The Memory of Sky

by Robert Reed

  Seldom asked, “Why?”

  “For a flock of reasons,” the man said. “And I’ll just leave my warning at that.”

  The native ground was bluish-gray, full of holes and crevices, and wherever there was a dab of soil, plants thrived. Leaves were thick and fleshy, holding tight to their water as they faced the scattered sunlight. The trail rose up onto the big knob of coral and flattened out. Walking beside Diamond, the Master said, “If a boy wanted, he could walk all the way around the world.”

  Turning his head, Diamond began the journey in his mind.

  “The reef is a circle growing on the world’s waist,” Nissim said. “The underside is what lives, and like trees, it grows toward the sun but only so far. Like the trees, size and weight limits how far the coral can reach. Rain and plant roots break up the coral, and like old glass, every little crack builds into large fissures. And when the edges are weak, the edges fall free.”

  “Avalanches,” Seldom said with relish.

  Nissim nodded. “Little landslides are common. But someday everything we’re walking on is going to shatter, sliding down to where the coronas live. Then new coral will grow in the gaping hole, and the slow majestic business of building the reef starting over again.”

  “But not today,” said Elata.

  “Most likely not,” said the Master.

  Diamond looked away from the sunlight.

  “You’re watching for the papio,” Seldom guessed.

  “No,” Diamond said. The human forest was vast in one fashion, but this country was just as enormous, marvelous and limitless. The coral never quit rising as it approached the world’s edge, growing dark with shadow and the old, black-leafed forests that thrived in shadow. What was he searching for? Diamond forgot to walk, stopping on the trail while hunting for the words, and after a few moments of feeling lost, he ran to catch up with the others.

  The trail crossed a weathered ridge before descending into a short broad valley. The ground was gravel and sand and easily walked. Several small fletches drifted at temporary moorings, forming a semicircle, and a small town of tents had been erected in the last little while. Rumbling generators and tiny two-man airships were scattered across the open ground. Seven spherical balloons were partly deflated, barely able to hang in the air, each tethered to a long flattened silver-white shape. Diamond’s first impression was that a peculiar airship had crashed in this remote place, and the balloons were ready to lift the wreckage back into the sky where it belonged. But Elata and Seldom said, “Corona.” They said the word together, with the same quietly astonished voice. And Diamond looked again, fresh eyes working the mysterious shape.

  Nothing looked like a head; there were no visible eyes or mouth or nostrils. The body had some shape while it lived, or many shapes, but in death it was a vast bulk of flesh that had been dragged across the valley’s abrasive floor, balloons and fletch engines yanking the corpse until came to rest here. It seemed unnaturally long and too narrow at the same time. Where the skin was stretched most, scales were pulled apart, revealing milky skin. Even at a distance, the monster was huge. And then they walked closer and still hadn’t gotten close, and the corona was too enormous to absorb in one long glance. Diamond’s heart hurried and his breath deepened. There were no feathers, no leather, just silvery scales on the white skin that had already been dried by death. For no obvious reason, one portion of the body was buoyant, as if a great bubble was trapped inside, or better, an inflated balloon had been swallowed and was trying to lift the carcass free. That seemed like such a reasonable explanation that Diamond mentioned it to the others, and Elata began by saying, “Be nice, Seldom.”

  Seldom walked with his hands woven together, riding on top of his head. “No, that’s just a corona bladder that’s still inflated.”

  “With hydrogen,” Diamond guessed.

  “No, with a vacuum.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothingness,” Elata said. “Which is lighter than any gas, if the corona’s alive and the bladder is intact.”

  Master Nissim steered them to the far side, in case the bladder suddenly imploded. When Seldom edged closer, Nissim said, “Don’t.” But then he stopped to stare at the carcass, admitting, “I’ve always wanted to see a corona, but I gave up wishing for it a long time ago.”

  Thinking of his father, Diamond kept walking.

  Elata called to him.

  His legs started to run.

