The Eidolon

by Libby McGugan

  “What are they like?”

  “If you want to see, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding. I can share my memory of when I first got through.”

  The amulet round his neck begins to glow, and I feel the heat at the top of my breastbone. A swell of violet light consumes everything.

  Casimir is sitting on a pebble beach. A breeze carries the scent of the earth and the smell of minerals. It’s dawn, and in the distance a shard of gold appears behind the islands, defining the boundary between sea and sky. Light burns the water as the sun clears the horizon, but it’s no ordinary light. The sea and the air and the grassy bank behind the shore; everything glows with colours that don’t have a name. The light unveils their essence. He gets to his feet and breathes in. I feel the connection he feels, the seamless blending with the vibrancy around him and the power that gives him. Casimir turns and begins to run. Certainty, strength, ease. Where his feet strike the grass, it glows with the contact, energizing him with every stride. Effortless, empowering. Free.

  It’s just the beginning...

  When I open my eyes, he’s watching me with his piercing gaze. “It’s more incredible than I can tell you, Robert.”

  I come back to reality as Aiyana makes a noise that sounds like Tcha!

  “You don’t agree?” asks Casimir.

  She gets up and stalks towards us. “No, actually I don’t.” She glances at me with a worn look. “It’s overrated.”

  “What about all the things you can do?”

  “What, you mean like this?” She stares at the candle, which flickers to life, then turns to warm her hands by the fire. “Cheap tricks.”

  Casimir rolls his eyes and blows out the candle, gesturing with raised eyebrows for me to have a go. “You need to let all that bitterness go, Aiyana. All it’s doing is holding you back.”

  She throws him a dangerous look. “What do you know?”

  I stare at the candle while they bicker. There’s a sizzle as a flame flutters into life, and I feel a rush of pride at the achievement. Casimir grins. “It’s a whole new world, Robert.”

  Aiyana snorts and stomps off down the stairs.

  “Where’s she away to?”

  “Probably to clean some tables,” says Casimir.

  I change into my newly repaired clothes, and throw the designer ones in the fire. I feel lighter, like a small weight has been lifted, and it gives me a sense of satisfaction watching Amos’s clothes combust in a shower of red and orange sparks.

  Casimir hands me a pad of paper and a pencil from the bookshelf. “You’d better get thinking. I’m going to get some fresh air.”

  I sit in front of the snapping flames, alone with my thoughts. Every idea meets a stone wall.

  “YOU’RE TRYING TOO hard,” says Balaquai as he walks through the open balcony door some time later. Where did he come from? “Come on. We’re going for a walk.”

  “But I’ve not got this worked out yet.”

  “And you’ll be here all week if you carry on in that frame of mind,” he says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What were you thinking before we walked in?”

  “Just that I couldn’t work this out.”

  “Exactly. So what did you expect? Next time, line up with the idea that you’ll succeed before you begin. Feel what it will feel like when you’re done. It will save you a lot of time.

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  WE’RE HEADING TOWARDS the river and the Jet d’Eau. The neon blue fountain stands out against the red dawn that’s quivering across the lake.

  Balaquai leads us along the jetty out to the river where the fountain rises; a long strip of concrete drenched in water from the spray. From a distance, the fountain’s like the tail of a giant horse; up close, the most striking thing is that it’s wet.

  “What are we doing here?” I turn to Balaquai, who’s watching the spray and the sky.

  “If we’re going to get into ORB, you’re going to have to learn how to keep out of sight. Being unseen is a useful trick.”

  “Something else to add to the freak list,” mumbles Aiyana.

  “So what do I do?” There’s a flicker of anticipation in my gut. Am I actually beginning to enjoy this? I squint up at the fountain, shading my eyes.

  “Think of light,” says Balaquai. “It’s energy, like everything, one of the purest forms of energy. It’s a messenger, taking information from one thing to another. If you don’t want to share information, say, that you’re standing here, on this jetty, then you’ve got two choices. Switch off the messenger or switch off the message. The first one is probably a bit beyond you for the moment, so let’s start with the second.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “What does light look like to you?”

