Ash: A Secret History (105 page)

She felt the crunch of metal as visor and helmet took the impact, a dull stab of pain in her leg; and her mind wiped out everything, a woman’s voice saying abrasively, “It’s a holy fit; damn, what a time for—” and a man’s reply, “Bear her with us! Quickly, master surgeon!”

—the entirety of the Wild Machines—

Armoured feet run past her, black with dirt and blood.

—a gulf of time so vast—

“Billmen, retreat! Bows, cover them!”

—not voices, but as if all the voices of the world could be compressed and made small, like angels on a pinhead, Heaven in the compass of a rose’s heart; and with the thought
Godfrey, Godfrey, if you were only here to help me!
she falls into the perception of their communication—

“Pick her
up,
God rot you! God’s bollocks!
Carry
her!”

—and the rose flowers, the pinhead becomes Heaven, it is all there, in her mind, the Wild Machines whole and complete—

All voices become one voice, a quiet voice, no louder than the tactical computer that she has heard in her head for the better part of her life. A voice the nature of which would make Godfrey quote St Mark:
My name is Legion: for we are many
.
¹⁰

Ash hears stone demons and devils speaking to her in one whisper:

‘
FERAE NATURA MACHINA
,
SO HE CALLED US
,
HE WHO SPOKE WITH US
…
THE WILD MACHINES
—’

A sick dizziness comes with that whisper. Ash is aware that hands grab her as she slumps, that running men catch her limp body between them; if she could shout, she would say,
Put me down! Run!
but in the insidious infection of the voice, she can get no words out.

She is caught in one single moment of apprehension, as if they are paralysed in this desert near the sea; surgeon, lord, military commander; while her mind gulps down knowledge that she has summoned to her; knowledge falling like a storm, a rain, an avalanche, in one elongated second of voices too swift for the human soul to know.
A moment in the mind of God,
she thinks, and—

‘—
AND
“
WILD MACHINES
”
WE ARE
.
WE DO NOT KNOW OUR OWN ORIGIN
,
IT IS LOST IN OUR PRIMITIVE MEMORIES
.
WE SUSPECT IT WAS HUMANS
,
BUILDING RELIGIOUS STRUCTURES TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO
,
WHO
…
PUT ROCKS IN ORDER
.
CONSTRUCTED ORDERED
,
SHAPED
EDIFICES OF SILT-BRICKS AND STONE
.
LARGE ENOUGH STRUCTURES TO ABSORB
,
FROM THE SUN
,
THE SPIRIT-FORCE OF LIFE ITSELF
—’

A memory of Godfrey’s voice says in her mind
heresy!
Ash would weep for him, but she is caught in this one moment of knowing all. Her question is implicit, part of the avalanche: being asked, already asked. “What are you!”

‘
FROM THAT INITIAL STRUCTURE
,
AND ORDER
,
CAME SPONTANEOUS MIND
:
THE FIRST PRIMITIVE SPARKS OF FORCE BEGINNING TO ORGANISE
,
TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO
.
FIVE THOUSAND YEARS AGO
,
THOSE PRIMITIVE MINDS BECAME CONSCIOUS
,
BECAME US
,
OURSELVES
–
WILD MACHINES
.
WE BEGAN TO EVOLVE OURSELVES DELIBERATELY
.
WE KNEW THAT HUMANITY AND ANIMALS EXISTED
,
WE REGISTERED THEIR WEAK LITTLE SOULS
.
BUT WE COULD DO NOTHING
.
WE HAD NO VOICE
,
NO WAY TO COMMUNICATE
,
UNTIL THE FIRST OF YOU
—’

“Who called you
ferae natura machinae
,” Ash completed, between numb lips. “Friar Bacon!”

‘
NOT THE FRIAR
,’ the voice whispered, ‘
LONG BEFORE HIM
,
A STRONGER SOUL WAS BORN
.
THE FIRST SOUL TO WHICH WE COULD EVER SPEAK
,
BREAKING THE DUMBNESS OF TEN THOUSAND YEARS
–
WE SPOKE TO HIM
,
TO GUNDOBAD
,
WHO CALLED HIMSELF
“
PROPHET
”.
HE WOULD HAVE NONE OF US
,
CALLED US DEVILS
,
DEMONS
,
VILE SPIRITS OF THE EARTH
.
WOULD NOT SPEAK
!
AND
,
SO STRONG WAS HIS SOUL
,
THAT HE MADE A MIRACLE
:
WARPED THE FABRIC OF THE WORLD ITSELF
,
PUTTING A DESERT ABOUT US HERE
,
WHERE THERE HAD BEEN A GREAT RIVER AND SILT-FIELDS
;
FREEING HIMSELF FROM US
,
GOING AWAY TO WHERE WE COULD NOT REACH HIM
.’

