A. I. Aisles snickered. “Can you think of a better joke on humanity? We give ‘em the dope on old gods and older powers waiting for them in Virtu. They help us set the stage to make it come true—to give ‘em back the old gods and all the rest.”
“You think this is funny?”
“Slapstick and farce.” A. I. Aisles laughed so hard that tears ran down his round cheeks. “Nothing funnier.”
Skyga smiled politely. His expression generated further howls from the comedian.
“It’s a pisser, Skyga, old buddy, old pal. A real pisser.”
* * *
Through a simple interface, Lydia Hazzard called her daughter. “How have you been, honey?”
“Pretty good. I went out to dinner with Drum. Italian—I had a great seafood pasta. We should go when you come back.”
“I’d like that.”
“And how have you been, Mom?”
“Busy. Things here are… complicated.”
“Can’t explain over the VT?”
“I’m afraid not.” Alice nodded. “Will you be home for your birthday, Mom?”
“I… That is coming up, isn’t it? You won’t let your old mom forget that she’s getting on, will you?”
Giggles.
“You’re not that old, Mom. Don’t you dare fuss and not let me take you out!”
“If I’m home by then.”
“Mom, is everything all right?”
“With me everything is fine, I promise.”
“Is it a patient?”
“I said I couldn’t discuss it.”
“Sorry.”
“So am I, honey.”
“Maybe I can come see you for your birthday if you’re not back. I just sold another article.”
“Great! Where?”
“To Virtropolis under the Alice Looking-Glass nom de plume. It’s about a new tee-shirt fad.”
“That’s wonderful! Honey, can we talk about your visiting me when I know when I’ll be home? If I’m back, I’ll let you spend your eft taking me out to dinner at the Italian place you mentioned.”
“Okay.”
“I should be going now.”
“I miss you, Mom. Really. It’s quiet without you here.”
“You’re sweet. I’ll hurry back. I love you.”
“And I love you, Mom. Take care.”
Lydia had the genius loci disconnect the interface that had made the call possible despite the locus being outside of the usual networked sites. She touched a dampness from her eyes.
“Is Alice well?” Ambry asked.
He had sat to one side while she made the call, neither intruding nor retreating. Lydia went over and cuddled next to him.
“She’s fine. Wanted to know if I’ll be home for my birthday.”
“You can go if you wish and return afterwards.”
“And risk something happening to you during that time?”
“The risk is not immense.”
“I couldn’t relax and Alice would notice. She’s terribly perceptive, far more perceptive than she should be at that age. Far more perceptive than I was, I’m certain.”
Ambry embraced her. “Alice has a very sweet and very sensitive mother. Despite your professional commitments, you never let her doubt that she was loved and wanted.”
“She’s also nosey. If I don’t come up with a good excuse, she is quite likely to come looking for me.”
“It is doubtful that she could find us.”
“And that would raise questions in itself. Alice—in her Link persona—is quite a devastatingly thorough investigative reporter. Now that she has joined forces with her friend Desmond Drum, I’m not certain that anything could be kept from her for long.”
“Why not invite her to join us here for your birthday?”
“Ambry?”
“I have longed to meet my daughter. Until now, it has not seemed prudent, given the peculiar nature of her genesis. However, if she is as good an investigator as you say…”
“She is.”
“Then she is quite likely to learn something about me on her own. Remember, your friend Gwen met me once and you do take solo jaunts into virt on a fairly regular basis. The excuses you have made will not hold if Alice begins probing.”
“True.”
“What do you say, Lydia? Shall we make this a family party?”
“How much do we tell her about you?”
“None of the new theology, please. I am still getting accustomed to the ideas myself. Let us simply tell her that I am Wolfer Martin D’Ambry, a resident of Virtu, and your long-time lover. She will quickly conclude the rest.”
Lydia considered, her expression brightening.
“I like it!”
“If the ‘lapse’ to my memory occurs…”
“As you said, that is not likely. In any case, Ambry, the more I think about it, the more I think that Alice should get to know you.” She grew suddenly serious. “Then if the worst happens…”
“Yes. I agree. We can talk with our host genius loci and make arrangements to bring Alice here.”
Lydia pulled him to his feet. “I can hardly wait!”
Ambry laughed and took her hand. Together they went to seek the genius loci who resided behind the North Wind and ask her permission to hold a birthday party. The genius loci was delighted with the idea and promised to help Lydia blow out every candle on her cake.
* * *
It had not taken long for Markon and Virginia to realize that there was more to Earthma’s little bundle of joy than they had been told. Within a few days of the goddess depositing her offspring in their care, Markon had begun to feel listless. Initially, he had tried to dismiss this as the strain of rehabilitating all the entities that had been damaged in the assault by Sayjak’s band, but soon he was forced to admit that there was something more.
Virginia immediately suspected that Earthma was responsible. She glowered at the sealed, sarcophaguslike forcefield that held Earthma’s child. The reddish light that cycled over it—fading from the hue of dried blood to rosy pink and then darkening again—did not appear to notice her regard.
“Where does it hurt?” she asked Markon, trying to sound flippant but merely sounding worried. “I mean, is there any location or time where the listlessness seems more dominant?”