  “It’s... well, nothing. You can’t see it unless it’s reflected from something.”

  “Okay,” He glances up at the sky, as the sunlight strikes the fountain, and as it does, a rainbow of colour sweeps from the edge of the spray; the mist dances in a perfect arc of red through to violet. “So sometimes it’s white, sometimes it’s colour.”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “A subtle change is all you need to see things differently. All you need to do is bring about that change within you.”

  “Oh. Is that all.”

  “Just get on with it, Robert,” says Aiyana.

  Balaquai walks towards the fountain as the sun comes out again and shows its other self in the mist; he fades away with each step until there’s almost nothing. Just the faintest hint of a shadow that you wouldn’t see if you didn’t know it should be there.

  “He really did it,” I breathe.

  Aiyana glances up through lidded eyes and speaks in a monotone. “Incredible.”

  “Yeah, but he just disappeared.”

  “Well done, Einstein. Gold star.” She turns to Casimir. “We’re wasting time. I don’t know why don’t we just leave him here and get on with it ourselves. We’ve got the link.”

  “And who’s going to disable ORB’s systems? You?” Balaquai has appeared beside her, making her jump a little. “This is not about finding your killer, Aiyana, as much as you might want to think so. We need Robert if we’re going to redress the balance. Which means you’re just going to have to be patient until he knows what you know.”

  “And how long’s that going to take?”

  “A lot longer if you keep interrupting,” says Casimir.

  “Robert?” Balaquai turns to me. “Take a walk and disappear.”

  I begin to walk, trying to ignore the voice in my head. Don’t be so stupid. Do you really think you can disappear? Logic is invisible, but it makes itself heard alright.

  “Remember – just switch off the message. Think of the light in your body pouring down a plughole.”

  It’s not working. I’m still completely visible. Casimir catches up with me. “Robert, think of it this way. What you’re doing here is altering the subatomic structure of your atoms with your intention. You know supersymmetric particles?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know how they don’t have electrons orbiting the nucleus?”

  “Theoretically, yes.”

  “That’s how this works. You’re switching yourself off from electromagnetism. You’re flipping from ordinary matter to supersymmetric particles. It’s how I walked through your apartment door – if I don’t have electrons round the nuclei of my atoms, there’s nothing to stop me passing through. And there’ll be virtually nothing for light to interact with if you want to be unseen.”

  “But how do...”

  “Just try it. Keep your intention pure.”

  I walk on, pondering what he said. I can visualise this a little better now. I’m aware of an odd feeling, like getting lighter. It’s similar to the inaudible hum that you’re only just aware of feeling when you drive fast down the motorway, the hum that’s transmitted from
the small bumps on the road through the car into your body. Glancing down, I can see the concrete moving along beneath me.

  Are you deluding yourself? Logic again. Do you think that maybe this is all in your head and everyone else out there can see you walking down the jetty, plain as day? Emperor’s new clothes, by any chance?

  My legs are fading, like a poorly transmitted hologram, patchy and incomplete.

  “Keep your concentration,” calls Balaquai.

  The sprays of water are upon me now, showering prisms of colours like confetti. They fall through the space where I’m standing. Now look what you’ve done, says Logic. I’m not just unseen, I’m just not. Nothing other than the vaguest suggestion of my presence. Fuck! Fear jolts me out of it, delusion or otherwise, and I stand there, sopping wet in the rainbow mist.

  I did it.

  “How come it took so long with the candle?” says Casimir.

  BY THE TIME we get back to La Caverne, an idea has come to me. I know what I’m going to do at ORB.

  I borrow a towel from Rosinda. The cufflink box is a bit damp on the outside, but Cora’s goblet is still inside, intact. I look at it but don’t touch it, afraid of what I might see.