“To Rome … the Prophet Gundobad went to Rome and died—”

‘
FOUR HUNDRED TURNS OF THE SUN ABOUT THE EARTH PASSED
,
A LITTLE
,
LITTLE SOUL CAME CLOSE TO US
,
MAKING HIS MACHINES FROM BRASS
.
WEAK
,
BUT STILL ANOTHER SOUL THAT COULD WORK WONDERS
,
ABOVE THE NATURAL LOT OF MAN
.
WE SPOKE TO HIM
,
THROUGH HIS BRAZEN HEAD
,
OUR VOICES TO HIS SENSES
.’

“He burned it…” Black sky and black masonry are frozen in her vision. “The Friar – broke the Brazen Head – burned his books.”

‘
AND NOT UNTIL THE ANCESTORS OF LEOFRIC BROUGHT A RABBI TO THEM
,
COULD WE SPEAK AGAIN
.
A WONDER-WORKER
,
THIS SOUL
,
WE PERCEIVED IT WHEN HE CAME CLOSE TO US
.
AND HE BROUGHT TO OUR COMPREHENSION ILDICO
,
DAUGHTER DESCENDED FIFTEEN GENERATIONS FROM GUNDOBAD
.
STRONG SOULS
,
STRONG WONDER-WORKING SOULS
…
THE RABBI BUILT HIS GOLEM
.
OUR NEW CHANNEL BY WHICH WE COULD COMMUNICATE WITH HUMANITY
.
WISER
,
NOW
,
WE HID BEHIND THE VOICE OF THE FIRST GOLEM
,
EASING OUR SUGGESTIONS INTO ITS VOICE
.
AND THE RABBI
,
A WONDERWORKER
,
AS THE FIRST MAN WAS
,
MADE THE SECOND STONE GOLEM FROM THE BODY OF ILDICO AND GUNDOBAD
…’

What she hears, she has heard a version of when she reached into the
machina rei militaris,
to prove her value for Leofric. Now she reaches through the tactical computer, past it, to a perception of vast static edifices of stone – unmoving, with no hands to manipulate the world, only thoughts, and a voice—

“It was you. Not the Visigoths! You, that the Rabbi cursed!”

‘
LITTLE SOUL
,
LITTLE SOUL
…’

The voice whispers, amused multiplicity, in her head:

‘
IT IS NO CURSE
,
WE MANIPULATE OUR OWN EVOLUTION BY MANIPULATING THE ENERGIES OF THE SPIRIT WORLD
.
FOR THIS
,
WE DRAW OUR POWER FROM THE NEAREST AND GREATEST SOURCE IN THE HEAVENS
–
THE SUN
.’

Above her head, the day-sky gleams black.

‘
WE HAVE DONE THIS SINCE WE BECAME CONSCIOUS
,
FIVE THOUSAND YEARS AGO
.
THEN
,
FOR THE RABBI
’
S GOLEM
,
MORE POWER WAS NEEDED
,
AND SO
,
ABOVE CARTHAGE
,
THE SUN APPEARED TO BE BLOTTED OUT
.
IT IS ONLY HIDDEN IN THE PARTS OF IT THAT YOU PERCEIVE
–
THE
“
LIGHT
”
BY WHICH YOU SENSE THE WORLD
.
HEAT STILL PENETRATES
.
HENCE
,
YOUR CROPS HAVE FAILED
,
BUT NO ICE CREEPS DOWN ACROSS THIS LAND
.
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO THIS BECAME A LAND OF TWILIGHT
:
THE NIGHT STARS VISIBLE ALL THROUGH THE DAYTIME
,
THE SUN INVISIBLE
.
A RABBI
‘
S CURSE
!’

Something that might be demon-laughter.

The vision of their existence grows in Ash’s head, claustrophobic and black. A few tiny sparks in the endless darkness, like the sparks that flow up from a camp fire. Silence except for their machine souls speaking together. And then, after aeons greater than she can conceive, a new voice out of the darkness…

The whisper continued, ‘we had not thought of you little souls … around us, a warlike human culture grew up. they took darkness for granted. there could be no agriculture, so they were driven to expand their empire into fertile, sunlit lands … so useful for us, for our long-term goals!

‘
IT WAS NOT YET ENOUGH
,
HIDING OUR VOICES IN TACTICAL DATA
,
MANIPULATING HUMANS THROUGH THE
MACHINA REI MILITARIS
,
WE HAD THE FATHERS OF LEOFRIC BEGIN A BREEDING PROGRAMME
.

‘
WE FAILED WITH ILDICO
,
CONTINUED WITH HER CHILDREN
.
WE HAVE WAITED TWO HUNDRED TURNS OF THE SUN TO BREED A WONDER-WORKER WITH WHOM WE COULD SPEAK
,
TALK
,
COMMAND
—’

Ash completed: “The Faris! The general.”