Markon attempted to run a diagnostic, a routine task made nearly impossible by the fact that lie was having increasing difficulty finding energy to do anything other than keep his normal systems running at peak.
“I cannot tell,” he said, at last, “but I do seem more affected in initiating new programs rather than in maintaining standard subroutines.”
“Can you localize a source for the drain?”
“I fear I do not have the energy.”
Virginia chewed her thumbnail as Markon lapsed into the somewhat comatose state that had become more and more usual. Her training for the Virtu Survey Department had not prepared her for anything like this. Indeed, many of the upper division heads at VSD still resisted the idea that the genius loci were anything other than specialized location proges.
However, her lifelong role as an invalid had given her more than enough experience with doctors and their diagnostic techniques. Taking up the pack which contained her Survey Kit, she began a methodical sweep through Markon’s site. The task was neither quickly nor easily accomplished—indeed, it would have been impossible for anyone else— but Markon had reprogrammed his standard defenses so that the dire-cats purred rather than pounced when she came near and the barbed thornvines parted to let her walk unimpeded.
When her survey was completed and she felt that she had enough data to support her initial hypothesis, she returned to the central grove. At her gentle probing, Markon awoke from his quiescence.
“Markon, how would we contact Earthma?”
“It is usual to pray to those on Highest Meru.” The genius loci’s voice sounded vague.
“No, I mean how would we contact her in an emergency?”
>
“Emergency?”
“Like if the baby fell on its head.”
“Earthma’s offspring is unlikely to do such a thing. I do not believe that, at this stage in its development, it has even taken on a set shape.”
“Markon! Please. I want to reach Earthma—to speak with her. Is there any way I can contact her short of burning incense?”
Markon did not respond. The question was simply too difficult. It was not that the aion could not think of ways that Earthma could be reached. He simply could not differentiate better ways (such as contacting a lesser messenger deity) from the worse ways (setting off a destructive reaction within his site—which was certain to bring her). Unable to advise clearly, he lapsed into a slow examination of probabilities.
Frustrated, Virginia knew better than to be angry with Markon—she knew who deserved her wrath and she almost forgot how terribly powerful Earthma was as she rehearsed the tongue-lashing she would deliver. Her anger gained force as she realized that she could think of no better way to contact Earthma than through Markon’s suggestion of prayer.
Virginia’s parents had been foot-washing Baptists, devout worshipers in a punishing god who they believed had sent them their damaged child as a torment for the sins of their youth. Since those transgressions had rarely exceeded anything more sinful than an occasional lapse in manners, they may have felt that there was an injustice in their assigned penance—something of a misrouting on a cosmic scale. This may have explained why they prayed so long and hard over their invalid daughter.
National Health had taken over Virginia’s care when her nerve debilitation had progressed to the point that her parents could no longer care for her. She had been one of their greater successes—earning her own living in Virtu and paying for her own care. Still, even as she came to think of her lithe and healthy virt body as her “real” self, she never quite forgot her parents’ well-meaning prayers with their veiled accusation that Virginia’s illness, her continued decline (but persistent refusal to die), was somehow worse for them than it was for her.
All of this came boiling back as Virginia considered how to pray. She hadn’t liked Earthma. Even for Markon, she would be unable to call out to her as “good” or “holy” with any conviction, but some of the rhetoric of punishment and damnation from her youth she could employ with sincerity.
First, Virginia knelt, her hands folded against a large rock. This, she knew, was the posture for humble prayer—a posture that could substitute for devotion.
“Earthma.” She tasted the name. Yes, this would do.
“Earthma! Earthma! Great and terrible force that underlies the shape of Virtu. Earthma! Great mother of mossy mane and swelling belly. Hear me!”
Virginia repeated the words. They fell from her tongue easily, as if she had learned them long ago and was only now remembering them. The rhythm became a chant. She called, but she did not plead. She described, but she did not grovel.
Her voice became hoarse and a tiny spring bubbled from the cold stone to kiss her lips. She drank, accepting Markon’s gift, rejoicing that he had at least this much control. When her throat was soothed, she continued her chant, coloring it with the events she recalled from Markon’s tales of the battles of the Genesis Scramble.
Over and over, she called, not letting herself despair, though her knees grew sore (and moss grew out of the damp earth beneath them to cushion her), and her lips tired of shaping the words. To despair was to admit she could do nothing and she would not accept this as long as Markon needed her.
Virginia had paused to drink when she became aware of a golden light permeating the grove. Raising her head, her lips still shaping the words of her chant, she turned and saw the messenger.
His form was that of a young man, clad only in a brief golden kilt that might have been woven from light rather than from coarse matter. His feet fluttered above the ground in winged sandals and his pale hair was lit with a halo. Her mind struggled to recall old lessons and she came up with a name.
“Mercury?”
“Well, that beats being called ‘The Flash,’ as I have been in my time. Yes, ‘Mercury’ will do as a name for me. Who are you? You’re a Veritean, but you pray to the secret deities of Virtu and your prayers have the force of an aion behind them.”
