The Reconciliation

by Clive Barker

  After a short time his shout came back to fetch Gentle, and it was blissful.

  “Boss? Boss! Come here!”

  Gentle followed where Monday's cries led, through the warm rain beneath the arch and into the palace itself. He found Monday wading across a courtyard, fragrant with the lilies that trembled on its flood, towards a figure standing beneath the colonnade on the other side. It was Hoi-Polloi. Her hair was plastered to her scalp, as though she'd just swum the pool, and the bosom upon which Monday was so eager to lay his head was bare.

  “So you're here at last,” she said, looking past Monday towards Gentle.

  Her eager beau lost his footing halfway across, and lilies flew as he hauled himself to his feet.

  “You knew we were coming?” he said to the girl.

  “Of course,” she replied. “Not you. But the Maestro. We knew the Maestro was coming.”

  “But it's me you're glad to see, right?” Monday spluttered. “I mean, you are glad?”

  She opened her arms to him, “What do you think?” she said.

  He whooped his whoop and splashed on towards her, peeling off his soaked shirt as he went. Gentle followed in his wake. By the time he reached the other side Monday was stripped down to his underwear.

  “How did you know we were coming here?” Gentle asked the girl.

  “There are prophetics everywhere,” she said. “Come on. I'll take you up.”

  “Can't he go on his own?” Monday protested.

  “We'll have plenty of time later,” Hoi-Polloi said, taking his hand. “But first I have to take him up to the chambers.”

  The trees within the ring of the demolished walls dwarfed those outside, inspired to unprecedented growth by the almost palpable sanctity of this place. There were women and children in their branches and among their gargantuan roots, but Gentle saw no men here and supposed that if Hoi-Polloi hadn't been escorting them they'd have been asked to leave. How such a request would have been enforced he could only guess, but he didn't doubt that the presences which charged the air and earth here had their ways. He knew what those presences were: the promised Goddesses, whose existence he'd first heard mooted in Beatrix, while sitting in Mother Splendid's kitchen.

  The journey was circuitous. There were several places where the rivers ran too hard and deep to be forded, and Hoi-Polloi had to lead them to bridges or stepping stones, then double back along the opposite bank to pick up the track again. But the farther they went, the more sentient the air became, and though Gentle had countless questions to ask he kept them to himself rather than display his naivete.

  There were tidbits from Hoi-Polloi once in a while, so casually dropped they were enigmas in themselves. ”... the fires are so comical...” she said at one point, as they passed a pile of twisted metalwork that had been one of the Autarch's war machines. And at another place, where a deep blue pool housed fish the size of men, said: ”... apparently they have their own city . . . but it's so deep in the ocean I don't suppose I'll ever see it. The children will, though. That's what's wonderful....”

  Finally, she brought them to a door that was curtained with running water and, turning to Gentle, said, “They're waiting for you.”

  Monday went to step through the curtain at Gentle's side, but Hoi-Polloi restrained him with a kiss on his neck.

  “This is just for the Maestro,” she said. “Come along. We'll go swimming.”

  “Boss?”

  “Go ahead,” Gentle told him. “No harm's going to come to me here.”

  “I'll see you later then,” Monday said, content to have Hoi-Polloi tug him away.

  Before they'd disappeared into the thicket, Gentle turned to the door, dividing the cool curtain with his fingers and stepping into the chamber beyond. After the riot of life outside, both its scale and its austerity came as a shock. It was the first structure he'd seen in the city that preserved something of his brother's lunatic ambition. Its vastness was uninvaded by all but a few shoots and tendrils, and the only waters that ran here were at the door behind him and those falling from an arch at the other end. The Goddesses had not left the chamber entirely unmarked, however. The walls of what had been built as a windowless hall were now pierced on all sides, so that for all its immensity the place was a honeycomb, penetrated by the soft light of evening. There was only one item of furniture: a chair, close to the distant arch, and seated upon it, with a baby on her lap, was Judith.