  Huge as the corona seemed, its body still looked deflated, slightly shriveled. A wide slit was visible between the folds of meat, propped open by timbers, power cables strung deep into the wound. The air turned warm suddenly. Giant fans were pushing out heat and moisture, and Diamond smelled the rich oils and alien perfumes that clung to a man’s hair despite repeated washings. Sprinting, he called out for his father. The boy who couldn’t forget anything didn’t know when he began to run. Nissim was yelling. The others were chasing. The corona’s body rose up like a hill beside him, scales as big as tabletops still shiny and unscratched, but the exposed flesh between them shredded from being dragged over the raw coral. And then the body suddenly ended, becoming a forest of tangled necks that must have followed the creature while it was alive. Each neck was long and narrow, boneless but strengthened with interlocking fibers and muscle and nerves and a metabolism as hot as an iron forge. Every neck ended with a head sporting three triangular eyes and three triangular jaws, and every jaw was adorned with curved white teeth exactly like those the boy touched at the Ivory Station. This corona had fifty large heads, and every mouth was open, rasping tongues lying in the dirt, the bright long teeth slashing at the light.

  A dozen necks and heads had been lifted high with portable scaffolding. Workers stood at a safe distance, dressed in the heavy gray suits necessary for the next essential job. Oftentimes other slayer crews would arrive to help, but no other ships were close today. They would have to work through the night and probably most of tomorrow before help arrived, and that helped set the serious, deeply focused mood. Cutting tools were propped behind the crew—long blades and powered saws and hand saws and lengths of priceless copper wiring. They were staring at something important inside the corona. Nobody was nervous, but there was determination to their faces—professionals engaged in the kind of work where one mistake or the tiniest failure of luck ensured disaster.

  In the distance, the Master shouted, “Diamond.”

  And the crew turned, finally noticing the boy charging toward them.

  Men lifted long arms.

  Someone shouted, “Back, back. Get away, boy!”

  None were his father. But Diamond knew Father was close and kept running, even as the men waved and ran toward him. Except they didn’t run in a straight line because they were steering clear of the corona’s heads. They knew better and he knew nothing, and three dead eyes detected movement and the nearest neck dragged itself from the scaffolding and opened the jaws even wider, teeth sharper than the best metal slicing Diamond’s foot off at the ankle.

  He crumbled, crying out.

  Ten burly men descended, but then as a group pulled up short. This youngster was in misery and crippled for life, and they felt a little responsible or deeply responsible. Ashamed and horrified and sorry, several of them openly wept while a couple of young fellows restrained the neck with ropes and spikes, and then the biggest man stepped forward, using a pry bar and hard words to wrench open the dead jaws.

  An odd little foot and its matching sandal fell to the sand.

  The corona head was dragged back, and in frustration, the big man began beating it with the iron bar.

  Diamond watched blood pushing from the stump of his leg. Another man called out for a towel or shirt—anything clean enough to press on the wound—but long before suitable rags were found, the bleeding had stopped.

  By then, the Master and his friends were standing beside Diamond. Elata cried and Seldom threw his hands over his face. Diamond looked at the pale foot and the sandal that
his father made for him. “Give it to me,” he said.

  Nobody reacted.

  Then with a loud voice—an impatient defiant voice—he shouted at the world, “Give me my foot please.”

  Another man appeared.

  A corona’s necks and its heads were not real necks and heads, but instead were more like toothy fingers that carried the beast’s eyes. Those swift jaws could kill any prey, and those precious teeth shredded the flesh and shoved the bits to the true mouth—a giant maw that had been wrenched open with three blackwood timbers. Walking slowly out from the dead corona’s mouth, the new man was barely dressed, wearing a thin shirt and shorts, his face browned by the sun but the rest of his flesh pale. He was sweating hard. Gray hair was plastered against his scalp. The breeze felt good, but the man was surprised not to find his crew waiting for him. Each one of those men was trusted and reliable, yet all of them had wandered off at the worst possible moment. Merit paused. He heard worried voices. Then he turned slowly, safely, discovering the missing crew standing in a closely packed circle.

