He rose above the courtyard, watching Venetia as she ran from the courtyard, to what Raymond soon confirmed was the north. He pushed the airboard in the same direction, headed roughly toward Mount Lidral. To his left, he saw two great blazes, one closer than the other. These were the forest fires started by the first two meteorites. More meteorites would follow. Soon there would be dozens, eventually hundreds, raining fire out of the sky. He wasn't sure exactly what he hoped to accomplish now, but he figured he might find more clues in the village that Venetia had mentioned. It might have been destroyed by volcanoes, it might never have been built at all, but it was a lead.
Chapter 15
Using the rising sun as his guide, he cruised at the airboard's top speed, opening his eyes occasionally, making navigational corrections when he spotted familiar landmarks. Several more meteorites ripped across the sky. Taken out of context, they were quite beautiful. But for Raymond they meant the end of the only world available to him. Seeing them only made him wish he could fly faster.
After an hour or so, he spotted the Faralons in the distance. His trajectory was only slightly off—Mount Lidral lay a bit more to his left than he had anticipated. He swerved and headed for Mount Hawthorn, the volcano that lay beyond. It had died down somewhat. Lines of steam rose from several points on the mountain—what was left of it—but he saw no active eruptions. In the surrounding area, smoke rose from a sprawling network of smoldering fires.
Raymond slowed to a speed where he could comfortably keep his eyes open and leaned over to scan the landscape below. He was close enough to the mountains that this village could be anywhere. The Faralons were a vast range, extending roughly two hundred miles from Mount Lidral in the southwest to Mount Ionia in the northeast. It could take him days to cover the whole area. But it was unlikely that he would have created the village in a random location. It would be somewhere significant. Near his workspace on Mount Golgora, perhaps, or his favorite yoga spot at the bend of Orlea Brook. In the mountain meadows on the north face of Lidral, or near the milkleaf stands northwest of Hawthorn, where the friendly tigers lived. Or... near Anya's flower garden.
Of course—Anya's flower garden. At the very least, I would have visited there.
He had created the garden on the southern bank of the Ravello, the burgundy river that flowed through the valley between Lidral and Hawthorn. With this destination in mind, he tucked his bathrobe in beneath him and pushed his airboard to top speed again. Would the garden even be there anymore?
Far below, the trees were alive with morning birdsong, a painful reminder of all the death to come. Squawks and chirps and whistles of all manner faded behind him as he sped toward the ridgeline that ran eastward from Mount Lidral. Each time he opened his eyes to get his bearings, he was struck by the beauty of the tropical landscape in the golden morning light. To his left, the larger of the two Nuranian moons was setting as the sun ascended to his right. Sprawling orange and pink blooms in the treetops stood out against the greens of the foliage, brightening the scene all around. Ahead, the mountains loomed large.
When he cleared the ridgeline, Raymond slowed down to take in the view of the valley below, and was shocked by the sight of a bone-white tower, ornately carved, spiraling upward from an island in the middle of the Ravello. It was hundreds of feet tall. A cliff road wound up from the base, along the inner edge of which were white buildings, built into the tower wall, with tile roofs that jutted out like little red awnings.
"That's no village."
Raymond flew closer, taking it in. The river's course had been altered, and it had been widened to make room for the island. Raymond couldn't find Anya's flower garden. Perhaps the tower had been built atop the garden? This seemed an ominous turn. But, drawing closer, he spotted it, an orderly little burst of colors on the bank of the river. He flew down, intending to land next to the pond, at the spot he took Anya to, but he saw there was a small stone structure there now. He flew around it once, checking it out. It was a little building, with a stained-glass window on the pond side and a greenish bronze door on the side opposite.
"What is this, a mausoleum?"
He landed, left his board in the grass, and approached the door. Over the lintel, carved into the stone, was the word "Cordovil".
Oh my god, is Anya dead?
