Tower planted a feeling of resolve and purpose within her as he shared these words, and the riders in her blood responded to the god's manipulation. Hope swelled within her, along with a sense of awe at the scale of the task before her.
But the cold truth of the situation could not be washed away by soaring emotions.
Talia knew that the life she had planned for herself was gone forever. And the fate of humanity rested in her hands.
11
The Third Lesson
Upon their elevation, the seven gods, being so few set against the nearly endless dangers in the universe, chose seven different ways that they would protect the people.
It was decided that the remaining 4,020 human beings would be divided among two outposts, the better to ensure survival of the species. Tower and Grey Wolf were chosen to be the guardians of these colonies. The gods ranged far and found two benign alien worlds and labored to settle the people there. These outposts grew and became known as The City and the Wandering World. Tower and Grey Wolf lived among their respective peoples, the closest line of defense against direct attack.
Triton took on the task of exploring and cataloging all alien life forms in the nearby systems, so that mankind would know its neighbors, and not be surprised by any malevolent species.
Apollo was to be the master of stars. The gifts from the Benefactors had so transformed him that he could project himself onto the surfaces of suns and peer within their hearts, that mankind would know the secrets of each star and its ultimate fate.
Faraway was the watcher on the walls, the scout created to explore the farthest reaches of the galaxy. She would gaze upon the edge of creation for any sign of distant threats.
Apex was the builder, the engineer who would create a new permanent home for humanity, a planet as welcoming as Earth but also a fortress that could never be breached.
And then there was Maelstrom. The human he had been had added his own experimental technological processes to his elevation, despite the misgivings of his fellows. The gifts of the Benefactors worked strange magics on this god, and he became something different from the others. He left physical form behind, and at first it was believed that he had not survived the elevation to godhood.
But he soon revealed himself in ways that left no doubt as to his existence. The people quickly began referring to him as the "king of the gods," although mankind's deities have never indicated there is a hierarchy among them.
It is said Maelstrom exists as patterns of thought that can ride the magnetic fields of stars, or star clusters, or perhaps even the binding forces of the galaxy itself. No one knows the extent of his powers for certain, and he does not say.
12
More Than Human
Talia felt a prickling sensation along her skin. Her vision was blurry. There was a thumping sound ringing in her ears that she found irritating, until she realized it was the beating of her heart.
She was back within her body.
What was left of it, anyway.
She could no longer tell where her physical body began and the implements of divinity ended. Talia was completely encased within the systems that were coiled around the central chamber of the god's cavern. His "refuge" he had called it.
This will never be a refuge for me, she thought. It will just be the place where I lost my humanity.
Even as her brain struggled to re-engage with her body, she knew what was happening, the process that was already underway. The god had made it clear there was no time to lose. She did not resist, except for a small corner of her soul screaming No! But Talia smothered that part of herself, another casualty in this war against the unknown.
She has seen the dangers The City faced. Options were few.
Her thoughts turned to Mik, and she wondered what transformations he was dealing with as he commanded the starship on a quest for help.
Nothing like this, she hoped.
She whispered a prayer to Maelstrom, beseeching him to save both Mik and herself, and all the rest of the people cowering under the dome while alien monsters poured from holes in the fabric of space-time.
What if Maelstrom is also under attack?
She brushed those worries away.
That's not helping. Focus. Make a difference.
The quasi-living machinery in the god chamber continued its strange dance across her body. Talia felt numbness spreading as anesthetics were applied, felt the intrusion of implants grafted to her skin. Unlike Tower, she would retain her original body, although what its final form would be remained a mystery.
But as rivers of information flooded into her mind, the frailties of her body seemed increasingly far away, a minor concern.
The god fed her revelations in a measured, methodical pattern, each open door leading to the next, to a vast library of knowledge. Power and wisdom were intertwined, coming to rest inside her like simple beasts instinctively returning to primordial spawning grounds.
Revelation: The insight flowing into her was directed by the riders that swam in her bloodstream. All humans carried them, although not everyone in these times was aware of it. The riders fought off common diseases and repaired cellular damage, but they had a larger purpose as well—the riders were the method by which the gods could speak to and manipulate the emotions of the people. Gods—like she was soon to be.
The blood riders of everyone in The City—and any other human she encountered—would respond to her influence now.
Talia recoiled at the stark truth of this. She thought back to that very morning, when Tower had so easily raised her spirits, and the mood of everyone he encountered, as they walked through The City. It seemed frightening now. A memory bubbled up from her studies of deep history. There had nearly been a revolution at the time of The City's founding over the issue of the amount of control the gods wielded through the blood riders.
It was a human technology dating back to a time before the gods, but had never been universally applied in those earlier days. The fear, the distrust of authority, a revulsion of being so open to greater powers was common back then. She felt it now, a haunting echo from the past.
Tower sensed her discomfort and gifted her with a memory.
