The Evolutionary Void (39 page)

“What have you done?”

“I have done nothing. But all children leave their parents behind
eventually. You know this in your heart.”

People turned around to look in astonishment as the Waterwalker slid up
through the solid pavement of Boldar Avenue. None of them said anything; none
of them moved. They simply watched as he strode purposefully to the door of
Apricot Cottage, his black cloak flapping as if a hurricane were blowing. Only
then did he notice their placid interest, the identical calmness. The residents
of Boldar Avenue belonged to the nest.

Edeard sensed them inside, upstairs in the big lounge. Marilee and Analee
were with them, their thoughts content, fluttering with excitement. Not quite
their thoughts as they used to be.

Edeard was enraged; his third hand smashed down the front door. He
marched up the stairs.

Tathal had a knowing smile on his lips as Edeard burst into the lounge;
it was echoed by the faces of the nest. Marilee and Analee wore it, too. They
were standing on either side of Tathal: Marilee with her head resting on his
shoulder, Analee with her arm around his waist.

“Undo it,” Edeard demanded.

Tathal gave Analee an indolent look, then glanced around at Marilee.
“No,” he said. Marilee smiled adoringly up at him.

“I will destroy you.”

“If you could, you would have done so by now. This was all the proof I
needed. Besides, your daughters were almost a part of us already. They had
learned to share.”

“Don’t be cross, Daddy,” Marilee urged.

“Be happy for us.”

“This is so wonderful.”

“Belonging like this.”

“Now everyone can share and grow like we always did.”

“Everyone will be happy together.”

Tears threatened to blind Edeard. “You did this to them.”

“We are together,” Tathal said. “We are happy.”

“Because you tell everyone to be.” Edeard was certain he wouldn’t stand a
chance against them if he went on the offensive. That didn’t leave him much
choice.

“Please, Waterwalker, join us, join me; you and I are equals. As Mayor,
you can make the transition so smooth, so painless.”

“Not a chance, as the Lady is my witness.”

Tathal took a slow step forward. “You’ve already done it once.”

“What?”

“I’ve been so curious. Exactly what is your power? Is it more than
communing with the city? We all have that now.”

“Give this up,” Edeard said. “Now. I will not ask again.”

“So curious.” He took another step forward. “You know you cannot defeat
us, yet you make threats. I see through you. You believe, you truly believe,
you have the upper hand.” He cocked his head to one side, regarding Edeard in
fascination. “What is it? What have I not got?”

“My daughters first.”

“I saw something when I studied you at Colfal’s shop. There was a
certainty about you, a confidence that I’ve never seen in anyone before. You
think yourself unassailable. Why?”

It was all Edeard could do not to shrink away as Tathal moved closer
still; it was like a kitten being stalked by a fil-rat. “Let. Them. Go. Free.”

“I’ve already seen what happens if you win,” Tathal murmured.

“What?”

“Your words. Spoken in the seconds before you slaughtered Owain and his
conspirators. I have watched the memory of the chamber below the Spiral Tower
many times. You were impressively brutal, Waterwalker. Even Mistress Florrel
was ripped apart by that frightening gun. An old woman, though not a harmless
one, I imagine. But what did you mean by that? I have been sorely puzzled. You
spoke as if you’d seen the future.”

Edeard said nothing. He was too shocked by the revelation of his dreadful
act being uncovered.

“Is that it?” Tathal asked. “Is that your secret? Your timesense?” A
frown creased his handsome young face. “But no. If you could see the future,
you would know what I am, what I am to become.”

“You are to become nothing.”

“What are you?”

Edeard screamed as the question seared its way into his brain, falling
like acid on every nerve fiber. He
had
to confess.
Every member of the nest had joined his or her mind to Tathal’s, offering
strength to the compulsion. Third hands closed around him, crushing his body,
suffocating him. Their thoughts began to seep into his mind, corroding his free
will.

He didn’t have time to be neat and clever, nor did he have the time to
summon up the focus to go far. He thought of when he was free—they allowed him
that—the moments before he broke down the door to the Apricot Cottage. And
reached for that—

Edeard gasped for breath as he slid up through the pavement of Boldar
Avenue. Everyone was turning to stare at him, their heads filled with identical
placid thoughts. Above him, the nest awaited.