He stood gazing at the letters. Carved into stone, they had such a sense of permanence, of finality. He stepped away and looked around the garden. It was as he had left it. His willows still outlined the garden's edge. The peonies still bloomed where he had originally placed roses. The giant dahlia heads still wavered gently in the breeze. He ambled toward the pond and an amber frog leapt into the water.
How can anything go on as it was?
He felt himself tearing up. He felt like his core had been torn out and tossed aside. Standing seemed like too much effort; he plopped down in the grass, the presence of the building next to him an oppressive mass. He cast his gaze about as tears inched down his cheeks. Again he felt like a fool for throwing away his chance at a relationship with Anya, unwilling to accept that such a chance never existed.
"This is what I get instead—some bizarre exile, a surreal tour of psychological torture?" He picked at the grass, pulling up blades and throwing them away. "I don't know why it matters so much to know that Anya's dead. It's not like I was ever going to see her again."
He rolled onto his side and lay in the grass, sniffling. How had she died? He started imagining what might have happened, then told himself this was fruitless—the possibilities were endless, and he had no way of knowing. What did it matter, anyway? He imagined the original Raymond finding out, and constructing the mausoleum to symbolize the event for himself. To give himself a place to go to think about her, talk to her, and deal with the loss.
I must have still loved her.
He pictured himself going into the mausoleum to feel closer to her, and he wondered what he might have put inside. Back in the motor home, before he uploaded, there hadn't been enough time to scan any of his physical mementos of their time together. Would he have created replicas of them? Or maybe he had built new memories of her. He must have had Net access in order to find out she had died. Maybe he had watched her while she was alive, or even contacted her. Maybe she had even tried to upload, to be with him.
Yeah right. What are the chances of that?
He couldn't help but wonder what lay inside, but he feared he wouldn't like what he found. He would probably just discover that the original Raymond had been a Net stalker, recording footage of her private life, pretending she could love him again.
He lifted his gaze to the white tower city visible in the distance. It was hard to care about the greater mystery of his current situation.
"Come on, comet. Now would be good."
No wonder I programmed this world to destroy itself.
He stretched out on his back and just lay there. Eventually he gave himself over to despair and hopelessness and had a good cry, after which his mind seemed adrift in empty space. He lay there, and then lay there a while longer, and finally closed his eyes and just thought about his breathing.
o-------------------------------o
When he awoke, the sun was high in the sky. He looked about him. Nothing had changed. The white tower-city still stood in the distance, hazier now in the mid-day humidity, and he found himself curious about it. He was relieved to find that his state of mind was a bit brighter, but he also felt as if this were a sort of betrayal—shouldn't he be burdened with interminable misery?
He looked to the mausoleum and thought of going in, but didn't think he could stand to. He arose slowly, sore from sleeping on the hard ground, brushed the grass from his bathrobe, and walked to his airboard.
"Onward," he said to himself half-heartedly, carried on by an ember of intrinsic motivation, the desire to master his situation.
He took off into the air and over the Ravello, toward the white tower.
Why would I have built a city? Was
I lonely? Did I want to have someone to play god to? Is this my attempt at a utopia—was I trying to prove myself wrong about people? Or was I just tinkering, creating a complex system to entertain myself?
He slowed somewhat as he approached the city. In addition to the spiral road that ran around the outside of the tower, he saw tunnels that cut straight through it. The buildings reminded him of old coastal Mediterranean cities, built into rocky hillsides. They were narrow two- and three-story white houses and shops, the latter marked by signs. He saw cafes, a bakery, a grocer's, a delicatessen, a barber shop... but no people. He rose higher, circling once around the tower at its midpoint, and pulled the board to a hover. A breathtaking white city soared above him, apparently lifeless. He felt as though he had discovered a pristine ancient ruin.
Around the foot of the tower, colorful gondolas bobbed gently in the burgundy water, tied to the ends of long docks. Looking up, near the top, he spotted a pier jutting into the air from the side of the tower. At the base of the pier was a grand arched entrance. This, Raymond guessed, was his private landing strip. He decided to make his way for it, to check it out before continuing to the very top of the city.