  As Gentle entered, she looked up from the child's face and smiled at him. “I was beginning to think you'd lost your way,” she said.

  Her voice was light: almost literally, he thought. When she spoke, the beams that came through the walls flickered,

  “I didn't know you were waiting,” he said.

  “It's been no great hardship,” she said. “Won't you come closer?” As he crossed the chamber towards her, she said, “I didn't expect you to follow us at first, but then I thought, He will, he will, because he'll want to see the child.”

  “To be honest... I didn't think about the child.”

  “Well, she thought about you,” Jude said, without rebuke.

  The baby in her lap could not be more than a few weeks old but, like the trees and flowers here, was burgeoning. She sat on Jude's lap rather than lay, one small strong hand clutching her mother's long hair. Though Jude's breasts were bare and comfortable, the child had no interest in nourishment or sleep. Her gray eyes were fixed on Gentle, studying him with an intense and quizzical stare.

  “How's Clem?” Jude asked when Gentle stood before her.

  “He was fine when I last saw him. But I left rather suddenly, as you know. I feel rather guilty about that. But once I'd started ...”

  “I know. There was no turning back. It was the same for me.”

  Gentle went down on his haunches in front of Jude and offered his hand, palm up, to the child. She grasped it instantly.

  “What's her name?” he said.

  “I hope you won't mind ...”

  “What?”

  “I called her Huzzah.”

  Gentle smiled up at Jude. “You did?” Then back to the baby, called by her scrutiny: “Huzzah?” he said, leaning his face towards hers. “Huzzah. I'm Gentle.”

  “She knows who you are,” Jude said, without a trace of doubt. “She knew about this room before it even existed. And she knew you'd come here, sooner or later.”

  Gentle didn't inquire as to how the child had shared her knowledge. It was just one more mystery to add to the catalogue in this extraordinary place.

  “And the Goddesses?” he said.

  “What about them?”

  “They don't mind that she's Sartori's child?”

  “Not at all,” Jude said, her voice daintier at the mention of Sartori. “The whole city... the whole city's here to prove how good can come from bad.”

  “She's better than good, Jude,” Gentle said.

  She smiled, and so did the child. “Yes, she is.”

  Huzzah was reaching for Gentle's face, ready to topple from Jude's lap in pursuit of her object.

  “I think she sees her father,” Jude said, lifting the child back into the crook of her arm and standing up.

  Gentle also stood, watching Jude carry Huzzah to a litter of playthings on the ground. The child pointed and gurgled.

  “Do you miss him?” he said.

  “I did in the Fifth,” Jude replied, her back still turned while she picked up Huzzah's chosen toy. “But I don't here. Not since Huzzah. I never felt quite real till she appeared. I was a figment of the other Judith.” She stood up again, turning to Gentle. “You know I still can't really remember all those missing years? I get snatches of them once in a while, but nothing solid. I suppose I was living in a dream. But she's woken me, Gentle.” Jude kissed the baby's cheek. “She's made me real. I was only a copy until her. We both were. He knew it and I knew it. But we made something new.” She sighed. “I don't miss him,” she said. “But I wish he could have seen her. Just once. Just so he
could have known what it was to be real too.”

  She started to cross back to the chair, but the child reached out for Gentle again, letting out a little cry to emphasize her wishes.

  “My, my,” Jude said. “You are popular.”

  She sat down again and put the toy she'd picked up in front of Huzzah. It was a small blue stone.

  “Here, darling,” she cooed. “Look. What's this? What's this?”

  Gurgling with pleasure, the child claimed the plaything from her mother's finger with a dexterity far beyond her tender age. The gurgles became chuckles, as she laid it to her lips, as if to kiss it.

  “She likes to laugh,” Gentle said.

  “She does, thank God. Oh, now listen to me. Still thanking God.”

  “Old habits ...”

  “That one'll die,” Jude said firmly.

