Gods of the Greataway (33 page)

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Then she had to tell him, of course. And instead of the shock and bewilderment she expected from him, he accepted her words as though they confirmed his own beliefs. And he visibly relaxed, as if what she had said simplified matters. In the end, she was the bewildered one, but Manuel, laughing and kissing her, pulled her down to the grass and made love to her in a way she’d never have believed possible. And when at last they were finished and they lay holding each other as though they couldn’t get close enough, she had no doubts at all. Manuel was right. It was all quite simple.

D
ad Ose
spoke to his Macrobes. He didn’t know they were in there, of course, and he would have been horrified if he had. He thought his human body was complete in itself and had needed no assistance — other than mental power alone — to live its 496 years.

I live, and I always will live. Every cell of my body is regenerating at this very moment
… How could God treat him so badly? How could he allow such humiliation to occur to his servant? In his mind’s eye Dad Ose saw himself rolling in the dirt, flapping at his blazing clothing until Manuel — of all people! — ran forward to save him … “Forget it, Forget it!” he found himself shouting aloud. He must concentrate. He sent his mind down into the palms of his hands where the burns were … Like stigmata he was being made to suffer for his belief, he was being crucified…

“Ahhhh!” He shouted in an extreme of embarrassment, trying to shout down the memory of the children sniggering as he had stumbled away with blackened and shredding robes. The shout echoed around the cool stone of the church and he flushed, realizing he had made that stupid noise himself. It had happened and it was over and it was unimportant — he was too wise a man to allow such a little setback to unbalance him.

Dying is meaningless. There is no reason for it I will eliminate that Clock that tells my body to age
. Those kids with the dirty faces, laughing at him.
I will eliminate, eliminate the Clock
. Manuel and that girl, Ellie.
First the feet, flow with the bloodstream and regenerate the cells. The ankles, soothe the tired ankles and nourish the flesh, the bone
—”

“Hello, Dad
Ose!”

What? What? Dear God, it
couldn’t
be! Yet he stood there, that wretched mysterious boy, the sun warming his dark hair as he paused in the doorway holding the hand of some trollop — a different one this time.

“Sorry, Dad Ose … I didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“I was
praying
, God damn it!” snapped Dad use inexcusably, then collected himself. “Come in, my children. What can I do for you today?”

“I want to speak to God.” “What!” This was an insult. Dad Ose bounded to his feet and strode down the aisle. His palms itched. He would smash those two kids’ heads together, knock some respect into them … They stood there with the sun around them like a halo, holding hands. There was something serene about them, something… holy. He stopped, and swallowed.

Manuel repeated, in some surprise, “I want to speak to God, like I did before. I find it’s easier here, somehow. Your church is quiet and old, and he comes through better.”

Dad Ose felt as though he were in some kind of suspended animation, and he found himself saying, “Manuel, I’ve lived in this church for over four hundred years, and in all that time God’s never spoken to me.”

“That’s probably because you don’t address him by the proper name,” said Manuel with disarming simplicity.

“Oh? And what’s his proper name?”

“Starquin. I’m surprised you didn’t know that. Starquin the Five-in-One.”

“The Five-in-One, is it? Let me see now: One, the Father, two, the Son —”

“No, Dad. Length, Width, Thickness, Duration and Psychic Entity.”

So
straightforward was Manuel’s manner that Dad Ose found his own anger rude. And that girl, beside Manuel, seemed to radiate a quiet goodness. They were sincere, these two. So instead of throwing them out, he said, “My God is the only true God, Manuel. He has endured since the beginning of time, and always will. Yours is a false God.”

Probably at this moment Manuel realized something of the conflict within the priest, because he chose his words very carefully. “I really think we’re talking about the same person, Dad, although Starquin has only been on Earth for 250,890,147 years and he will be leaving soon. But what I have to say to him is very important, and I only found this out last night, when Beth and I were in bed. Do you mind? I’ll talk aloud, so you’ll see I don’t say anything that you might disagree with.”

“Oh, go ahead, then,” said Dad Ose helplessly.