Pennants fluttered on either side of the end of the pier. Raymond flew between them. Through the entrance he saw a long dark court, with a pool from one end to the other. Tall unlit golden torches leaned into the stately chamber from each side. They rested in carved white sconces built into the columns along either wall. He got off his board and turned to face the other direction. In the distance, straight off the end of the pier, was Mount Lidral. He wondered whether he had built some sort of private retreat there, so he could gaze upon his city from the mountaintop, altering it from afar to better please him, crossing the distance from there to here in a single godly step to admire his improvements.
A meteorite dropped from the sky to his right, headed beyond the western horizon. It reminded Raymond that the end couldn't be too far off. But he stood a moment longer, wondering again what he hoped to accomplish. He thought back to the bodiless existence he had experienced when he first gained consciousness, and the fact that he had entered Nurania directly, instead of the Home Base starter world.
This must have been a precaution of some sort. In Home Base, I would have access to the operating system. Someone doesn't want that. I'm on a ship in a bottle, and someone doesn't want me to get out.
He walked to the end of the pier and gazed down. It extended well-past the road below. Were he to jump, he would hit the rooftops of the next level down—a drop that would surely kill him. He turned away from temptation and walked along the pier, through the entrance and into the court. The air smelled oddly of lilacs, a smell his god copy must have applied artificially to the space.
"Light," commanded Raymond.
Flames sprang at once from every torch in the court. Between the columns on each side hung long silk curtains, concealing whatever lay behind them. At the far end, floating in the pool, Raymond saw a little island covered with cushions—a throne of sorts, he guessed, for his god copy.
He walked around the near-right corner of the pool to the closest of the curtains and drew it aside, revealing a spacious alcove, perhaps ten feet square, enclosed on all sides in red and orange silks. Above him, more silk hung from the ceiling, gathered up to a point in the center. The floor was piled high with pillows, and a hookah stood in the corner.
Raymond pulled the silk wall aside and found that it let into a similarly sized compartment, but this one had a dungeon theme, with manacles on the wall and a complicated bondage table suspended from the ceiling by ropes and pulleys. He walked through this space and into the next, finding himself in a spa shower. Metal hoses hung from the wall, with sprayer heads of different types, and there was a shiny metal column in the center, topped off by a bouquet of shower heads. This space seemed innocent enough, until he saw that there were ankle clamps at the base of the column, and wrist clamps hanging from the top.
He walked up and down the court—all twelve spaces were decorated and equipped differently, but all fit the theme of a sex den.
This must have been a harem, a hall of Venetias, each confined to her own cell. Did I create this entire city just to rationalize having a harem, so I could fulfill my sexual fantasies? And apparently one Venetia wasn't enough, I had to have a dozen more sexual playthings, to satisfy my desire for variation.
He pictured the women of his harem fawning over him and obligingly fulfilling his every desire, while others frolicked in the pool, and the people of the city went about their business.
Maybe it was the power trip?
He eyed the island of cushions, wondering whether there might be anything interesting on it. If his god copy spent much time there, perhaps he left a few useful items nearby. Raymond stepped to the edge of the pool and looked in, wondering if it was safe to swim to cushion island. There was something at the bottom of the pool—it looked like more cushions, but they appeared to be inside some sort of dome.
"Well what's that?"
He took his robe off and tossed it aside, then dipped a toe in the water. It was cool to the touch, but not too bad. And it didn't burn his toe off or anything. He sat down on the tile floor and dipped an entire leg in the water. It felt good. He dropped the other leg in, then pushed himself off the wall and fell all the way in, keeping a hand near the wall in case he had cause to get out quickly. But the water seemed fine, so decided to dive down and explore the bottom.
He opened his eyes underwater. It didn't sting at all, but it had the odd refractive qualities one would expect. There really did appear to be cushions on the bottom of the pool, and a fairly large blue-green ball. And light—a faint but pleasant light emanated from the space inside the dome. He swam closer, but his ears hurt, and he needed air, so he returned to the surface.
