Memory Seed

by Stephen Palmer

  Eskhatos insisted that Arrahaquen talk with the woman. ‘You’re bringing me a message?’ Arrahaquen said. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Taziqi told me herself,’ the woman replied. ‘I am to tell you that Taziqi’s knowledge is one of the things to be shown to you. You are to be taken into the innermost sanctum.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I haven’t been told. It’s vital you return with me.’

  ‘Wait there,’ Arrahaquen said.

  They discussed their options. Arrahaquen, not unhappy with the idea of returning to the temple but disconcerted that she had been located, was persuaded by Eskhatos that she should take Reyl along. Arrahaquen agreed, unwilling to argue. The pair dressed for the city, armed themselves, then said their goodbyes.

  The journey was difficult and lengthy. Arrahaquen had no idea what she had been called for and her future memory gave no clues. By the time they reached the green furrow that was Lac Street her toes were aching, her skin was itchy and drenched with sweat, and her mood was irritable. The minion, a lay-priestess called Oquo received into the sisterhood after the collapse of the Citadel, knew nothing of what was to come, or was clever enough to give nothing away.

  Tashyndy welcomed them all into the temple and led them into the cleansing room, where they showered, soaped their bodies, drank fresh water, then dressed in green velvet cloaks. The process took a lingering hour because of Tashyndy’s sensual propensities.

  Waiting in an ante-chamber, eating tangerines, Arrahaquen asked, ‘Why did you call me? What’s this about the inner sanctum?’

  Tashyndy stood and beckoned her into the corridor. ‘We have to talk with you,’ she replied. ‘Leave Reyl – our Oquo will look after her.’

  Arrahaquen walked out into the corridor, taking a pear to eat along the way. Tashyndy stood behind her, hand on her shoulders, and nudged her down the wooden passage. They walked slowly. At a crossroads Tashyndy took a green scarf from her waist and tied it around Arrahaquen’s eyes. Arrahaquen did not complain and her guide pushed her on, murmuring encouragement.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Arrahaquen said.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Do you still have any men here?’

  ‘Ooh!’ Tashyndy cooed, ‘do you want one? Are you desperate?’

  ‘No,’ Arrahaquen answered. ‘I just wondered if any survived the attack.’

  ‘Twelve did. They’re all very good – very, very good.’

  There was a clean, grassy smell and Arrahaquen knew that she was nearing the inner sanctum. She heard musical drones phasing with one another. ‘I know where we are,’ she said. In reply, Tashyndy rotated her, running around to complete the confusion. Then a second pair of hands grasped her, and she was led down a slope. Mud slipped below her feet before the ground became hard. They walked on. Echoes took on a metallic tinge. A door opened, then closed.

  ‘Just stay here, for a moment,’ Tashyndy said. She stroked Arrahaquen’s face. ‘You can take the blindfold off if you like.’

  Arrahaquen paused, listening, then pulled it off. She stood alone in a small, bare white chamber, lit by panels.

  A door opened. Taziqi beckoned her into another room.

  This place was large and filled with machinery up to the ceiling. A framework of tubes, cables, wires, screens and pyuters hung over Arrahaquen like metal foliage. It clicked and ticked, and made the floor vibrate. She noticed how cool the air was. Maharyny and Arvendyn sat nearby on couches.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Taziqi.

  Arrahaquen stood at the door. ‘What’s this?’

  Maharyny said, ‘This is the temple which supplies us with energy direct from the Goddess’ heart.’

  ‘But we want to talk about future memory,’ Taziqi said.

  Now Arrahaquen saw a glimpse of the truth – some connection with the noophytes, or their predictions. ‘How did you know where to find me?’ she asked, keeping her expression neutral.

  ‘By seeing your friends via the medium of future memory.’

  Arrahaquen knew that the priestesses wanted information from her, but she was determined to find out all she could first. ‘Did you foresee the fall of the Citadel?’ she asked.

  ‘Not well enough,’ Maharyny replied after a pause. ‘But we foresaw the attack on our temple, and took appropriate measures.’

  ‘You did…’ Arrahaquen studied their faces. ‘Well, why am I here?’

  In turn, they darted glances at one another. Taziqi shook her body into a more comfortable position. ‘Haven’t you guessed?’