‘
GUNDOBAD
’
S CHILD
,
HOWEVER DISTANT
,
GUNDOBAD
,
WHOM YOU CALL A VISIGOTH
“
SAINT
”;
WHOSE RELICS WE USED
.’

“He’s not a saint, to you. Is he? Not
holy.
”

‘
LESS A SAINT AND MORE OF A MIRACLE-WORKER
.’ The voices are multiple and amused again, ‘
ONE OF THOSE VERY
,
VERY FEW SOULS
,
LIKE YOUR GREEN CHRIST
,
WHO HAVE THE POWER TO INDIVIDUALLY ALTER REALITY
,
AND THUS DO
“
MIRACLES
”.’

“Blasphemy!” Ash says, and her hand would go to her sword, to cross herself, to fight for the Lord on the Tree, if she could move, could break free of this endless moment.

‘
NECESSITY
,
WE CAN TOUCH NOTHING
,
CHANGE NOTHING
,
WE ARE VOICES IN THE NIGHT
,
ONLY
.
PERCEIVING THE HEAT OF YOUR LITTLE SOULS
.
VOICES TO PERSUADE
,
CORRUPT
,
INSPIRE
,
DELUDE
,
ENTICE
…
OVER CENTURIES
…
UNTIL
NOW
—

‘
NOW
:
AND THIS SPRING SOLSTICE
,
WHEN THE SUN WENT DARK ACROSS THE EARTH
,
WHEN WE DREW ON MORE POWER THAN WE EVER HAVE IN TEN THOUSAND YEARS
!’

“The
invasion,
the crusade—!”

‘
FELIX CULPA
,
LITTLE SOUL
,
A HAPPY ACCIDENT OF TIMING
,
ONLY
,
FOR OUR UNKNOWING SERVANTS
.
WE
,
THROUGH LEOFRIC
,
THROUGH THE
MACHINA REI MILITARIS
,
BEGAN THIS WAR
;
BUT MEN SHALL FIGHT IT FOR US
.
UNDER OUR COMMAND
,
YOU SHALL LAY WASTE TO EVERYTHING BETWEEN US AND THE NORTH
.
BUT THE DARK OF THE SUN
–
AH
!
WITH THAT
,
WE TESTED OUR ABILITY TO DRAW MORE POWER THAN WE EVER HAVE BEFORE
.
AND SUCCEEDED
.’

Clear in Ash’s memory: the terror of the sun going out, and the world shrouded under a blank, black, graveyard sky. She says – or has said – or will say:

“This is
bad war.
This is…” Pain, memory; in the frozen moment of knowledge falling into her mind: “These are the Last Days.”

‘
YES
.
FOR YOU
,
YES
.’

“Tell me why!”

‘
WE HAVE BEEN BREEDING FOR ANOTHER MIRACLE-WORKER
,
AS GUNDOBAD AND ILDICO WERE
.
A CHANGER OF REALITY
,
A WORKER OF WONDERS
.
ONE THAT IS UNDER OUR CONTROL
.
NOW WE HAVE HER
!
OUR GENERAL
,
OUR FARIS
,
OUR MIRACLE-MAKER
!—’

“
Why?
”

‘—
AND WHEN WE USE HER
,
IT WILL NOT MATTER IF SHE IS WILLING OR NOT
.
EARLY ON
,
WE BRED OUT ANY ABILITY TO CHOOSE
.
SHE CANNOT CHOOSE
.
WHEN SHE IS MADE READY
,
WHEN IT HAPPENS
,
IT WILL NEED THE SAME POWER THAT OBLITERATES THE SUN
,
TO TRIGGER
OUR
CHANGING OF REALITY
.’

Triumph: ragged, bitter, many-voiced, chorused:

‘
WE HAVE BRED THE FARIS
,
TO MAKE A DARK MIRACLE
–
AS GUNDOBAD MADE ONE
,
WIPING OUT THE LAND HERE AND LEAVING A DESOLATION
.
WE SHALL
USE
HER
,
OUR GENERAL
,
OUR FARIS
,
OUR MIRACLE-MAKER
–
TO MAKE BURGUNDY AS IF IT HAS NEVER BEEN
!’

Burgundy, always Burgundy, nothing but fucking Burgundy—

“WHY?” Ash bawled, in her head, and outside it. “Why Burgundy? Revenge? But Gundobad wasn’t a man of Burgundy! And why not do it
now?
Why do you need an invasion? You didn’t need a war, if you can change the world! I thought Leofric was – you were – breeding for someone who could win a war by hearing the tactical computer at a distance—”