Glass (18 page)

Footsteps. She heard pattering footsteps.

Subadwan wanted defence. The thought flashed through her mind, and then a glass shield lay in her hand.

Light but strong, the transparent shield, she realised, had been conjured by her mind in the same way that she had saved herself from death by flying. Subadwan understood then how powerful a single person could be in the abstract country. Imagination was the key. Without imagination, Gwmru’s inhabitants could not survive. Could this in fact be Tanglanah’s secret problem?

Voices: two of them.

Subadwan, skin itching, hairs twitching, felt she needed a weapon. She felt unsafe. Into her left hand the shield shifted, while her right acquired a titanium-tipped glass lance.

Two figures careered into the street from an alley. Subadwan stared, too startled to move. One was a black dome of an insect with clattering mandibles. The other was Tanglanah.

‘She has vanished!’ Tanglanah said.

‘Is she lost?’ asked the other.

‘It must be Zelenaiid’s malign influence. What shall we do?’

‘All is not yet lost. You must return to Cray and examine this portion of Gwmru from your Archive. Looking from the outside is the only answer.’

There was a flash and Tanglanah vanished. Creaking and clacking, the insect turned around and skittered back up the alley. They had not even looked at her.

With the pair gone, Subadwan hurried on down the street to the Archive of Noct. Her suspicions were proved correct. The street marks coalesced into a glowing disk.

It was a repulsive structure, and always had been. Here it looked much the same as in reality. An accretion of buildings linked by black bridges, it seemed to have been smeared with dark Swamps mud by Noct’s own gargantuan hands. Nothing of brickwork could be seen, only this smooth, yet hard, covering, a sort of toughened porcelain. Subadwan, who knew the place well, had always entertained the macabre belief that the inner building had acquired a skin that at some time it would slough off, to reveal a swarming, seething mass of blanched architecture. She shivered as she recalled the dank dungeons, with their white fungi, white insects, and pale, empty-eyed lesser slaves.

She walked around to a side entrance, listening first, then shoving open the door with her boot. Inside, shadows concealed all. Desiring light Subadwan felt the weight of a headlamp, as worn by the street repairers of Cray, settling upon her brow, and this illumination allowed her to see that apart from minor alterations the inside of this section was the same as in Cray. Dreamlike sensation plagued her: this version of the Archive was like the real one, yet subtly different. She explored a few rooms, then made for the interior chambers.

The layout had not changed. The central chamber, with its two-hundred-foot groined roof, black-on-black bas-relief walls, shuttered windows high up, and its sinuous, crepuscular statues slowly burning from the head down to disperse scented smoke, was as before; a reverberant chamber, shadow spawned and shadow kept, dusty and smelling of musk. But something, shrouded by dark mist, was sitting on Noct’s podium.

The creature shifted, groaned, then stood. Subadwan froze, irrationally hoping that she had not been seen, though her lamp beam stabbed through the gloom.

The creature pounced. She was knocked to the ground, helmet, shield and lance sent flying. Glass smashed. A creature panted above her, holding her down with its paws. Warm alcoholic breath made her cough.

‘Don’t kill me!’

As her eyes became accustomed to the dark the panting became a thrumming, and she saw a pale beast like a bathkin, with twitching whiskers and slitted eyes. It had no tail. Again she cried, ‘Don’t kill me.’

‘Who are you?’ came the response.

‘Subadwan of Gaya.’

The creature let her go, padded away, then sat and began licking its paws. Subadwan noticed that one front paw had been lopped off, and around it the abstract substance of Gwmru distorted and twinkled. Eventually it said, ‘Did Greckoh send you?’

‘Tanglanah did.’

‘Tanglanah. I see. Do you know who I am?’

Subadwan remembered the invisible presence mentioned by Tanglanah. She kept her silence.

‘I am Zelenaiid, the Silverseed. Tell me Subadwan, do you carry the secret of Gaya with you?’

‘I don’t know. What is it?’

‘I don’t know either, but I know what it does. You must have followed my ancient sigils to get here.’

‘The fluorescent marks? Yes. Tanglanah couldn’t see them.’

‘Of course,’ Zelenaiid said. ‘That was how I planned it.’

‘Planned?’