  Aiyana tries to burn her palm with the candle flame again.

  I lie down on one of the couches. I haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours, and not properly for I don’t know how long. I close my eyes, just for a moment.

  “ROBERT, TIME TO go.” Casimir shakes me awake. There’s a blanket over me and a crick in my neck. Outside, the light is fading.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Long enough.”

  BALAQUAI CLOSES THE book he’s reading and places it back on the shelf. He walks to the side of the balcony and climbs the metal ladder attached to the wall of the warehouse, disappearing onto the roof. So this is where the others went.

  The metal rungs are cold, and soft green moss is growing in the cracks in the wall. It must be a good sixty feet off the ground and it’s blustery up here. Pigeons flap up from the concrete and scatter, their shapes dark against the inflamed sky. Balaquai heads for the opposite side of the roof and looks down onto the busy streets. The wind gusts against me, testing my sense of balance. It’s a long way down. A sprinkling of pale lights appears below as the city prepares for night. All the noise and strife and struggle, so evident from the ground, are absent up here. Sattva stands with his back to us, the wind whipping his blue-black jacket, watching the setting sun. It sinks below the Jura mountains, sending shards of amber light over the grasslands that shroud the accelerator.

  He turns towards us. “Quite a view.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you keeping up?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

  “Probably best.” He turns back to look at the bleeding sun, now only a slash of crimson above the hills.

  Aiyana is kicking a stone about on the roof behind me, frowning, like she does most of the time. Balaquai and Casimir are scanning the skies. I follow their line of sight and see five dark shapes circling above, birds of some kind.

  “I hope you’re comfortable with heights,” says Sattva.

  I was, until he mentioned it, but it makes me look down again and this time the street sways up towards me, distorting for a moment in a blur of light. I feel a hand on my arm, steadying me.

  “Careful, now.”

  The birds are calling, circling lower. “Are they crows?”

  “Buzzards,” says Sattva. “And an eagle. He’s mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “He’s been around for a long time. Taught me how to fly, in the beginning.”

  I think I’ve been taking things quite well, all things considered, but if he means what I think he means... “I’m sorry?”

  “One of the skills you learn as an Eidolon is shape-shifting. Buzzards have the easiest frequency to lock on to, so it’s a good place to start.”

  “Shape-shifting?”

  “Yes. Are you familiar with it?”

  “I’ve heard of it.” Cora has this book. I found it one day, misfiled, in between The Dummies Guide to Poker – Danny’s book – and Touching the Void. It was about shamans – medicine men, witchdoctors, that kind of thing. I flicked through it, wondering why in the hell she read this stuff,and found a passage about shape-shifting. These old shamans would get themselves bombed on the brewed root of some plant or other, and the hallucinations it gave them made them think they could become animals. And the rest of the tribe believed them. Drug fuelled crazy trips, I thought. I hope he’s not going there. “I’m not taking any drugs.”

  Sattva snorts. “I’m pleased to hear it. They’d just cloud your head when you jump. Could end up in a bit of a mess.”

  “Jump?” I back away from the edge, suddenly uncomfortable with the whole thing. What am I doing? Regardless of what I think happened today, here I am on a rooftop at dusk with a bunch of people who believe they’re dead. Only one of them, I can say with any certainty, actually is. And now they’re talking about jumping.

  The birds descend in an elegant spirals towards the roof.

  “Put your arm out,” says Balaquai.

  “What?”

  “Now, Robert. He’ll need somewhere to land.”

  Its wings beat heavily, the downdraft they create ruffling my hair. This thing is huge. I begin to back away.

  “Keep your arm out!”

  I turn to Balaquai to see a buzzard perched on his forearm and, beside him, Casimir is supporting another.