He didn’t even wait to sense if there was a glimmer of suspicion rising
amid their unified mind. His memory conjured up that evening … no, just before
then, a few hours earlier, the astronomer’s parlor—

Edeard stood outside the House of Blue Petals, waiting patiently. It was
late afternoon, and away at the other end of the city, the Grand Council was
called to session. In the Tosella district, Finitan railed against his
infirmity and pain.

Eventually, a young Tathal walked confidently across the street to the
House of Blue Petals. He stopped abruptly and turned to stare at Edeard.

“You’ve been watching me,” Edeard said.

Tathal’s adolescent face screwed up into a suspicious grimace. “So?”

“You’re afraid I can stop you.”

“Ladyfuckit,” Tathal spit. His third hand began to extend as his mind was
veiled behind an inordinately powerful shield.

“You have an extraordinary talent,” Edeard said calmly. “Why don’t you
join me? The people of this world need help. There’s so much good you can do.”

“Join you? Not even you can dominate me, Waterwalker. I’m nobody’s
genistar.”

“I have no intention of attempting that trick.” His gaze flicked to the
House of Blue Petals. “She tried it on me once, you know.”

“Yeah? Must be pretty stupid not to learn from that mistake. But I made
her teach me a lot.” He sneered. “I like that. She still thinks she’s in
control, but she bends over when I tell her to.”

“Honious! You’ve already started to bind the nest to you, haven’t you?”

Tathal narrowed his eyes. Misgivings leaked out from his shield. “What do
you want?”

“Not you. You’re too late.” Edeard remembered a day from a couple of
years previously. Reached for it—

Edeard tried. He even impressed himself with his tenacity, seeking that
one moment when Tathal had an ounce of humanity in his soul. If it existed, he
never found it. In the end he doubted its existence.

But he tried, waiting outside the city gates when a fifteen-year-old
Tathal arrived with a caravan. That, too, was long after his personality had
established itself. He’d already dominated the entire caravan, lording it over
them in the master’s wagon. It wasn’t as subtle as the nest; men and women
served him while their daughters became his stable of whores. The old and the
recalcitrant had been discarded along the route.

Before that … Edeard found that Tathal came from Ustaven province. He
missed Taralee’s seventeenth birthday to travel to the capital, Growan, nine
months before Tathal left it with the caravan. Just in time to sense the
fourteen-year-old finally kill Matrar, his abusive father with a display of
telekinesis that was shocking to witness. Minutes later he threw his broken
alcoholic mother out of their house.

Farther back … Five years previously, Edeard spent a month in Growan,
drinking in Matrar’s tavern, trying to reason with the miserable man, to steer
him away from using violence against his family. To no avail.

Two years beforehand, and Edeard bribed the owner of the carpentry lodge
where Matrar worked, promoting him so his life might be a little easier. There
would be more money, and Matrar might see a brighter future opening up if he
strove to better himself. But the new money was spent on longer binges, and his
obvious failings bred resentment among the men he was supposed to supervise.

Eventually Edeard found himself outside the tavern Matrar favored for the
last time. It had taken some admirable detective work among the badly
maintained civic records of Growan’s Guild of Clerks, but eventually he’d
tracked down Tathal’s birth certificate. Not that he entirely trusted it. That
was why he was outside the tavern ten days before the probable night. He was
dressed in simple field worker clothes and a heavy coat, with his face
disguised by a shallow concealment mirage. Not even Kristabel would recognize
him.

As a waitress squirmed between battered old wooden tables, he
surreptitiously tipped a phial of vinac juice into Matrar’s ale. It was an act
he performed every night for a fortnight.

Tathal was never conceived. Never existed, so could never be remembered
or even mourned.

Edeard arrived back in Makkathran in time for Taralee’s second birthday.
Just as he recalled, she developed chicken pox two days later. Then in autumn
that year a ridiculously happy Mirnatha announced her surprise engagement.
Finitan was at the height of his powers and supporting the special Grand
Council committee on organized crime, which was producing good results.