  A stranger was among them, taller than the others, and older. Merit knew the face but couldn’t remember from where. Two children were beside the familiar man, and it was the crying girl who picked something off the ground—cradling a little object with both hands. Merit saw the sandal and then the bloody foot. What a mess! Freshly killed coronas were treacherous. Dead reflexes were still capable of violence, and every head carried a small, furious brain. He had seen this tragedy too many times, and what in the Creators’ good world would tree-walking children be doing in this wasteland?

  He stepped carefully among the dead heads, avoiding their gaze while watching the girl carry that severed foot into that circle of men.

  Another child sat on the ground. He didn’t act injured. He was uncomfortable perhaps, but he sat upright and never cried out. The boy was familiar, but Merit had no expectations of finding his son. The idea that Diamond would be anywhere in the world but inside his room, safe and secret, was beyond his reach. One his sturdiest men turned away and vomited on the sand. But the boy didn’t throw up or faint or show any signs of shock. He simply held his lost foot in both hands, and he looked at the fresh stump, and then he tried to put the foot back in place. And in the middle of that madness, what was most surprising was the poise he showed—as if this was any day, and this was any little chore.

  One fellow was beating the guilty head, accomplishing nothing. But when he looked up, seeing the boss, he said, “We don’t know who they are, how they got here. We aren’t to blame, Merit. Regardless how this looks.”

  Hearing that name, the boy looked up.

  And still, it took a moment to recognize his son. The context was wrong. No reasonable story could put him on this ground, not today or any other day. Merit assumed that he was sleeping or dying. Dreams and hallucinations were far better explanations for what sat on the bloody ground. But just to be sure, he called out, “Diamond?”

  “Father.”

  Merit ran. Better than anyone, he knew the risks, but he couldn’t stop himself. Exhaustion was forgotten. Old knees were healed. He covered the ground in a sprint and dropped beside his boy. The crew were stunned. Was this really the famous never-seen son? Merit touched the hot forehead and said Diamond’s name several times, quietly and doubtfully, ready to ask questions that came to him and were forgotten in the next instant.

  “Mother left home,” the boy said, no prompting necessary. “She went last night or this morning and didn’t come back. I went outside looking for her. And I looked for you. Then I found Elata and Seldom.” He pointed at the other children. “And they took me to Master—”

  “Nissim,” said Merit, looking at the tall man. “Of course, I remember you now, sir.”

  The butcher nodded.

  All that while, Diamond held the clean white bone of his foot against the fresh stump.

  “What are you doing?” Seldom asked.

  “I think it’s working,” Diamond said. Then with a calm voice and a fetching little smile, he added, “I did this with my finger today.”

  “Did what?” his father asked.

  “There was a monkey inside our house. He bit off my finger.”

  Merit stared at his son’s uninjured hands. Then looking at the foot and leg, he realized they were not two separate objects anymore. The flesh on both was turning soft and strange, tendons emerging to kiss and then join together.

  “And how did you get here?” Merit asked.

  “Inside the Happenstance,” the boy said happily.

  Merit looked at Nissim.

  With a quick clear voice, the Master replayed the journey to the Ivory Station and the strange men following them and how he did what he could to protect Diamond and the other children. There was an unfortunate incident after the blimp. Nissim was cornered and had no choice but use his knife.

  “You killed that man,” Seldom said. “I knew you did.”

  Nissim sighed and rubbed his empty hands. “No,” he said. “I just crippled him.”

  Nobody spoke for a moment.

  Then Nissim told how Merit’s son, alone and entirely out of his element, had found his way to the Ivory Station. Diamond even managed to avoid a stranger who knew his name . . . a high-voiced man who might have been Archon from the District of Districts.

  “What’s that?”