  Arrahaquen had guessed. ‘No,’ she said, with a frown.

  ‘Recently,’ Maharyny said, ‘we have seen nothing of your future, but we know you’re important to Kray in some way. We decided to bring you here so you could...’ She paused, glancing at her kin. ‘So you could use our facilities.’

  Arrahaquen nodded, sensing serpentine forms in the imminent revelation. ‘These would be cobras, kraits and water snakes?’

  Maharyny seemed almost relieved as she answered, ‘Yes, our wyrm ball. You see, Arrahaquen, long ago there existed a small group of beings – the noophytes – one of which is known today as the Silver Seed, or just Silverseed. This noophyte, because she seemed to share our faith in the Goddess, was estranged from the others. It is from her that our prophecies come. We know that you are a pythoness, with mind freed in time, and we want you to come to Silverseed. Through the wyrm ball you can speak with her, mind to mind, and discover what we must do to avoid the doom of smothering in green.’

  Arrahaquen sat back against the couch, thinking. The priestesses possessed arcane knowledge, that was certain, but it all seemed so twisted. And why did they need her all of a sudden?

  ‘Do speak,’ said Taziqi.

  ‘What are you going to do,’ Arrahaquen asked, ‘now the Citadel is gone?’

  ‘Rien Zir continues her life,’ said Taziqi. ‘We are here to understand her thought.’

  ‘If you mean,’ Tashyndy added, ‘do we plan to rule Kray ourselves, then the answer is no. Power is now a redundant notion. Only local groups exist, vying for food and water.’

  ‘Well, what has Silverseed told you, then?’

  Silence. Arrahaquen became aware that she had asked a question both unexpected and impossible to answer. She shrugged, pretending it was not so important, that the atmosphere not be tainted.

  ‘Do as we wish,’ urged Tashyndy.

  ‘I will do what I can,’ said Arrahaquen, realising she did not have much choice. ‘Just show me where.’

  Maharyny led her into the clicking machine. The others did not follow. All around devices ticked, cable-wound magnets hummed, screens flickered and pyuter orbs glittered. They continued walking along the framework passage, Arrahaquen peering up through silhouetted pipes to screens placed at odd angles, while Maharyny flicked switches.

  Soon they were through. Maharyny opened a wooden door, which creaked like a wounded beast, and led Arrahaquen into a musty chamber. It was muddy and damp, with a green illumination flooding from the ceiling. ‘In there,’ Maharyny said, pointing to a pit in the earth.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go in there.’

  Arrahaquen approached the pit. Inside writhed a score of serpents, their gold and platinum scales green slimed, their forked tongues flickering in and out of aluminium mouths. Was this the path to a noophyte’s consciousness? She fell to one side, dizzy, the fluctuating points of prophecy at the top of her mind vibrating like a hive of bees.

  She was hovering above Kray. Involuntarily she gasped and pawed the air. Wind raced against her body, whistled past her ears and chilled her skin. But she felt the firmness of earth. She set her body rigid and closed her eyes, but still the chill wind surrounded her. Eyes tight shut she felt mud under her scrabbling fingers. Opening them, she looked again, and saw below the greened city.

  In seconds her vertigo departed. She was able to watch without fear, noticing how strange the city looked, as though it was simultaneously very c
lose and very far away, as though she were looking at it through the wrong end of a monocular with one eye open to reality. These feelings merged, and the exhilaration began to thrill her. She was able to jump mentally, images and feelings blending into one another. She could change locations, ignore distance, hop around like a grasshopper on its home plain. This was no pyuter graphic, no Gwmru, this was a real world, and the experiences it offered were more intense even than Gwmru.

  And all the time, as in a dream, certain things stood out. She saw deKray wandering the streets. He was important – a metaphor for something, though he seemed an ordinary Krayan, grim faced, green, trudging. Occasionally she would look over her shoulder expecting to find him close behind.

  She remained unaffected by the city, but could herself touch it. Any object – brick, leaf, mud – she could reach. People, on the other hand, ignored her.

  All this time the Clocktower, either distant as she flew above the city or near as she walked Nul Street, attracted her attention. She realised that its significance was vast, unimaginable in fact, like space and stars, or perhaps so tiny, quantum tiny, that notions such as space did not have any meaning. The Clocktower both transcended and did not transcend her mind.