  “Shouldn’t we be wearing gloves for this?” My buzzard is flapping, stretching out talons that look strong enough to tear my flesh wide open. It reaches out for a hold, aiming for my shoulder. I raise my arm and the bird changes direction as I pull my head back to avoid its wings flicking my face. I’ve never been this close to a bird of prey. My forearm slumps with its weight as it makes contact, but my skin doesn’t break. The bird shifts position, then settles, heavy but motionless. The wind ruffles the soft brown feathers on its chest as it stares out over the city, before turning its eyes towards me.

  “Now,” says Sattva, his voice calm and steady. “Listen.”

  I can’t help but stare at it – its sleek, arched head, its smooth, tawny feathers, its curved, hooked beak. It gazes back at me, and for a moment it’s like our two disparate existences connect. What’s your world like? Maybe the bird is thinking the same. There’s something magnetic about it, that won’t let me tear my eyes away. And something else... a clear sound, like a chime that rings on after it’s struck and doesn’t fade, one single note swelled by softer harmonies of itself. My eyes are still locked with the buzzard’s, and it feels like the chime is ringing inside me and that’s all there is... All other sounds fade. Those eyes, what they’ve seen...

  The buzzard drops its gaze and the chime dies away. Lights flash across my vision. The feeling of that hum, that vibration, still pulses inside me.

  “What just happened?” I whisper.

  “You found its frequency,” says Sattva. “When you learned to become unseen, you found the frequency of nothing. What we’re about to do now is an extension of that. An exercise in the fluidity of things.”

  “So why are we doing this?”

  “Casimir, would you be good enough to show Robert?”

  Casimir comes forward, his eyes smiling, his buzzard propped on his arm. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’ll be alright, whatever you might think.” He steps to the edge and closes his eyes.

  “Casimir...” There’s not enough time to fully register the dread that’s swelling in my gut as he leans forward. “Casimir!” I reach out to grasp his shirt, my buzzard flapping into the air above me.

  A hand grips my wrist. “No,” says Sattva.

  Casimir trembles in a burst of blue-white light and when my vision returns, he isn’t there. I peer over the edge of the roof, afraid of seeing the gathering crowd, the upturned faces, the crumpled form on the concrete. But there�
�s nothing.

  “What the hell happened? Where’s Casimir?”

  Sattva glances up at the buzzard above us.

  “That’s him?” I stare at Sattva, then the others, before turning my face to the sky again. The bird’s calling, a high pitched eee that falls away. “How did he...”

  “They blended. The buzzard absorbed him into its own form. Don’t worry, it’s only temporary. Just a convenient way to get around, until you learn how to tunnel.”

  “Can the bird tunnel?”

  “Oh, yes. It has no resistance.”

  The bird swoops down towards the rooftop and I back away, uncertain of what it might do next. As its talons strike the concrete, there’s the blue-white flash again and Casimir’s standing there, next to the buzzard, grinning.

  “Alright, Robert,” says Sattva. “You next.” He gestures to the edge. I shuffle forwards, my brain frozen between thoughts.

  “A little further,” says Sattva. “And lift up your arm. The bird needs the kick of the drop to draw you into it, at least the first time.”

  I’m aware of the wind, blustering against my chin. A siren somewhere in the distance. The flap of feathers and air, and the weight that makes my forearm dip. And my thundering heartbeat. What are you doing? says Logic. Have you lost your mind? You’re a man – not a fucking bird!

  But what if you could do this? Another voice, this time Curiosity. What if you really could rearrange yourself at the quantum level into something else? You did it before.

  Well, says Logic to Curiosity, you’ll have plenty of time to think about that when they scrape you off the pavement and put the bits that are left in the morgue. Stop being so stupid and step back.

  Curiosity peeks out over the edge.

  As I lean forwards, my hand feels warm, tingly – that feeling you get when you lie on your arm for too long at night and wake up with a dead limb. I turn to see not skin and muscle but something translucent, fine threads of blue-white light racing from my shoulder to the bird, which is still perched, its talons spread as though it’s clinging to something that isn’t there.