Outside, we heard a rising murmur, which presently became a chant.
"Ka . . . Ka . . . Ka, Yaleen!" After a while this blurred into "baleen!" as though my name had altered, from Yaleen to Kaleen. Maybe that would be my holy name; my priestess title.
Our front door began to rattle, and a few rude bold enthusiasts scaled our garden wall to perch there. We retreated upstairs. Even so, things were getting hectic when, at roughly the critical moment for us, and for the mob as well, through the curtains we spied the militia come marching along, forcing their way to our door. In their van was quaymistress Chanoose. Not the 'jack captain, no. The jungle guild weren't in on this power play.
The area before our house was cleared. Trespassers on our wall were hauled down and hustled back through the ranks.
We went downstairs again; Dad answered a rap on the knocker.
In strolled Chanoose. She bowed her head to me—I hoped that wasn't going to be catching. "Good evening, river-daughter! You need protection from admirers. So here it is." She glanced round. "This house isn't suitable."
"What's wrong with it?" growled Dad, invigorated by the ginger spirit.
"It's too small. Too modest. Too vulnerable. The Guild will build you a temple somewhere downtown."
"A what?" I cried.
"A temple—dedicated to the black current. A Ka-temple. Your very own temple, Yaleen."
"Oh I see: imitating the Ka-theodrals of the Sons? Except that we'll have the temples of the Daughter instead?"
"Something like that. We might as well call the place a temple. What would you rather we called it: a palace? I don't think our finances quite stretch to a palace. There's a war to pay for; and future defence."
"Oh so the Guild is hard up for a few fish? How sad. How amazing. My heart bleeds. Better get the worshippers to bring offerings!"
"Obviously this is all rather unfamiliar," Chanoose carried on, clearly enjoying herself. "So we must extemporize. Your parents can live in the temple with you, if you like; and you'll have a permanent honour guard of attendants from our guild to look after the practical details, the daily routine. Right? You can also have some, um," and here she had to jog her memory, "yes, some acolytes—of your own choice. That should be nice and cosy. Maybe some of the friends you made on the river, as detailed in your book, hmm? Or even some of your enemies!"
"Will you take a drink, 'Mistress?" offered Dad.
"Why not indeed? How charmingly hospitable."
Dad poured a glass for Chanoose, and a few more fingers for himself.
"Can I have a drink too?" I said. "I've almost forgotten the taste, it's been so long."
Chanoose's look reproved me. "What, a little girl tippling strong liquor? I hardly think so! You'd make your stomach bleed. Or you'd faint."
Dad didn't pour me any. Just as well, probably.
Chanoose raised her glass. "To our reborn priestess! To Yaleen of Pecawar, intermediary of the black current, annunciator of the Ka, living proof of afterlives, star-traveller—"
"Oh stow it! I don't want a string of daft titles."
"I'm just improvising, as I said. So: simply to you, Yaleen. May you show us the way."
I pointed. "The door's that way."
"How witty. You know, Yaleen, you mustn't imagine that with all your funny little traits you're unsuitable to be a priestess. On the contrary! You're someone with whom ordinary folk can identify."
"I want to write another book," I said.
"Pen and paper will be provided. And even ink."
"I want to bring my story up to date."
"So write it! People will adore it. They'll believe everything in it that they wish to believe. But they won't stop believing in you. In fact, we want you to write another book. Say whatever you wish. Even about this part of it. Feel free to treat me as another Tamath— though frankly I flatter myself that I'm a bit more precise than her. Writing a holy book is just what you should be doing whilst you're a priestess. Everyone will be agog. Call it The Book of the Stars. "
"I certainly shan't." Though the title did have a certain ring to it. . . .
"That reminds me," I said to Dad, "I need my ring. I want to wear it."
"Ah, so you still have your famous ring?" Chanoose crowed with delight. "How excellent. Visitors to the temple could kiss it."
"I'm not having people slobbering all over my hand!"