  Again she saw deKray in the Clocktower’s vicinity, wandering around on his own, his serious expression modified into something more dreamy. He would pause as he tramped the streets of the Old Quarter, as if he himself was as old as that most ancient part of Kray, and then he would roll a cigarette and light it with a flint-spark device.

  Then she saw deKray entering the Clocktower. Subjective time passed and he did not reappear. Extraordinary: that place was dreaded. Arrahaquen wandered on. The city was now dead, green to the cliffs with no people. Her heart seemed to stop beating as the entirety of Kray, its rotting glamour, its fecund breast, the geological density of its innumerable data strata, entered her mind and forced her to experience. She gasped.

  Enough.

  She stood up, mud dripping from her clothes and hands. Maharyny was nowhere to be seen. She left the pit and returned to the machine chamber, following the passage back until, it seemed a long time later, she heard voices and saw pale light.

  ‘Hello,’ said Taziqi as she emerged. They were eating cakes, wine at their side, a table of biscuits and marshmallows between their couches. They were relaxed and jovial as they greeted her.

  ‘I’m back,’ she said.

  ‘What did Silverseed show you?’ Maharyny asked.

  ‘Well, pictures. Of Kray. I need to think about it all first.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Taziqi. ‘Hungry?’

  ‘No. I’d like to leave, now.’

  ‘Tashyndy will escort you to Oquo, who will accompany you and Reyl back to your home,’ said Taziqi. ‘We will keep open a file called Arrahaquen, into which Rien Zir will allow you to download your feelings about what you’ve seen.’

  ‘I’ll remember,’ Arrahaquen said.

  Tashyndy blindfolded her then led her away.

  At the entrance lobby they found Oquo and Reyl, eating what seemed to have been a large repast. Arrahaquen dressed in her protectives, said goodbye to Tashyndy, then departed the temple. ‘Don’t forget the pyuter link,’ Tashyndy called. ‘You are important to us.’

  Through torrential rain they forged a way south though every passage and alley was against them, avoiding floating jellies, algae mats, the bloated corpses of choleric women. Arrahaquen felt she could never again make this journey. She rarely saw a house, now; all was rubble. Kray was too strong, the slime was too slippery, the water too deep, the plants too poisonous...

  Back at Clodhoddle Cotttage, Arrahaquen’s bed was soft and the sheets were fresh. Through a tinted glass window an evening glow, dimmed by sheets of rain, gave faint illumination. Her room was small, furnished with antique pieces, one of the cottage’s ubiquitous pyuter rigs stacked in a corner. A jug of wine stood on a chair.

  She slept fitfully. At dawn she awoke, not refreshed, but at least not exhausted. Into the tangle of precognition lines at the top of her mind she let her thoughts move at random, images remembered coming before her mind’s eye. As ever, she saw a greened Kray, uninhabited, leaves swaying in the breeze.

  All that she felt convinced of was deKray’s importance. She knew that he was significant. She knew that Westcity would fall before Eastcity. She knew too that violence and pain lay somewhere ahead.

  Unfortunately, she could learn little of herself. She received no impressions of Arrahaquen in other climates, nor of Arrahaquen surviving the next few weeks. She was an invisible woman to herself, too bound up in her own mental world to separate anything out.

  Two strands of thought compelled her: one that she would not survive, that nobody would survive, the other a feeling that some escape route lay awaiting discovery, if only she could unearth it. And only she could. It was, she knew, about understanding. It may have been a coincidence, but Arrahaquen felt that her pythonesque ability had manipulated her into finding, and living with, Kray’s only group still dedicated to understanding.

  She tried to remember the day ahead, and felt no danger, so she got up. In the mirror she saw a well-built woman with brown eyes now dark ringed, stretch marks, patches of benign green, and scarlet fingernails. Uttering a short laugh at the reflection, she picked up her clothes and performed the morning’s clothes drill, finding nothing dangerous. In this house some people wore their undersuits as top clothes; she did likewise.

  The outside wall of her room creaked and the roof groaned in sympathy. Arrahaquen froze, knowing the meaning of those sounds.