Manuel sat in a pew, drawing Beth down beside him, and rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes. Then, slowly at first, but gaining confidence, he spoke.

“Dear Starquin. I have done everything you asked me to, and I’m sorry if I misunderstood what you really wanted. I made friends with the man at the Dome, who turned out to be Zozula, and not such a bad kind of man at all. I was kind to people and to animals and even plants and machines, except when I thought their will was against yours, and it all seemed to work out well, and I really think that human beings will be a lot better off for what we’ve done.

“I’ve seen some terrifying things and I’ve seen a lot of people die, but I know now that these things are necessary, because if everything goes the way we want it, then life is very dull —and anyway, these bad things are just as necessary to your plan as the good things. So I can see that it’s right that Selena is treating people with Bale Wolf venom, and I thank you for including this in your plan, because it’s given me Beth, whom I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

“Starquin — maybe I’m too proud. I’ve always thought I could understand what it was all about. Even when Belinda died, I told myself it was your will and there must be a reason. And yesterday I thought I saw that reason. The people in the Domes had to be saved and I had been chosen to do it, and my reward was to be Beth. That’s what I thought. But now, after last night, I don’t understand anymore.

“You
tell me we have to go away. You tell me we have to make ourselves ready to face another test, and that we must go back to the Dome.

“Well, Starquin,” and here Manuel’s voice became stubborn, “I don’t want to. I’ve had enough, and I want to settle down at home. I’m through with excitement for a while, and facing death isn’t my idea of fun anymore. Haven’t I done enough?’’

There was silence in the church. For a while Manuel stayed there, shoulders hunched and face buried in his hands, as though flinching from the possibility of Almighty anger. Dad Ose stood and Beth sat motionless, watching.

Then gradually the sounds from outside began to intrude, the bird song and sighing of wind. Somewhere an animal snorted. The wind stirred a tree outside the window, and the shadows moved over the pews and the stone floor. Manuel looked up. There was still a residue of fear in his eyes. Beth squeezed his hand. A warm breeze fanned through the stonework, stirring the dust.

Dad Ose spoke.

He was going to say something fairly gentle to this misguided youth, something about the sin of pride and its inevitable fall, something wise and kindly and avuncular.

Instead, the words that came were not his own.

He said, “I will not command you, Manuel, because I can read the Ifalong well enough to know you will do my wishes of your own accord. You and Beth will come to no harm. Since this is the last time I will speak to anyone on your planet, I will thank you now for all your help. Goodbye.” Dad Ose closed his mouth.

There was a long silence. A cock crowed.

Manuel said, “Come on, Beth. We’d better get along to the Dome.”

Dad Ose watched them go, watched them walking hand in hand down the dusty road to the village and the Dome, and his mouth had dropped open again.

Starquin had spoken through him.

The astonishment
and terror gradually abated, then grew into something else — an enormous flush of pride: He, too, had been chosen as Starquin’s instrument.

He looked around his church, seeing the trappings that served religion as he taught it, and as he had learned it in the North, hundreds of years ago. He had taught a good religion, carefully weighing the various messiahs who had emerged down the ages and using the best of the teachings of each, always bearing in mind that the important thing was the Supreme Being. Someone up there cared.

So, what was in a name?

And, if Someone up there was moving out, what did that matter? At least he, Dad Ose, was now completely convinced of his existence, and could devote the rest of his life to preparing Mankind for his inevitable return …

Lighthearted, and feeling younger and more secure in his belief than he could remember, he made his way briskly to the village. People down there would be feeling the need of spiritual comfort, this morning.

H
ow could a steam
locomotive fly? Well, it couldn’t, of course, but that didn’t stop a lot of people thinking that it could. It was just another legend, a distortion of what had happened millions of years ago.

Maybe they were closer to the truth in Ionia, an ancient land where the men once more herded goats and the women once more tended the hearth. Ionia had seen its share of changes — a fleeting moment in history when the valleys and hillsides disappeared under the press of concrete and steel and people — but later, time slowed again, and the storytellers told slow tales around the evening fires.