"Oh, I shouldn't think they would. Not slobber, surely? We're all civilized people. Ceremonials are always so nice, though, don't you think? I noticed you glancing at those fish-masks in the cabin. Bring back thrilling memories, eh? But let's not forget, Yaleen, that this isn't play-acting. If what you tell us about the Godmind is true, well, here's the way to defeat it. By mobilizing our world. By unifying. By setting ourselves apart from Eeden forever. That's what you wished for, right?"
Alas, I had to agree.
"As priestess, you will commune with the black current—"
"And I'll try to persuade it to take everyone into its £a-store— male and female alike—if we all drink slugs of it? Served up by me in a silver chalice?"
Chanoose frowned. Her look became distant. "Everyone? We'll have to think about that."
"Why? Oh, I see. That would muck your monopoly up! If men could drink of the current, they could sail forbidden waters whenever they wanted to."
"We don't know that men can drink it—not yet. Anyway, we have to consider the Sons—"
"Not to mention their poor womenfolk!"
"Ah yes indeed. But the conversion of the Sons could take ages. It would be equivalent to a declaration of war. We can do without another war, don't you think?"
"You aren't by any chance thinking of doling out entry tickets to the Ka-store only to your friends? That wouldn't thwart the Godmind much! And once the shorelubbers over here who weren't your special favourites figured this out . . . well, there'd be riots. A bloody rebellion! Have you no imagination?"
"As I say, we'll have to think about this carefully. Softly softly, catchee fish. First of all we'll install you in your temple. We'll take things from there."
And all of a sudden I put two and two together in my own head— and oh, but Chanoose did have imagination, all right!
When the Godmind created its lens, it wouldn't be setting fire to worlds themselves; merely to the minds of people on those worlds, all the people who were in psylink with it, all those whose Kas flew home to Eeden.
No riverwoman's Ka ever flew to Eeden; nor any Ka which the black current claimed. So therefore, when the Godmind finally made its move, everyone would be snuffed out with the exception of those protected by the Worm. All those pesky Sons and their ratbag population would be dead. Problem over; without us having to pick up a single sword.
Meanwhile at a stroke the followers of the black current would become the total human population of the galaxy.
Plainly Chanoose wasn't planning on riverwomen alone surviving (plus assorted men-friends and supporters). That would be both vicious and idiotic. If the Guild tried to play that game there would be a civil war. Besides, think of all that useful new land left lying fallow over in the west after the demise of the Sons and all their kin. No, we would need the whole mass of our own population alive and kicking.
But by playing a waiting game—by not opposing the Godmind outright, merely recruiting our own people to the black current cult —we of the east would inherit the whole world. That was why the Guild were going to think carefully; I knew it in my waters!
Yet that was all beside the point. The point, to me at least, was: what about the rest of the galaxy? What about all the other colonies with their millions on millions of people?
The trouble, here, was that nobody but me had bounced around the stars. Nobody but me had been to Earth or to any other planet. As far as the folks here at home were concerned, that world where the wench chewed snails or that colony where the crone crooned her eel-song might as well be fictions. If those worlds were all snuffed out, what did it matter? (Bu
t it mattered to me!)
The Book of the Stars, indeed! What a nerve Chanoose had to suggest such a title.
Now I was determined to call my next book just that. And I resolved that I would make the book as real as could be, so that readers would get the message that genuine people lived on lots of other planets.
But would the guild print the whole of it, once I'd written it in my temple in downtown Pecawar, surrounded by an honour guard? Whatever fair promises Chanoose made to softsoap me now, might they only print part? The part that suited them? There was only one way to find out.
"Right?" said Chanoose. She liked saying that word, since that's what she was in her own mind: right.
"Right," said I. But what I meant, was: Write!
"It'll take us a few weeks to organize suitable premises. Might take longer, depending on the degree of grandeur. Till then, what with all this wild excitement I think the three of you would be better off on board a boat at anchor—"
"Hey, my Dad's a man!"
Chanoose peered at me. "Fathers usually are."
"So he can't board a boat. He already sailed once in his life."