"Raymond?" called a young man's voice.
Raymond whirled around in the water, clearing his eyes as best he could with his wet hands, and saw the figure of a dark-haired, tan-skinned man in a swimsuit. He was carrying a bucket.
"Raymond, are you okay?" called the man.
"Yes, yes, I uh... I'm sorry, the weirdest things have been happening with my memory... I don't remember who you are."
"I am Tomas, your animal handler, remember?" He spoke with a clear, gentle voice. He looked and sounded young, maybe twenty.
"Okay. Hi Tomas." Raymond swam to the nearest edge of the pool so he wouldn't have to tread water. "Listen, this is really embarrassing, but uh... I'm not wearing any clothes."
"Oh, here's a bathrobe," replied Tomas. He picked Raymond's robe up from the floor. "Or I could get you something else."
"Could you? Wow, that would be great."
"Sure, no problem. Would you like me to let the otters in first?"
"The otters?" asked Raymond.
"The river otters. This is when I typically let them into the pool."
"Uh, how about you get me some clothes first. A swimsuit maybe, and something appropriate for the weather."
"Okay."
"Oh wait, before you go," started Raymond, but it was too late—Tomas vanished. And he took Raymond's bathrobe with him.
Raymond looked about for something else he could use to cover himself up. He could hold cushions in front and behind, but that would just be weird. He could tear down a silk curtain and wrap it around himself.
This is a harem. This guy's probably seen me naked plenty of times. And worse.
But it felt odd all the same. He decided he would duck into one of the alcoves and wait for Tomas to return. He looked around for a ladder out of the pool. Not seeing one, he lifted himself up onto the edge—it hurt to put that much weight on his right wrist, but it wasn't too bad.
"Here you go, Raymond," said Tomas.
The young man was already back, a pile of clothing tucked under his arm, holding a swimsuit out for Raymond to take.
Oh what the hell.
Raymond climbed awkwardly to his feet, dripping wet and
stark naked, and took the swimsuit. He briefly looked Tomas in the eye, to see if he was checking Raymond out, and was relieved to see that he was not.
"I'll put the other things in a pile over here, okay?"
"Sure," called Raymond as he padded over to the nearest harem alcove. He pulled the curtain shut, stood amid an array of whips, crops, paddles, and instruments of sadomasochistic pleasure that he didn't even recognize, and tugged the swimsuit up over his wet legs. It fit well.
Raymond heard a splash and pulled the curtain aside. Tomas was not to be seen—he must have jumped in to let in the otters. Raymond walked to the edge of the pool and looked in. Tomas was halfway down, pulling open a sliding door. Before he was even finished, two dark forms came streaking through the opening. Raymond couldn't help but smile. The two otters chased each other in circles, then raced over to the corner of the pool where Tomas had left his bucket. Tomas popped up, not far behind them, and somehow pulled a shelf out of the wall of the pool, just beneath the surface. The otters were out of the water and on the surface in no time, turning in circles.
Raymond walked over to the bucket, and Tomas lifted himself out of the water right next to it.
"Fish?" asked Raymond.
"Crayfish," responded Tomas. He dumped the contents of the bucket onto the shelf, and the river otters proceeded to devour them, crunching happily on their afternoon snack.
"Tomas, I need your help. I need you to answer some questions for me. I, um... Something happened, and I have no knowledge of what has come before."
"You lost your memory?"
"Sort of. Tell me, when was the last time you saw me?" asked Raymond.
"Four months ago." Tomas answered directly, but he had a curious look about him that reminded Raymond of Venetia.
"What happened at that time?"
"That was the time of your anger," replied Tomas.
"The time of my anger—of course. I am a god after all. Do you know what I was angry about?"
"You said you were tired of the goodness of Faralonia and its people. You said that our selfless goodness bored you, that you were tired of being worshipped and you wanted a city of people who sought to serve themselves first. 'This contrived harmony is childish,' you said. 'It's pointless. And it's gotten so I feel pathetic and dirty every time I fuck one of you.'"
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