  Nissim described the encounter, adding, “But your son has better recall. Diamond has a fabulous memory for details.”

  “He does,” his father agreed.

  Gray toes were turning pink, and the foot wasn’t dead anymore.

  To Merit, Master Nissim said, “I have some private matters to discuss, if we can speak alone.”

  Merit rose again. His knees were old again, cracking like dried twigs. His gray work clothes were waiting to be worn again. Dressing, he said, “Someone needs to speak to the delegate, warn her that our work has found a big delay.”

  The man who vomited had his chance to escape.

  Joyous but baffled, the other men stared at the wiggling toes.

  “Leave us,” Merit told his crew. “Go anywhere else, and I don’t care what you do with yourselves.”

  The men laughed good-naturedly, but they took their time retreating.

  Elata was jumping up and down, hugging herself.

  Seldom said, “This is magic. It’s like nothing ever, ever, ever.”

  But what impressed Merit more than anything was the calm, stoic face on his only child.

  Nissim stepped close to the slayer. “Other people know about the boy.” That was worth saying twice, and with a whisper, he added, “I think I know what happened. I’m guessing, but someone called your home yesterday. Someone knows too much and threatened to tell about your son, and your wife left the boy alone to meet with the caller. To plead with him or bribe him.”

  “Except we don’t have money,” said Merit. “And believe me, Haddi isn’t the kind to beg.”

  Nissim sighed. “I don’t know the full story. But whoever is responsible, it’s fair to say that Diamond was lucky to escape and find help, and we were extremely fortunate to find our way to you.”

  “I’m going to stand up,” said Diamond.

  The other children offered hands to the wounded boy. But he flexed both feet and stood up on his own.

  From a distance, ten grown men stared blank-faced at the impossible, and then a moment later, in unison, they let out a shout of approval.

  “That’s one explanation for what’s happened, yes,” said Merit. Then he took a deep breath, thinking hard about everything.

  Seldom knelt down, conjuring enough courage to touch one toe. “Do you feel that, Diamond?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Leave him alone,” Elata said.

  Then three of them began to laugh, hands touching.

  “Thank you,” said Merit. “For my wife and for me, thank you so much.”

  The butcher smiled, relieved to be at the end of his trial.

/>   But Merit looked down the valley, gazing up at the wilderness and the heavy green canopy leading into the shrouded distance, staring at home first and then the District of Districts. He didn’t know what he was searching for, but his eyes narrowed. Then he quietly mentioned, “There is one problem with your story, however.”

  “Where is your wife?” Nissim asked.

  “No, I think I know where she is,” Merit said, looking at the world’s center. “But I have to think like a hunter, you see. I know how to chase, and I understand how to build a workable trap. And I think that if the Archon or whoever wanted to steal my son, he would have been stolen by now.

  “No,” said the corona slayer. “Our enemies, whoever they are, were consciously, carefully driving you.”

  A sorry little sigh came out of Nissim.

  “I’m afraid,” Merit said, and then his voice stopped. He turned and looked at the children, saying, “Someone feels very confident. The trap is inescapable, they think, and they want the boy here. For good reasons, for their reasons. Whichever. They want Diamond here.”

  “Do you know why?” Nissim asked.

  “Well,” Merit said. “A story comes to mind, yes.”

  TWELVE

  Diamond tried jumping on his two feet, measuring the aches and his body and discovering that the pain had become very small.

  “You’re shorter,” Seldom said.

  Diamond agreed. “My hurt leg got shorter. And I think the other one did too, maybe.”

  “To keep you balanced,” Elata guessed, giving him a rough hug.

  Father had been talking to Master Nissim. But now he turned away and with a big voice called to his crew. The men had just reached the tents, and now they were coming back. Except for one person who Diamond hadn’t noticed before—a woman who wasn’t part of Father’s crew.

  Something was wrong with the woman. She had a very long face and a peculiar stance, pitched forward on her overlong arms, big eyes staring out from her heavy, misshapen head.