They told the story of Daedalus the inventor and his son Icarus.

It seemed that Daedalus seriously offended Starquin in some bygone era. Starquin had watched the land grow beautiful, millennia upon millennia. He had seen the plants thrive and the animals flourish and evolve, and he’d seen Mankind arrive to share his enjoyment. Through the eyes of the Dedos, he’d often come close, so close that he could observe individual men and their doings — and, if absolutely necessary, he could influence them, although it was against his Rule.

But Starquin failed to observe Daedalus. By the time Starquin found out what Daedalus had done, it was too late. Too many humans were affected on too many happentracks.

Daedalus had
invented the steam locomotive and fathered the Industrial Revolution.

It happened in the flicker of an eternal eyelid, and Earth was suddenly spoiled for Starquin. Steel rails glittered unnaturally in the sunlight, and the gentle wind was obstructed by tall buildings. Propellers churned the quietness of the sea, and smoke dirtied the clouds. And humans were everywhere, no longer interesting and unique, but threatening to overwhelm other creatures by their very numbers — and, ultimately, to force the progress of Earth into their own pattern instead of Starquin’s.

It happened in the flicker of an eternal eyelid — and just as quickly, it was certain to go away. Unlike the dinosaurs, however, it would leave a mess. Earth would be depleted of its possessions, and wreckage would litter the land. The wreckage would rot and disappear, but the possessions would not be replaced indeed, many of them were lost in the Greataway. Starquin could do nothing except exact punishment.

So he plucked Daedalus out of one happentrack and he set him down in another, at a later period when he might witness the results of his invention. And he set his son down with him. This son was Daedalus’s only surviving relative, and very dear to him. His name was Icarus.

Starquin imprisoned Daedalus and Icarus in a huge compound with high walls. And he filled the compound with the results of Daedalus’s work — a great litter of wrecked steam locomotives. And he left the two of them there to rot.

But Daedalus had not, on
this
happentrack, invented the locomotive. Starquin had plucked him out of time too carelessly. Daedalus gazed at the giant shapes with curiosity and interest, and he began to tinker with things. Far from being desolated by his predicament, he became fascinated and delighted. Only Icarus, staring at the tops of the high walls and wondering what was outside, was unable to share his father’s joy.

“This place is a prison, Father. I want to get out — I can’t stand the confinement.” Icarus was a free spirit, and in due course would — but that is another story.

Daedalus was a workman and an inventor, and a man of narrow but intense vision, unlike Icarus, who was a dreamer.

“There’s a lifetime’s work here, Son. These great machines — I’d dreamed of such, but I’d never seen them.” He instinctively understood the purpose of the great boilers, and he filled them with water and lit fires in the fireboxes and watched the pressure rise. His eyes followed the plumes of steam into the sky while he listened to his son’s lamenting.

“I will die
if I am trapped in here any longer, Father.”

While Daedalus worked on, his son wasted away, until gradually the work and the discovering began to lose its appeal and his son’s sickness began to obsess him. He wondered if there were some way in which his inventive powers could be turned into avenues of escape. He watched the steam rise into the calm air.

He had a fair idea of the purpose of the locomotives. He had even succeeded in repairing two and had driven one a short distance along a length of twisted track. They were apparently a means of transport. But it seemed a lot of trouble, building huge machines like these for a simple purpose that could be accomplished by a horse — and what was more, a horse was not confined to tracks. So there must be something else.

It was winter before he realized what the locomotives were really for, and by this time Icarus’s cheeks were sunken and his face flushed. He lay in one of the locomotives, his breath coming fast, and Daedalus knew he had to get him out of the compound soon.

It was the steam that gave Daedalus the clue he sought. The steam rose into the sky. The purpose of the boiler was to create steam by boiling water, and confined within that huge boiler must be an immense amount of steam, possessing prodigious lift. Only the weight of the locomotive itself kept it from flying away into the sky. So how to get it off the ground? The secret was in the wheels, and at last he realized their true purpose.