He recalled it all. The events. The conversations. Even the weather.
There was little he wanted to change. At first. Then he grew weary of the
sameness. Knowing became a burden as he became exasperated with people
repeating the same mistakes once more.

The only thing that differed now was his dreams: still bizarre,
impossible, but fresh, new.

C
HERITON
M
C
O
NNA WAS TIRED
, irritable, and unwashed to a degree where
his clothes were starting to smell. What he needed was coffee, proper sunlight,
and a decent blast of fresh air. The conditioning unit in the confluence nest
supervisor’s office was struggling under constant use by too many people. But
Dream Master Yenrol was insistent that they keep a full watch for any sign of
the Second Dreamer. That meant a special module grafted onto the nest itself,
one with a direct connection to the team. It boosted perception and sensitivity
to an exceptionally high level. Cheriton didn’t like that at all; opening his
mind to the gaiafield at such an intensity was equivalent to staring into the
sun. Fortunately, he had some filter routines, which he quietly slipped in to
protect himself. The other members of Yenrol’s team weren’t so well off.
Slavishly obedient and devout, they scoured the emotional resonance routines
for the slightest hint of their absconded messiah.

Around him, he could see their faces grimace from the strength of
impressions pulsing down that singular linkage, yet still they loyally
persevered. If they weren’t careful, they were going to suffer some pretty
severe brainburns. Yenrol was adamant, though, convinced that whatever had
happened over in Francola Wood had been caused by the Second Dreamer. It was
Phelim’s strong belief, complacently acceded to by the Dream Masters, that she
was trying to return from Chobamba.

The brief ultrasecure message Cheriton had received from Oscar was clear
that she hadn’t emerged from the Silfen path. No one had the remotest idea what
had actually set off all the agents into yet another deranged fracas. The path
had registered somehow within the gaiafield as it changed, but no one had
walked out. Now it had inevitably shrunk away again in the way Silfen paths
always did when scrutinized by curious humans. Cheriton knew that meant the
Second Dreamer wouldn’t be using it now—she was still out there walking between
worlds—but try telling Yenrol that. The Dream Master was obsessed to the point
of recklessness; he truly believed he was
this close
.

Cheriton snatched another quick look around the small stuffy office where
his coworkers were crammed. Two flinched from some emotion twanging away on
their raw neurons, shuddering from a nearly physical pain. Yenrol himself was
twitching constantly.

This is ridiculous
, Cheriton thought.
She’s not an idiot. The whole invasion force has one goal: to
find her. She’s not going to walk right back into the middle of them
.

Most of the ordinary Living Dream followers shared his logic. He could
sense their despondency dripping into the gaiafield as they made their way
reluctantly to the wormhole at Colwyn City’s dock. Those of them who could.
Surges of anger were also erupting into the gaiafield wherever Viotia’s
citizens physically encountered any of their erstwhile oppressors. If he chose
to examine those particular storm wells of emotion closely, there was also fear
to be found, and pain. After the first instances, Cheriton kept his mind well
clear of them. More and more were occurring, especially in Colwyn City.

Some were close by. Despite his reluctance, he felt a mind he knew
flaring out of the norm, boosted by terror. It was Mareble, with whom he’d grown
familiar for all the wrong reasons. Against his better judgment, he allowed the
sensations to bubble in through his gaiamotes, seeing as she did the slope of a
broad street falling away ahead of her, a street now cut off by the tumultuous
mob.

“Oh, crap,” he murmured under his breath.
Nothing I
can do
.

Even as he observed the scene through a myriad of emotional outpourings,
everything changed. A mind rose into the gaiafield close to Mareble and her
fool of a husband, a mind of incredible strength, its presence flaring bright
and loud. Cheriton’s filter routines were just enough to shield him from its
astonishing magnitude. Yenrol and the others screamed with one voice, their cry
of anguish deafening in the confined office.