"Oh, I see. Couldn't you intercede with the current on his behalf? As a special exception? Then he could drink a slug and—"
"Chanoose! If you think I'm going to gamble with my own Dad's life and sanity, to test whether the current will allow men to—! I swear I'll kill myself; then you won't have any priestess."
"What a fuss you do make! In that case your father can bunk down in my office. You and your mother will come on board the Oopsadaisy. I'll post guards here tonight to keep the curious at bay. Tomorrow they'll escort you down to the quay in suitable style." Chanoose turned to Dad. "Don't worry about this house; we'll caretake it properly. And if you want to keep your job for a while, naturally we'll provide an escort to the spice houses."
"Keep my job," said Dad thickly. "Not much point in that, is there?" He looked shrunken and drained, as though instead of having swigged the liquor, it had swigged him.
But Mom looked excited. Proud.
* * *
That night in the midst of a dream of Port Firsthome the Worm surfaced. Like an ordinary soil-worm, but much huger, it burst up through the turf beside the Obelisk of the Ship. Its foundations disturbed, the Obelisk tottered and crashed down upon some picnickers: a capering old man, a kissing couple, two naked children, flattening them all.
Mud dripped from the Worm's dream-jaws. Listen, Yaleen: you're going to blow up all the Paxmen on the Moon in another couple of years, approx? The prisoners of Hell will rebel and seize control?
That's the general idea.
So then the Godmind won 7 be able to launch its last two seedships?
Not unless it can recapture the Moon. Against those laser-zappers.
But what if it over-budgeted the number of colonies it needs, just to be on the safe side? What if it already has enough people spread around? What if the lens mightn 7 be quite perfect—but nevertheless could be good enough? What if the Godmind doesn 7 need to recapture the Moon? What if it decides to go ahead with Project Lens right away? Directly, in a couple of years' time?
Gobbets of soil dribbled from its mouth.
One of the crushed, trapped children was still alive. A girl: she squealed piteously, like the voice of all the human worlds crying out for help.
A clammy feeling crept over me. Are you implying . . . that I've buggered everything up again? Instead of slowing the Godmind's plan down, I’ve speeded it up?
Could be.
There must still be a few ships en route.
Heading for stars close by. Maybe they ’re nearly there.
Shut up! I covered my ears. But the Worm's voice droned on inside my dreaming head:
There's another point I'd like to raise. What if you were right about the Godmind being able to zap me with its lens?
You mean, what I told it in the garden? Oh, that was all hogwash!
I know it was. But what if it's possible? What if you gave the Godmind a bright idea?
Oh.
What if you get it all fired up about that in a couple of years' time, and it sees how to do it?
If the Godmind could zap the black current, then obviously Cha- noose's plan wouldn't work. Nor could any plan of mine. The Ka-store itself would be burnt out . . . Surely the Worm couldn't be serious! Surely I couldn't have planted the seeds of that!
You 're joking, Worm.
Just think about it, eh? And down its mucky wormhole in my dream my old friend withdrew.
Hey! I shouted after it. If that's true, you've got one big vested interest in helping to save everyone!
But the Worm had gone.
I thought. Hell, how I thought—even in my sleep. I seemed to be floating just below the surface of sleep for hours, my mind churning over and over while the rest of me got precious little repose.
I woke next morning with a thunderous headache, as though the Godmind had already tried to set fire to my brains and everyone else's.
After breakfast (for which I insisted on a greasy spicy omelette with a splash of ginger spirit on top) Mum and Dad packed a couple of bags.
Presently, came a polite rap on the door.
And before long we three set off on the first stage of my latest journey, which wouldn't be nearly as long as any of my previous travels: this time merely to a schooner anchored offshore, and from there a few weeks hence to a temple. To become the lady high (infant) priestess of the Worm.
As we proceeded through town, flanked by our escort of militia, a clamouring procession just grew and grew in our wake till I felt I was wearing a tail of people as long as the black current itself.
Watson, Ian - Black Current 02 Page 21