Zelenaiid padded up close. ‘You have come at an opportune moment, Subadwan. Events are coming to a conclusion.’

‘Events?’

Zelenaiid said, ‘Long ago, sixteen electronic beings arrived here from another world, one orbiting a far-off star. They had become convinced that their environment was wrong, and because it seemed unsuitable to them they decided to locate a new, alien environment, in which they could create a home of perfection. They planned to live in this home. They used memories of their previous home, and they envisaged that one day it would be complete. It would be perfect. This search for perfection of environment they called their art. Now I was one of those sixteen, but I was considered an outsider because of my dealing with human beings. We travelled in a vitrified vehicle designed by me. But when we arrived here we clashed, as we had during the voyage. During a desperate tussle I destroyed the vehicle, just as the others were completing their new home – Cray, as you call it. They transmitted themselves down through the medium of Gwmru, but in the process they managed to trap me. Caught, I had no option but to hide myself. I have patrolled this abstract Archive since that time.’

‘Five centuries…’

‘Five centuries. But I knew my time would come once more. I altered the city created by the others, this being my final deed before I concealed myself. That alteration became a flaw. A glass flaw. Cray’s vitrification is my doing. But because it is a wholly artificial city of metal and plastic bursting with ancient memories, Gwmru – with which it is occasionally coexistent – is also dying. It is for that reason that Tanglanah and the others are desperate to find me or discover the truth of the flaw. Their plans have failed and they are enervated. They are so weak they are themselves losing their abilities.’

‘What is this flaw?’ Subadwan asked.

‘I know only that glass is its symptom. Since my alteration was made in the space of milliseconds I could not know how it would manifest. I set up the initial conditions, but from then on the flaw ran unchecked. However there is one point to consider. Since I envisaged salvation for the humans that I had brought, the full manifestation of the flaw must involve a vehicle of some sort.’

‘A vehicle?’

‘You see, Subadwan, I guessed that my erstwhile kin would fail here. I understood that if they retained an intellectual view of their world they would fail to live in harmony with their new environment. To succeed in their art, they need physical bodies. Now they know they have failed. They wish to return home, as do I. And if they do that the whole human population of Cray will be left here to die. I cannot allow that since I am responsible for humanity being here. Hence my plan... such as it is.’

Subadwan frowned. ‘If you don’t even know the entirety of the flaw, it’s not much of a plan.’ She glanced at Zelenaiid. Claws flicked out from three pale paws. ‘But I suppose your hand was forced.’

Zelenaiid said, ‘You are part of the others’ plan. You must think carefully on what they have told you.’

Subadwan thought back to the labyrinthine discussions with Tanglanah. ‘Tanglanah said I would find something of Gaya here. That was a lie, wasn’t it?’

‘In part. I encoded a secret into the Archive of Gaya so that a human being would, one day, find me, when Cray was coming to the end of its life.’

‘But you don’t even know what your secret is!’

‘I know what it
does,
Subadwan. I created an artificial reality that would see the world through Gayan eyes. The light from the star shining upon Cray is different to that of the other star. I left signs and clues that could only be seen in that otherworldly light–’

‘The headmerger!’ Subadwan cried.

‘Headmerger?’

‘I wear it now.’

‘Then that headmerger is the manifestation of my secret,’ said Zelenaiid, ‘and it is why you saw the fluourescent signs and they did not. Did they try to follow you here?’

‘Yes, but they could not see me, and they could not see the fluorescent signs.’

‘My aura protects you, while the headmerger filters what you see.’

Suddenly, Subadwan understood. ‘Tanglanah guessed something of what you did! They assassinated my two superiors to get me in the position that would give me access to everything in the Archive of Gaya – and that meant the headmerger.’

‘I intended that somebody should come here, Subadwan, and it has turned out that you are my chosen one. Now you must help complete my plan.’

‘How?’

‘First, you must trust me. The survival of humanity is dear to me. Through the clashes with my erstwhile kin vitrification came about, and through my earlier deeds human beings were brought here. So I am responsible. I will tell you something. Recently, I became aware that the glass plague is reaching a climax, and that my former kin were trying to escape their fate. Therefore I briefly controlled a pyuton known as Seleno, so that the final phase of my plan could begin. As ever, an element of chaos pervaded what I did. I cannot say how it will have come out. But one of two paths will emerge, and you, Subadwan, and all the human beings of Gaya, must be on that path.’

