Mr. Bovey watched with incredulous delight as fifteen identical Aramintas walked across the garden to hims.
“That conversation we had about what types of mes I’d have when I was multiple?” she said. “I decided there’s not much wrong with this one.”
“This one is absolutely perfect.”
“Good. So now all of yous can take all of mes to bed.”
“Oh, yes!”
“Now, please.”
Last Throw fell smoothly through the miserable winter weather to land at the house in Holland Park. The Delivery Man didn’t waste time walking; he teleported straight into the lounge.
“Dadeeeeie!” The girls flew at him. Small arms clung with surprising strength. Wet sticky kisses smudged his face. Little Rosa was bouncing around, yelling for attention as her elder sisters wouldn’t get out of the way. He scooped her up for big cuddles.
Lizzie was standing in the door, her eyes damp as she smiled at him.
“I’m back,” he told her.
“Yes,” she said. “And boy, have you got some explaining to do. Don’t you ever, ever-”
The Delivery Man kissed his wife.
Inevitably, the world was a pleasant one. The temperate zones where Araminta walked had vast rolling grasslands, tall snow-cloaked mountains, and extensive forests.
The three of them had been there for a couple of days, making leisurely progress along the narrow path before she heard the singing. “They’re here,” Araminta told Aaron. He didn’t react. Tomansio gently urged him forward toward the haunting nonhuman melodies. Aaron didn’t protest, just went with his guides as he’d done ever since they’d left Makkathran, saying nothing. He didn’t have nightmares anymore. He didn’t have anything; his mind had shut down of its own accord.
The Knights Guardian had wanted to take him back to Far Away, where there would be the best clinics and doctors and medical modules and memory edits. Lennox the Mutineer would be reassembled, they said. Araminta had said no, Aaron had suffered enough technology; he needed real healing. And she would take him to the one person who would grant that. Tomansio had been startled by the suggestion and very quick to agree.
Several dozen Silfen were camping in the broad glade. A semicircle of wide marquees had been set up, with long heraldic flags fluttering from the tips of tall poles. A huge fire was blazing in the middle of the semicircle. Some Silfen sat around it, playing flutelike instruments. More were dancing.
Araminta wasn’t entirely surprised to see a human woman among them. She was dressed in Silfen clothes: a simple white shirt with intricate dragons embroidered in gold and turquoise thread, a loose petal-layered cotton skirt that swirled and flared out as she danced. Her face was rapt, lost in the enjoyment of the music. Wavy golden hair swished around her head. Araminta could just glimpse a long chin and well-defined cheekbones-similar to her own.
“Ozziebedamned,” Tomansio muttered. He was staring around at the scene as if the elves had enchanted him.
Then Clouddancer and Bradley were walking toward them. Araminta hurried over. The dancers encircled her, warbling approval and greetings.
“You did well,” Bradley said.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for believing in me.”
“In your case it came easy,” Clouddancer said, his circular mouth fluting out to laugh.
“I’ve brought somebody,” she said.
“We know.”
“Please help him. He suffers from terrible demons in his head like you once did,” she told Bradley.
Bradley’s wings spread wide. “And if the Silfen can cure me …”
“That’s what I hoped.”
“He can walk with us,” Clouddancer said. “Where he will go can never be foretold.”
“He’s sure-footed,” Araminta promised. “Look what he did for everyone.”
“Oh, how you have grown. You are a wonder, Araminta. Mr. Bovey is a lucky man.”
She grinned back, slightly abashed.
“I think I’d better go and speak to your other friend before he explodes,” Bradley said.
Araminta laughed at how scared Tomansio looked as Bradley went over to him. The toughest superwarrior humbled by his idol. Speaking of which … She slithered through the dancers, finding herself swaying in time to the rhythm. Somewhere by the end of the marquees two of the biggest Silfen she’d ever seen started drumming, pounding a compulsive beat.
The woman beckoned her over with both hands. “I’m Mellanie,” she called above the music.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Of course you do. I’m proud of you, Araminta.”
“Thanks. That really means a lot.”
“It’s all over now, so let’s dance.”
They came from across the galaxy, the Raiel arkships and warships, congregating in orbit around the star where Centurion Station was based. From there the starscape was unchanged. The Wall stars still shone with their normal intensity, giving no hint of the endeavor they had just driven. It would be centuries before their leap in luminosity would be visible to any observer standing beside the ruins of the observation outpost.