  Downstairs, she described her experiences openly, omitting only what she had seen of deKray and the Clocktower, for she felt that should be told to him alone. They encouraged her, but she felt that they did not understand her. How could they? She felt alone once more.

  CHAPTER 26

  DeKray did not believe that the ancient noophyte Silverseed was responsible for Arrahaquen’s vision, suspecting instead that Arrahaquen alone had created it from her future memory. Following no deity, deKray preferred to believe in the ability of the mind and the effort of individuals. Her vision of him exploring the Clocktower was a description of a real event, not an imaginary concoction or metaphor. A future awaited him and he must meet it.

  With Zinina asleep he crept out of Clodhoddle Cottage and slunk up the shattered remains of Buttercup Street.

  It seemed rather futile to ward away evil creatures with a grass blade reed. DeKray clambered through the bushes, thorns and vines of Buttercup Street, protected by greatcoat, suit and helmet, climbing over the remains of collapsed houses in those places where there was no other passage. Warm rain fell and, ahead, the Clocktower was a black smudge in the night.

  Soon Zinina would read his note. He hoped she would not be too angry.

  The dribbles and raindrops on his visor interfered with his vision, but this close to the Clocktower much of Nul Street was arrayed with grass and flowers rather than bushes and saplings, so he removed his helmet and allowed the rain to bathe his shaved scalp.

  Now he stood out of the rain in the lee of the tower, gazing at its greened bricks and white mortar. Nervous, he wiped his mouth free of moisture. The door, a rectangle of black oak set with bronze, stood a few yards away. Would it be locked?

  It was not. The knob had turned. He pushed the door ajar.

  He paused, aware of the enormity of his act, trying to forget the many rumours and stories that surrounded this place. It was only the intensity of Arrahaquen’s expression as she described what she had seen in the temple of the Goddess that enabled him to lay his Krayan ghosts – ghosts that inhabited everybody’s mind – or at least drug them sufficiently for him to explore the tower.

  Inside, there was light – a bluish light which did not seem to emanate from any source. He stood in a circular foyer, a space the same diameter as the tower. Nothing yet seemed sinister. He popped a menthol sweet into his mouth.

  The foyer ceiling wa
s high, arched and groined, fluted pillars reminiscent of stems holding up the various parts. To the rear, spiral steps led upward. There were no windows. The stone here was blue-green, black or grey in places, carved with faces and mathematical symbols, none of which he recognised. DeKray had the sensation of being underwater. He noticed that the floor was bumpy, pale with a carpet of dust, and it reminded him of the fossilised urchins that he had collected as a boy. He imagined that if he swept aside the dust he would see beautiful patterns, but he dared not try such an experiment.

  It was much cooler than outside. He looked upwards again and saw stalactites hanging.

  Much relieved that nothing unpleasant had happened, he walked across to the steps. His boots with their stiff soles jerked as he walked over the knobs and holes, once unbalancing him. He fell rather than risk twisting his ankle.

  At the steps, he stopped. ‘Hello? I am deKray.’

  No answer. He waited, however, in case somebody was thinking of one. After a few minutes he began to climb, hands in the pockets of his greatcoat to ameliorate the chill. He paused to turn up the collar.

  The second floor was again one circular room, steps at the back, walls indeterminate blue or grey, carved here and there with lines of equations, like grafitti. But unlike the expanse below it was full of machinery and cylindrical tanks, with little of the wall actually visible.

  DeKray appraised the machines. They were chunky, oily, and apparently operational, cables running to and from upper floors. Screens indicated the presence of pyuters, and when he made an examination of the displays he realised that before him lay a luminary power unit. He studied the machine tanks; all held water, supplied by ducts descending from the roof.

  He considered this. It struck him that a place as isolated as the Clocktower should be self-sufficient – independent of the city. But that assumed it was meant to be isolated.

  Slowly, he climbed the steps.

  A bigger change would have been hard to imagine. He stood now in a warm, sumptuous, tube-lit room, steps at the rear, furniture spread Kray-style around the place. There was a lavatory located in a closet to one side and cupboards to the other. From electronic units he could, if he so desired, obtain sterile water, food (all non-perishable, he noticed), even medicines.