  The child was putting the toy to her mouth.

  “No, sweetie, don't do that,” Jude said. Then, to Gentle: “Do you think the Erasure'11 decay eventually? I have a friend here called Lotti; she says it will. It'll decay, and then we'll have to live with the stench from the First every time the wind comes that way.”

  “Maybe a wall could be built.”

  “By whom? Nobody wants to go near the place.”

  “Not even the Goddesses?”

  “They've got their work here. And in the Fifth, They want to free the waters there too.”

  “That should be quite a sight.”

  “Yes, it should. Maybe I'll go back for that,”

  Huzzah's laughter had subsided during this exchange, and she was once again studying Gentle, reaching up towards him from her mother's lap. This time her tiny hand was not open but clutching the blue stone.

  “I think she wants you to have it,” Jude said.

  He smiled at the child and said, “Thank you. But you should keep it.”

  Her gaze became more intent at this, and he was certain she understood every word he was saying. Her hand still proffered its gift, determined he should take it.

  “Go on,” Jude said.

  As much at the behest of the eyes as at Jude's words, Gentle reached down and gingerly took the stone from Huzzah's hand. There was some considerable strength in her. The stone was heavy: heavy and cool.

  “Now our peace is really made,” Jude said.

  “I didn't know we'd been at war,” Gentle replied.

  “That's the worst kind, isn't it?” Jude said. “But it's over now. It's over forever.”

  There was a subtle modulation in the plush of the water-curtained arch behind her, and she glanced around. Her expression had been grave, but when she looked back at Gentle she had a smile on her face.

  “I have to go,” she said as she stood.

  The child was chuckling and clutching the air.

  “Will I see you again?” Gentle said.

  Jude shook her head slowly, looking at him almost indulgently.

  “What for?” she murmured. “We've said all we have to say. We've forgiven each other. It's finished.”

  “Will I be allowed to stay in the city?”

  “Of course,” she said with a little laugh. “But why would you want to?”

  “Because I've come to the end of the pilgrimage.”

  “Have you?” she said, turning from him to pad towards the arch. “I thought you had one Dominion left.”

  “I've seen it. I know what's there.”

  There was a pause. Then Jude said, “Did Celestine ever tell you her story? She did, didn't she?”

  “The one about Nisi Nirvana?”

  “Yes. She told it to me too, the night before the Reconciliation. Did you understand it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Ah.”

  “Why?”

  “It's just that I didn't either, and I thought maybe . . .” She shrugged. “I don't know what I thought.”

  She was at the archway now, and the child was peering over her shoulder at somebody who'd appeared behind the veil of water. The visitor was not, Gentle thought, quite human.

  “Hoi-Polloi mentioned our other guests, did she?” Jude said, seeing his astonishment. “They came up out of the ocean, to woo us.” She smiled. “Beautiful, some of them. There's going to be such children....”

  The smile faltered, just a little.

  “Don't be sad, Gentle,” she said. “We had our time.”

  Then she turned from him and took the child through the curtain. He heard Huzzah laugh to see the face that awaited them on the other side, and saw its owner put his silvery arms around mother and child. Then the light in his eyes brightened, running in the curtain, and when it dimmed the family had gone.

  Gentle waited in the empty chamber for several minutes, knowing Jude wasn't going to come back, not even certain that he wanted her to but unable to depart until he had fixed in his memory all that had passed between them. Only then did he return to the door and step out into the evening air. There was a different kind of enchantment in the wild wood now. Soft blue mists drooped from the canopy and crept up from the pools. The mellifluous songs of dusk birds had replaced those of noon, and the busy drone of pollinators had given way to breath-wing moths.

  He looked for Monday but failed to find him, and although there was nobody to prevent his loitering in this idyll, he felt ill at ease. This was not his place now. By day it was too full of life, and by night, he guessed, too full of love. It was a new experience for him to feel so utterly immaterial. Even on the road, hanging back from the fires while nonsense tales were told, he'd always known that if he'd simply opened his mouth and identified himself he would have been feted, encircled, adored. Not so here. Here he was nothing: nothing and nobody. There were new growths, new mysteries, new marriages.