Revelation: The aftermath of the alien war against humanity. Only 4,027 survivors, scattered, terrified. Illness and injury abound. Fleeing through space, burning Earth left behind. Brief sanctuary among friendly Benefactors.
And then the creation of the gods.
Survival was the imperative above all else. The riders were added to the bloodstream of every surviving human to monitor and repair the damage from radiation exposure in space—which was shockingly high in those early days. But physical decay was not the only fear.
The survivors despaired. The bleakness of their fate ate at their souls. The gods, newly created and inexperienced at exercising their powers, employed the blood riders to calm the panic and depression that was endemic following mankind's fall. For the rebuilding of the human species was just beginning.
Images and memory fragments poured through Talia's mind. Another chaotic flight through space, the fractious human race quarrelsome, fearful, not yet at peace with the decision that placed their fate in the hands of manufactured gods. The establishment of the colonies, desperate plans to rebuild the population—a seemingly hopeless task with so few people remaining. But in the darkness and emptiness, with widespread fatalism spreading at the hopelessness of the task, the gods uplifted the spirits of humanity. The blood riders carried strength and sense of purpose from the gods to the people, even instilled a flame of defiance against the enemies who had brought so much death.
More images, flying through her so fast she barely has time to absorb them: The beginnings of The City, rising from the emptiness of this moon lazily circling the gas giant Lodias.
The other gods drifting outward, spreading a wider net of safety over human activity. Tower remained as constant guardian and protector of The City. The human race recovered, slowly, so slowly. The
riders were passed from generation to generation, a new part of the human condition.
Tower speaks directly to her now. "Gods have always been created by men, ever since the first people wandered from their caves and looked to the stars. It helped to explain the unexplainable. We were created by men for a different reason—to ensure that man survives, in both body and spirit. I make no apologies for that."
Understanding, if not easy acceptance, spreads through Talia's mind.
Revelation: Talia knows with sudden certainty that she will not be a complete god, like Tower and the others in the pantheon. A significant part of their astonishing abilities was derived from alien technology gifted from those long-vanished Benefactors. But it was that part that was specifically under attack from the invaders and weakening the god with every passing moment. He dare not pass those talents to her.
The transformation Talia was experiencing was driven solely by human technologies, and old ones at that. "God" was far too grandiose a term for what she would be. And yet she would still wield more power than she had ever dreamed. An ancient word crawls from the depths of memory: "demigod." She examines this word, considering its implications.
An itching in her mind erupts. She realizes her body is speaking to her again, protesting the rapid transformation she is enduring. More implanted technology has come online, and one more strand of her original life is severed.
Revelation: Talia's memory capacity expands exponentially. The god-technology that spreads through her body mines her brain for buried bits of information and reassembles the sights, the smells, the sounds of other days. She can now bring forth old memories and see them with total recall. She rejoices at rediscovering vignettes she had thought lost forever, relishes the small scenes from her quiet life flickering behind her eyes.
There now: The first time she spied Tower striding majestically through the streets of The City. Talia is back in the moment, a seven-year-old tugging on her mother's hand, dragging her to the sanctuary. Tower is magnificent, of course, projecting feelings of well-being and security that wash across the multitudes like warm water. She can remember the glow of the shared euphoria, and even now that memory comforts her.
She compares that innocent feeling with the new knowledge of how those emotions originate, deceptions carried by blood riders engineered by humans of another age. She truly does not know if she will have the will to use this power as the other gods have wielded it.
Please, no: Other memories, perfect in their cruelty, come unbidden. She now remembers all the small, shameful acts of her life, when she did not live up to the examples of the gods. The sorrow she feels at her own casual pettiness wells up inside her.
One such memory mocks her.
Talia is a month into her service as a Radiant Acolyte. She is captivated by a history of a rare godly failure, Apex's ill-starred attempt at terraforming New Sydney. She has been studying the accounts for days, emerging from them only when her body demands food or water. It is a story not told in the standard schooling modules. She had been only vaguely aware of the magnitude of this ancient crisis
The history is unusual in that it recounts the first-person adventures of the initial group of people to be brought to this new world, the pioneers who would establish a new home for humanity. As Talia reads their reports and immerses herself in their transmedia accounts, she is utterly captivated. She is walking under open skies, encountering strange new beasts, feeling the warmth of a new sun upon her skin. Exotic, unfamiliar smells bring the strange land to life.
But all through it, she feels the growing sense of foreboding behind each of their reports. The pioneers begin to realize that the planet they sought to tame will not submit meekly and even the god Apex will be defeated in this endeavor. Talia's own anguish builds with theirs. The story will end as it must, with the planet's native life turning on them all, and she can do nothing but watch helplessly as the horrors begin....
Talia is startled by a nearby sound and then angered when she discovers that a young girl is in her chamber, staring at her. The girl's eyes are open wide. A hesitant smile plays on her lips.