Paula accompanied Qatux as they teleported into Makkathran. They arrived in Golden Park, where Querencia’s seabirds were still flapping above them, calling out in confusion as they hunted their missing sea. Paula turned a full circle, as admiring as any tourist as she took in the tall white pillars and the sweeping domes of the Orchard Palace.
“I never expected to stand here,” she admitted.
Qatux was staring out over Paula to the towers of Eyrie beyond. “Nor I,” he said. They made their way together through the overgrown park, following the curve of Champ Canal until it took them to Birmingham Pool. Paula was only too well aware of all Edeard’s gallant events that had played out around the pool and down the canal, yet she kept her silence, knowing Qatux was here for only one thing.
As they started along the side of Great Major Canal to High Pool, Paula looked over the weed-saturated water to the unmistakable Culverit ziggurat. That was when she finally appreciated Justine’s melancholia at how empty the city was. She was thrilled just to make this visit, but to have seen it during the Waterwalker’s heyday, watching the intrigues unfold and meeting people she knew only from dreams-that would have been glorious.
There was a bridge she didn’t remember across Market Canal, taking them into Eyrie itself. When she glanced up at the crooked towers, she could see past the crystal dome to the vast constellation of Raiel ships gathered protectively around their ancient comrade.
“What’s going to happen next?” she asked.
“We will decide together,” Qatux told her. “The change will come hard for us, I expect. The Void gave us purpose for so long; it is a part of what we became.”
“You know you will always be welcome in the Commonwealth.”
“Your kindness does you credit. However, we do have a responsibility to the other species living in the High Angel and all our other arkships.”
“Will you take them home?”
“Possibly. Some no longer have homeworlds they can return to. It has already been suggested we accept our original undertaking and spread out to new galaxies to begin again.”
“And you, Qatux, what about you? Do the Raiel still have a homeworld?”
“Yes. But it is not one any of us recognize. Two other species have come to sentience there in the time since we declared war on the Void. There will be no going back for us.”
“Perhaps that is for the best. I tried going home once. I had grown too much while I was away. We all do.”
Finally they stood in front of the Lady’s church. Qatux hesitated on the steps leading up to the entrance.
“You don’t have to,” Paula said compassionately.
“I do.”
The church was silent inside. Light shone through its transparent central roof to illuminate the center, leaving the vestibules in shadow. Right on the edge of the silver-hazed light, the Lady’s white ma
rble statue stood resolute. Paula gazed up at the solemn well-crafted face, and the corners of her mouth lifted in an appreciative smile. “She looks so different here,” she said. “But then, I only ever met her once. We parted as soon as we got to Far Away.”
“I remember,” Qatux said. “It was the day I first met her.”
“I disapproved.”
“I loved her even then. She was so colorful, so flawed, so imbued with life. She taught me to feel again. I owe her everything.”
“How did she wind up here?”
“She was re-lifed, of course, after the Cat had finished with her. I supplied the memories for her new body, for I shared everything she felt right up until the last. That was why we parted. There was nothing left for us to know.”
“So she boarded a Brandt colony ship to start a new life. So many Brandts were disillusioned with the Commonwealth after the Starflyer War, they say almost a fifth of the senior dynasty members left. They would have welcomed her on board. She must have been quite solitary, poor thing.”
“It was for the best. Then Makkathran must have heard her as they flew around the Wall-somehow. It mistook her for a Raiel, for our minds had shared so much, and it called out.”
“And the Void did the rest. As it always does.”
“Yes.” Qatux extended a tentacle and stroked the statue’s cheek. “Goodbye, my beloved.” He turned and left the church.
Paula couldn’t resist one final over-the-shoulder check just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. For an instant she could’ve sworn the statue was grinning in that ridiculous carefree way Tiger Pansy always had when she was happy. But it was only a trick of the light.
From the switchback road high in the foothills, Salrana looked out across the Iguru plain, not understanding what she was seeing. But then many things were puzzling her this day.
Someone coughed behind her. She turned nervously. “Edeard!” she cried, for it was he … but different, older. There was no mistaking that shy hopeful smile, however. Try as she might, she couldn’t sense him with farsight, and he wasn’t five yards away. Nor did she have a third hand anymore. “What’s happened?” she implored.