“I am Virginia Tallent. Markon told me of the ones on High Meru— I’ve met Earthma. I need to speak to her.”
The youth guffawed. “You need to speak with Earthma? Give me your plea. I will direct it to whichever of the lesser ones will grant your need.”
“Earthma. Tell her I need to speak with her.”
“Do you think she will come at your bidding? Do you think I want to be mocked by her when I tell her some Veritean wench has demanded her attention?”
“Tell her Virginia Tallent, the friend of Markon, wishes to speak with her.”
“Tell me why.”
“No.”
“Then I refuse.”
“And I shall continue my prayers. When Earthma finally deigns to hear me, I will tell her of your refusal to bear my message. The heavens will look lovely when your gold is reduced to glitter blown between the stars.”
“You’re an arrogant wench. What’s to keep me from reducing you to ash for your impertinence to a deity?”
The ground beneath their feet rumbled. The sky darkened. Lightning shot down from the clear sky and pierced the earth between Mercury’s feet.
“I see.” The golden youth glanced around. “The situation amuses me, so I will carry your message. Do not believe for a moment that you or any other has intimidated me.”
“Of course not.” Virginia’s smile was impudent. “Thank you.”
A flash of golden light was the only reply. Virginia flopped down on the pad of moss and leaned against the rock. She patted the damp earth with her hand.
“Thanks, Markon.”
Earthma granted Virginia an interview before the day grew much older. Virginia had taken the time to consider that her initial intention to rage at the goddess was ill-considered. When the green-haired woman (attired this time like Primavera in a wispy veil of delicate leaves and tiny flowers that concealed nothing of her voluptuous body) appeared, Virginia bowed deeply.
“I am grateful that you would attend to my call, Earthma.”
“You put Celerity in a tizzy. It was the least I could do. What’s wrong?”
Although she had resolved to be courteous, Virginia did not evade the issue.
“Your offspring is draining energy from Markon’s realm.”
“It is?”
Efficiently, as if giving a report to the VSD, Virginia outlined what she had discovered in her tour of the site. She ended by noting that Markon had not been quite as communicative as of late. The genius loci’s response to Mercury’s threat had been proof enough that he was still quite able to interact with others—as long as that interaction was nonverbal. It was best that Earthma not know the level of his impediment.
When Virginia finished her summary, Earthma sighed.
“Surely you did not believe that sheltering one who is intended to become the Lord of Entropy could be done without some side effects?”
“Why were we not warned?”
“I didn’t want to get into an argument. Besides, Markon knew he had no choice.”
“Still, he might have chosen destruction rather than submitting to this vampiric debilitation.”
Earthma studied Virginia. “Celerity is right. You are impudent.”
“I prefer to think of myself as realistic.”
“Is that a pun? Realistic—Veritean? Very well, give me a realistic reason why I should change anything.”
Virginia had already considered this. “You told Markon you would respect and promote his neutrality…”
“For my convenience.”
“Yes, but if he becomes markedly weak, then another genius loci may notice and comment. This could lead either to an attack—which would endanger your offspring—or to gossip. Yo
ur desire to have your offspring kept secret was one of your reasons for hiding it here.”
“I remember. Still, who would know to gossip?”
“Mercury knows that you would respond to a prayer from me. There are others who can hypothesize based on data such as the attack of Sayjak’s clan and your retreat—a retreat that would no longer make sense if Markon becomes weak.”
Earthma’s expression became thoughtful as she considered Virginia, her earlier annoyance touched with respect.
“Yes, you have a good point or two, there. Perhaps Markon does need his full capacities if he is to serve me. I will restructure my infant’s power demand. The side effects on Markon will be reduced.”
“Thank you.”
Earthma reached out and made motions in the air around the sarcophagus. The light around it shifted from shades of red, went around the spectrum once, then repeated the cycle until it stopped at green. Earthma made further adjustments until the forcefield turned the pale shade of new grass, darkened to lime, into leaf, then into the deep green-black of old pine needles.
When her adjustments were completed, the goddess reached out and touched Virginia beneath the chin, tilting back the Veritean’s head and looking into her eyes.
“You could become dangerous, Virginia Tallent. I will be watching you. Perhaps Markon should send you back to the Verite.”
“We will discuss it,” Virginia promised.
Earthma laughed and let Virginia’s head drop. “I expect that you will and I expect I already know the end result of that discussion!”
“It is the privilege of deities to be omniscient,” Virginia responded with a bow.
“It is,” Earthma said, “and don’t you forget it.”
* * *
Death’s garden was possessed of bowers of dead flowers, streams that ran with boiling blood, and fountains of fire. Many of the flowers still showed traces of once brilliant yellow in the creases of their faded petals, others evidently had been roses. Their scent was the scrapings from the bottoms of old perfume bottles when the rare oils have evaporated away.
Jay was offered a chair—the rest of his party had to fend for themselves. Mizar did this by flinging himself at Jay’s feet, midway between his old master and his new. Tranto stood behind Jay’s chair, one pace to the side. Still less than certain about how long Death’s cordiality would be maintained, Dubhe perched on the relative safety of the phant’s broad head.
Donnerjack Page 43