Mareble wanted nothing else but to be off this dreadful world. She and
Danal had come here with such soaring spirits, believing they would be close to
the Second Dreamer. But instead, their lives had degenerated with increasing
speed, culminating in Danal’s arrest by Living Dream. Those who had taken him
away were not a part of the movement as she understood it. The Welcome Team
moved with Cleric Phelim’s authority, but they certainly lacked any of the
gentle humility of the devout. Men of violence and hauteur. What they’d done to
poor Danal was an atrocity. Not that they cared.

Her husband had been released into her arms, a frightened trembling
wreck, unrecognizable as the kindhearted man she’d married. They couldn’t even
return to the pleasant apartment that they’d bought and that was the reason
Danal had been arrested in the first place. It was ridiculous, but the
Ellezelin forces suspected them of colluding with the Second Dreamer herself.
And Araminta being the Second Dreamer was the one thing Mareble could never
quite bring herself to understand. Araminta, that pretty young woman, slightly
nervous and on edge, eager to sell the apartment she’d been laboring to
renovate. Somehow, that just didn’t connect. Mareble was expecting something
quite different, but there had been no hint, no inkling when they’d talked and
haggled over the price. She’d shared a cup of tea with the Second Dreamer and
never known. Such a thing was simply wrong.

Danal didn’t care about any of that when she tried to explain. When they
were free of the Welcome Team, he sank into a bitter depression, jumping at
shadows and shouting at her. The things he shouted, she tried to ignore. It
wasn’t Danal saying such hurtful things; it was the confusion and hurt left
behind by his interrogators.

They spent days in a hotel together, living off room service, with her
offering what comfort she could. Cheriton had recommended some drugs that ought
to help, which she’d tried to get Danal to take. Sometimes he did, but more
often he’d fling the infuser away. So she waited patiently for her husband to
recover while the insanity of the invasion raged on the streets outside. That
was when the unreal news broke that the Second Dreamer was Araminta and, worse,
that she’d escaped to some planet Mareble had never heard of on the other side
of the Commonwealth. Bizarrely, the knowledge seemed to ease Danal’s state of
mind; at least he started taking the antipsychosis drugs.

The calming effect was slow but constant; she began to see signs of the
man she’d lost reemerging. That was when they realized they had to get away. It
was a decision that seemed to be shared by most of the Living Dream supporters
on Viotia. The hostility and violence directed at them from the rest of the
population was never going to abate.

They decided to wait until midmorning before leaving the hotel. That way
they figured there would be more people about, more Living Dream followers
doing the same thing, more paramilitaries patrolling. It would be safest.

The hotel was only a couple of miles from Colwyn City’s docks, where the
wormhole opened to the safety of Ellezelin. When they made their way cautiously
down to the lobby, it was deserted. Mareble had tried to order some modern
clothes from a local cyber-store and have them delivered by bot, but they’d
never arrived. The store’s management system insisted they’d been dispatched.
She wanted to use the clothes in an attempt to blend in with everyone else on
the street. Instead, they made do with what they had. Danal wasn’t too bad; his
sweater was a neutral gray, and he wore it above brown denim trousers. From a
distance it would escape attention. Except for his shoes, which were lace-ups.
Nobody else in the Commonwealth used lace-ups anymore. Mareble was more worried
by her own green and white dress; a dress was less suspicious, but the style
was recognizable as belonging to Makkathran. In fact, it was a copy of a dress
Kanseen had worn one night in Olovan’s Eagle.

Standing in front of the door, she called a cab. There was a metro rail
running along the street right outside the hotel. Her u-shadow reported that
the cab companies weren’t responding to requests; their amalgamated management
cores apologized and said that normal service would resume as soon as possible.

“It’s not far,” she said, more for her own benefit than his. “Come on, we
can get there. We’ll be back on Ellezelin in an hour.”

Danal nodded, his lips drawn together in a thin bloodless line. “Okay.”

The hotel entrance was on Porral Street, which was almost deserted when
they walked out into the warm midmorning sunlight. They could hear distant
airborne sirens as well as a suppressed buzzing like some angry insect, which
Mareble just knew was a crowd on the hunt. Porral Street opened out onto Daryad
Avenue, which was the main thoroughfare in this part of town, sweeping down the
hill to the river Cairns. And just off to one side at the end of that slope
were the docks. Simply looking down the broad avenue with its tall buildings
and silent traffic solidos changing color and shape for nonexistent ground
vehicles produced a surge of hope. Along its whole length she could see barely
a hundred people in total.