Edeard glanced down at the small boy whose hand he was holding. The boy looked back up adoringly. There were several shared features on their faces.
“Edeard!” she implored. She thought she might cry.
“This is so hard,” he said. “I know. I have undergone this myself, but if you ever trusted me then, please believe you are all right. Nothing is going to harm you.”
She took a tentative step toward him. “Where are we? Where’s Makkathran? Was there an earthquake?” She turned back to stare at the terrible devastation that had befallen the Iguru plain. The farms and orchards and vineyards had vanished, wiped out by a smoldering desert of gray rock that extended out to the shoreline. But stranger than that were the ships. At least that was what she thought they were, for what else could they be? Twelve metal monsters lying around the edge of the destruction, though to imagine anything of such a size flying was impossible.
“We are home,” Edeard said. “Though it is not home, not truly, not anymore. Makkathran is gone. But nobody died. They all lived, Salrana; they lived such amazing lives. And now we have a chance to live our life. Together.”
“Us?” she asked, still hopelessly confused.
“Well, actually, the three of us.” He ruffled the boy’s head. “This is Burlal, my grandson.”
“Grandson? Edeard, please, I don’t understand.”
“I know. Perhaps I was wrong to do this, for the Lady knows it is a very selfish act. But sometimes to do what’s right-”
“-you have to do what’s wrong.”
“Yes. You have just finished your training in Ufford Hospital, haven’t you?”
“I was due to leave tomorrow, but I woke up here.” She frowned. “No, I arrived here somehow. Edeard, do I dream this?”
He took her hand, which made her ridiculously grateful. But then the touch of him had always done that, and she’d missed him terribly these long months away from Makkathran.
“We are no longer dreams, my love. We are as genuine as can be. And out here, in this time, I chose you over everyone. I chose the you from now because you are still the real you. My brother taught me that trick.”
“What brother?”
He laughed. “There is so much to explain, and I’m not sure how to begin. I never told you, did I, that I had dreams? Every night of my life I dreamed of life outside the Void. Well, that’s where those ships have come from. Outside, where the universe goes on forever.”
“Like Rah and the Lady?”
“Yes. Just like them. And the three of us are going on one of those ships. It’s going to fly away, fly out of here. We’re going to live out there, Salrana, out among the stars.”
She grinned, for he was being so foolish. But she could see how happy he was, which she liked.
Edeard’s arm went around her shoulder, and it felt fantastic. For so many years now she had waited for such a sincere open gesture. Then she saw a tall, strangely dressed man coming down the road. He was wearing some kind of skirt with a colorful square pattern on it and a bright scarlet waistcoat. Slim, curving lines of silver and gold light shone through his thick brown hair.
He stopped in front of them, looked them up and down, and promptly grinned broadly.
“I know you,” Edeard said in amusement. “You’re the Lionwalker. You were in charge of my brother’s science station when first we dreamed of each other.”
“Aye, that I was. Good morning to you, Waterwalker. And young Salrana, of course. And I think you must be Burlal. Am I right?”
The boy gave a cautious nod, clinging tighter to Edeard’s leg.
“Well, congratulations and then some. Waterwalker, that was quite a sight. I’ve just spent the night up on top of the mountain where the air’s clearest. Didn’t want to miss anything. After all, it’s not every day you get to see an entire universe evolve, is it?”
“My first time, as well,” Edeard told him.
“Aye, well, it’s over now.” Lionwalker Eyre gave Salrana a roguish smile. “It’s nice for an old romantic like me to see you two back together.” A finger wagged at Edeard. “Don’t you go messing it up again, lad.”
“I won’t,” Edeard said quietly.
“Well, I’d best be off. I expect you two have a lot to talk about.” He started walking briskly down the road.
“Wait,” Edeard called after him. “Where are you going?”
“Onward,” the Lionwalker replied with a wave. “Always onward.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PETER F. HAMILTON is the author of numerous novels, including The Temporal Void, The Dreaming Void, Judas Unchained, Pandora’s Star, Fallen Dragon, and the acclaimed epic Night’s Dawn trilogy (The Reality Dysfunction, The Neutronium Alchemist, and The Naked God). He lives with his family in England.
The Evolutionary Void is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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