  Perhaps his feet understood that better than his head, because before he'd properly confessed his redundancy to himself they were already carrying him away, out under the water-clad arches and down the slope of the city. He didn't head towards the delta but towards the desert, and though he'd not seen the purpose in this journey when Jude had hinted at it, he didn't now deny his feet their passage.

  When he'd last emerged from the gate that led out into the desert he'd been carrying Pie, and there'd been a throng of refugees around them. Now he was alone, and though he had no other weight to carry besides his own, he knew the trek ahead of him would exhaust what little sum of will was left to him. He wasn't much concerned at this. If he perished on the way, it scarcely mattered. Whatever Jude had said, his pilgrimage was at an end.

  As he reached the crossroads where he'd encountered Floccus Dado, he heard a shout behind him and turned to see a bare-chested Monday galloping towards him through the dwindling light, mounted on a mule, or a striped variation thereof.

  “What were you doing, going without me?” he demanded when he reached Gentle's side.

  “I looked for you, but you weren't around. 1 thought you'd gone off to start a family with Hoi-Polloi.”

  “Nah!” said Monday. “She's got funny ideas, that girl. She said she wanted to introduce me to some fish. I said I wasn't too keen on fish, 'cause the bones get stuck in your throat. Well, that's right, innit? People choke on fish, regular. Anyhow, she looks at me like I just farted and says maybe I should go with you after all. An' I said, I didn't even know you was leaving. So she finds me this ugly little fuck”—he slapped the hybrid's flank—“and points me in this direction.” He glanced back at the city. “I think we're well out of there,” he said, dropping his voice. “There was too much water, if you ask me. D'you see it at the gate? A great fuckin' fountain.”

  “No, I didn't. That must be recent.”

  “See? The whole place is going to drown. Let's get the fuck out of here. Hop on.”

  “What's the beast called?”

  “Tolland,” Monday said with a grin. “Which way are we headed?”

  Gentle pointed towards the horizon.

  “I don't see nothin'.”

  “Then that must be the right direc
tion.”

  Ever the pragmatist, Monday hadn't left the city without supplies. He'd made a sack of his shirt and filled it to bursting with succulent fruits, and it was these that sustained them as they traveled. They didn't halt when night came, but kept up their steady pace, taking turns to walk beside the beast so as not to exhaust it and giving it at least as much of the fruit as they ate themselves, plus the piths, cores, and skins of their own portions.

  Monday slept much of the time that he rode, but Gentle, despite his fatigue, remained wide awake, too vexed by the problem of how he was going to set this wasteland down in his book of maps to indulge himself in slumber. The stone Huzzah had given him was constantly in his hand, coaxing so much sweat from his pores that several times a little pool gathered in the cup of his palm. Discovering this, he would put the stone away, only to find a few minutes later that he'd taken it out of his pocket without even realizing that he'd done so, and his fingers were once again making play with it.

  Now and then he'd cast a backward glance towards Yzordderrex, and it made quite a sight, the benighted flanks of the city glittering in countless places, as though the waters in its streets had become perfect mirrors for the stars. Nor was Yzordderrex the only source of such splendor. The land between the gates of the city and the track that they were following also gleamed here and there, catching its own fragments of the sky's display.

  But all such enchantments were gone by the first sign of dawn. The city had long since disappeared into the distance behind them, and the thunderheads in front were lowering. Gentle recognized the baleful color of this sky from the glimpse he and Tick Raw had snatched of the First, Though the Erasure still sealed Hapexamendios' pestilence from the Second, its taint was too persuasive to be obliterated, and the bruisy heavens loomed vaster as they traveled, lying along the entire horizon and climbing to their zenith.