An equally optimistic Danal linked his arm through hers, and they set off
at a fast pace. A lot of the stores on either side had suffered damage. Windows
were broken and covered with big sheets of black carbon. Most of the adverts
were cold and dark. Three smashed cab pods blocked the metro rails running down
the middle of the road. The people they passed never met their gaze. Nobody was
sharing anything in the gaiafield. Nobody wanted to be noticed. Mareble was
acutely aware of other people heading down the slope—couples, groups—all of
them moving with that same urgent intent as her own gait yet trying to appear
casual.

They were halfway down toward the smooth fast-flowing water of the river
and starting to relax, when they crossed a side road. The shouts of the mob
reached them at the same time. Mareble saw a man running frantically toward
them, chased by about fifty people.

“Run!” he screamed as he charged past. His black felt hat tumbled off as
he turned down the slope. The mob was thundering up fast behind him, faces
contorted with bloodlust and hatred. Mareble and Danal took off after him; it
was pure instinct.

“Help,” Mareble yelled. Her u-shadow was sending an alert to the
Ellezelin forces that wasn’t even being acknowledged. She cried into the
gaiafield, only to receive the slightest ripple of sympathies from Living Dream
followers. “Somebody help!”

Danal was holding her hand, tugging her along. The dress was hindering
her legs. Her ankle boots weren’t designed to run in. It was at least a mile
and a half to the docks. Fear began to burn along her nerves as the adrenaline
kicked in. She thought of the Waterwalker on the mountain after Salrana’s
betrayal, with Arminel and his thugs closing in on the pavilion. Even then he
had maintained his dignity.
I must be like him
.

Her foot hit something, and she went flying, landing painfully on the
stone block pavement, grazing her knees, tearing the skin on her wrists. The
jolt thumped along her arms, and she wailed in dread, knowing it was all over.
“Lady, please,” she whimpered as Danal hauled her to her feet.

The mob came up around them incredibly fast, surrounding them with a
fence of savagely hostile faces. They carried lengths of wood and metal bars; a
couple gripped small laser welders.

“No,” Mareble whimpered. Tears were already smearing her vision. She
hated how weak she was, but they were going to hurt her. Then she would die
before ever knowing the true wonder of the Void.

“I’ve called the paramilitaries,” Danal said defiantly.

A pole caught him on the side of his head, making a nasty crack. His
mouth had barely opened to cry out in pain when another smacked across his
shins. Danal dropped fast, his limp hand slipping from Mareble’s arm.

“No!” she yelled. Her wild face looked directly at the man in front of
her, pleading. He seemed ordinary enough, middle-aged, dressed in a smart
jacket.
He won’t hit a woman
, she thought. “We just
want to go. Let us go.”

“Bitch.” His fist slammed into her nose. She heard the bone crunch. For
the first second it didn’t hurt; she was numb with shock and terror. Then the
frightening pulse of hot pain pierced her brain. Mareble screamed, crumpling to
her knees. To one side she saw a boot kick Danal’s ribs. Blood was pouring down
her mouth and chin.

“That’s enough,” a woman’s voice said calmly. A dark figure stepped into
the middle of the mob.

Then
finally
the gaiafield was awash with
sympathy and kindness. The amazing sensation grew and grew like nothing Mareble
had ever known before. She gasped in astonishment, blinking up at the woman,
who was now opening her coat as if emerging from a cocoon. Underneath she wore
a long cream robe resembling those of the Clerics. It seemed to glow of its own
accord. A pendant on a slim gold chain around her neck shone an intense blue
light across Mareble’s face, which somehow siphoned out so much of her fear.
For a moment she trancended her own body to look out across the stars from a
viewpoint outside the galaxy. The sight was extraordinarily warming. Then she
was back on Viotia and looking up in silent awe at the figure grinning down at
her.