There came a pause in the conversation. Eventually Subadwan asked, ‘What do I do now?’

‘Return to Tanglanah and say you have completed your task.’

‘What shall I say?’

Zelenaiid considered. ‘Tell her that you found an iceberg, but that it melted under the warmth of your breath. That will make her think. The metaphor will tantalise her, but she will not be able to come to any conclusion.’

‘And how do I return to Cray?’

‘Greckoh, Tanglanah and the others will have expended vast effort to bring the separate halves of Gwmru into constructive interference, so that Gwmru can impose itself upon Cray. Doubtless Tanglanah pretended it was a natural occurrence.’

‘She didn’t say exactly.’

‘Whatever she said, it was a lie, or a perversion of the truth. You will possess a glass shell, I suspect. Such objects are the corporeal components of abstract systems known as flags. You have been marked in Gwmru with such a shell, and its memories will focus upon you, and all others who are so flagged. You see, Subadwan, what they wanted was a suitably endowed human – you, as it turned out – to experience Gwmru. But now you must trust me alone. Return to Tanglanah and speak as I suggested. You cannot return to Cray until they cease their effort. When you are out, search for the two paths emerging from the chaos. And choose wisely.’

Subadwan quailed. ‘I’d better go now, then.’

Zelenaiid purred in reply, then handed over what seemed to be a glass cylinder. ‘Keep this razor shell,’ she said. ‘It will act as a weapon when Gwmru is upon you. But use it sparingly, for it will not last.’

Subadwan left the Archive of Noct. With no other option she began to walk north up the main streets of Eastcity, through the Plastic and Cold Quarters, until she reached the wall and an open gate. There she passed out into the frosted steppes surrounding Cray, where the landscape was radically different. A lifeless grey plain, pitted, gouged and cratered lay before her, the upthrust cylinder like a flat-topped hill not far away, on its top the busy glow of numerous lights. These lights surrounded what looked like a giant vegetable. Standing silent, she thought once again that she could hear voices.

Walking for ten minutes brought her to sheer cliffs. There was no way up. Subadwan did not want to call out for fear of meeting more creatures, but some inner sense suggested to her that Tanglanah was working up there. She took to considering how to ascend.

Soon she had the answer. If she could in utmost need desire a shield and lance, she could now desire a flying machine. She jumped as, to one side, a bat landed with a crunch of gravel, its steel claws finding little purchase, causing the machine to twist and turn before coming to rest.

Wary, she observed it. Bats were Triader mounts. But this had been created by her own mind. It must be safe.

She squeezed into the cockpit and pressed an activation pad. Dust whipped out as the bat took off, its biomotors whirring like fans, the stretched black fabric of its clawed wings humming under the tension. Subadwan’s stomach gyrated as the bat, responding to hand controls in her sweaty grip, rose, then levelled, then swung to the right and began a slow ascent to the level of the plateau. She turned it around and headed for the lights.

Her flight was brief. There were figures on the plain, working frantically on the vegetable under the glare of a hundred lamps. When they spotted her they pointed. Suddenly, wing fabric ripped. The bat fell. Seconds later Subadwan hit the ground, conscious but winded. She struggled from the wreckage to see a dozen or so figures running towards her, one of them Tanglanah.

She was free when they reached her. She felt angry. This anger, she knew, would defend her if they tried to attack her or restrain her. She felt no fear.

‘Stop!’ she cried as they closed. Tanglanah halted, as did the others. They were a group of geriatric women, some mutated into beasts, others with animal heads, all of them tainted with the aura of age and exhaustion. Far off, the black dome on legs was making its way towards the group.

‘Have you succeeded?’ Tanglanah asked.

‘You shot me down,’ Subadwan retorted.

Tanglanah cared nothing for Subadwan’s state. ‘What was it you saw, Subadwan?’

‘I only explored.’

‘What did you
find?
’

Subadwan felt pressurised, wondering if Zelenaiid was using her as some kind of messenger. ‘Nothing much,’ she replied.

Tanglanah uttered a single disbelieving laugh. ‘Nothing? Then it is for nothing that my kind live up here on this inaccessible plateau. What did you find?’