy with excitement. Some of the giddiness was purely physical, a combination of weightlessness and exhaustion. He’d slept poorly for weeks, with only hard ground for a bed, or the stone floor of a jail cell, or the compact gondola cots. But at the same time his entire being was vibrating with anticipation. Ancestral Realism would break new ground. He was sailing into uncharted territory. Soon, he would experience and document what no modern mind had experienced for centuries. His status among the Artists would be unparalleled.

  “Are we almost there?” Filumena asked, touching his arm. Livia noticed the flirtation, glancing up from the shuttle controls. Which he appreciated, though he had no intention of bedding Filumena. Maybe after the experiments were complete, but by then she might hate him.

  “Another twenty minutes or so, and we’ll enter the docking bay,” Maro answered.

  “Will everyone understand our language?” Cristo asked.

  “Yes. Some naturally, some with the help of translation machines. Please don’t worry about it.”

  He patted Cristo’s shoulder, appreciating the young man’s curiosity and initiative. There were always people like Cristo and Filumena in any community, restless souls unsatisfied with familiarity and tradition, those who preferred adventure and novelty.

  And Cristo’s restlessness and daring had saved Maro the bother of orchestrating his own escape. Everything had worked out perfectly.

  He idly wondered how Cristo had convinced Filumena to join him. Didn’t the girl have an ailing mother to care for? But he wasn’t curious enough to ask. Clearly, Filumena’s taste for adventure had won out over any sense of filial obligation.

  The technicalities of their escape had been trivial. Cristo had distracted Antonio with a made-up errand, promising his friend he would keep a close eye on the captors. And then, while Antonio was running back to his father’s shop, Cristo had stated his intentions.