"Radiant Acolyte," she says nervously, bowing. "I... I wish to serve Tower in the sanctuary. Will you guide me into service?"
Talia regards her with divided attention. Half of her mind is still on New Sydney tangled with the lives of the doomed pioneers. She wishes to stay there.
How did this child get into this annex on her own? Just one more waif enraptured by the robes, the ceremonies, the fine trappings of the temple. Is The City populated by nothing but awestruck girls wanting to dress up and run giggling through the halls of worship?
"There's a lot of studying and reading required to serve the gods," Talia tells her, harshly. "Tower does not look favorably upon ignorance or sloth. There is no time for girlish foolishness. You might not find such a quiet, studious life to your liking."
The girl looks mortified and slinks from the chamber.
Talia had felt immediate discomfort at her behavior on that day, but now it is worse. With her memories now almost total, Talia goes chasing through the shadows of her life searching for the face of that child, desperately tearing through the days and weeks that followed.
The face never appears again.
The girl never returned to the sanctuary.
With one moment of casual cruelty, Talia had deflected the course of a life forever.
Shame, hot and bitter, washes over her.
She surfaces from this memory stream, desperate to be away from it. But the weight of her life experiences drags her down again, and she sees another day with fresh eyes.
It is Mik, the first time they met.
She was a young woman, a 17-year-old barely out of her training at the sanctuary. It was at the Ceremony of Elevation, when Talia had at last earned the title of acolyte. Mik had come to repair the coordination of the moving stage sections at the amphitheatre, which had been sliding in a clunky, spastic fashion. It was a task the servitor robots could have easily performed, but Mik had beaten them to the job and dived right in. He had not asked any permissions or waited for assistance.
The docent was leading Talia and the other acolyte candidates across the stage in practice for the ceremony. Talia noticed Mik working below, because it had seemed so odd to spot a man repairing machinery by hand. What did they call them? Fixers?
Mik had looked up and caught her gaze.
She feels her own reaction from that day once more as if she were living it again—the flush of excitement, the bravery she felt as she held his eye. She had colored under his gaze, but had also been secretly pleased that she had been noticed from among the many prettier acolyte candidates on the stage.
Now, with the clear, unobscured memories at her command, she studies the details of his face. She sees again the way he looked at her, she examines the visual markers that she had missed on that day. She flies through the years, searching his face in memory after memory for the unspoken feelings that now seem so obvious. She sees that same look again and again.
Oh gods, he really loves me. He knew right then, at that very moment, that I was the only woman he wanted.
And all these years he has waited.
Profound sadness runs through her as she tallies up the years that she devoted herself to her studies in the sanctuary to the exclusion of almost everything else. She saw Mik frequently, true, and they shared much... But now the life that could have been torments her. The two of them could have joined as mates and built a life together, a good life with a man who loved her truly and deeply.
She lets the memories and her imagination carry her down this path, until the faces of their unborn children rise to haunt her soul.
No! Enough!
Talia sobs as she disconnects from the past. She is losing herself. The store of memories is so vast she fears she may never again be able to focus on the present. Her body is transforming, molding itself to its new task, and she finds herself grasping at her new abili
ties with the clumsiness of an infant. All the familiar sensations of her life are drifting away....
A wave of calm overtakes her.
The god is beside Talia once more, an immense presence in her mind. He brushes aside the tangle of untamed yesterdays, giving her a vision on which to focus. He embraces her in a way she can barely understand, lifts her above the confusion in her own head. "Don't despair, Talia. You fear losing your humanity, but it will never leave you."
Her voice is a fragile thing, barely audible even to herself. "How have you lived like this for so long?"
"Defending The City has been my joy and purpose for a thousand years, Talia. Soon enough, your body and mind will adapt and you'll know that same joy."
She is silent, exhausted. She can do no more than let the god lead and direct her.
"I am leaving you a store of my memories as well," he tells her. "In the years to come you will find use for them. And some comfort as well, I hope."
She feels another life rushing in.
"Let me share this," he says. "You will need to know."
More memories assert themselves, but these are not her own.
She knows him then, his true form, seeing past his many aspects and many voices. Before he was Tower, guardian god of one of the last outposts of mankind, he was a man. And she sees through the eyes of that man now.
He is standing under the open skies of a warm, living planet. A deep blue sky arcs overhead, a blue so beautiful she can only gasp.
It is Earth, she realizes.
She drinks it in, suddenly focused. She has lived in the archives, throwing herself into the deep histories, but so little information remains of mankind's original home. When the attack came from beyond, followed by humanity's headlong flight across the galaxy, little time and few resources could be devoted to preserving immersive transmedia records of the homeworld. A relative handful of images and sound recordings survived, along with a sliver of literature and fragments of public records. The truth has been hidden behind centuries of conjecture and speculation.
Gods and The City Page 6