Memory Seed (31 page)

CHAPTER 25

Graaff-lin’s house was now surrounded by plants. In the front garden mysterious black-flowered spikes had sprouted, their leaves sickly yellow, while at the gate and amongst the pools and puddles of the alley bog rushes, rot roses, sedge grass and bog rosemary all flourished, swarms of flies humming around their blooms. Mosquitoes buzzed everywhere.

The unclean air seemed to have affected Graaff-lin. She was not able to eat properly, her skin was sweaty, her temperature high and her muscles weak. Carrying pestilence meant that she was sensitive to the slightest infection. She wandered around her house until the cool evening came; the day had been humid and oppressive. The feel of underclothes sticking to her skin had driven her to risking a bath in water from her cellar. The water was cold; almost every battery now dead.

Darkness approached. In her study lay a device, a jumble of units connected by wire salvaged from kitchen units, powered by a faulty solar cell and connected to a dustbin lid shaped into a transceiver dish. This was half a radio. Tonight she would dress in her black clothes, now somewhat loose fitting, arm herself with a knife and return to the Citadel in a last attempt to find tuning capacitors and an amplifying chip.

She sneaked a look into what had been the rig room. One object stood there, the size of a chair. It had created itself from machine chunks she had found in the city. Although she hardly dared admit it to herself, Graaff-lin suspected that inside lived a Dodspaat, perhaps one that had not left Earth because it had wanted to save humanity
–
a sort of prophet
–
or one that had returned, like a saviour. Either way, it was holy. She conceived its gleaming screens as the light of past eons.

She had lived in a state of exhaustion for days, losing weight and unable to eat large meals because of nausea, living on the edge of the divide between sane life and unconscious functioning. Her self was slipping away into a black pit, a pit located somewhere inside her skull. She could feel this descent, almost as a motion – a vortex, like water down a drain. Only the Dodspaat could save her.

She stood, walked unsteadily to her stairs, then made up to the attic, where she kept a perspex-covered hole open to spy on the city. She gazed out. South-east, the Citadel looked as if it had been charred by divine fire; south-west, two covered boats containing people set out to sea, part of an exodus that had of late become frantic. Many of these people did not sail far, being blasted out of the water by other boats, their goods salvaged.

The extreme privations caused by the decline of Kray forced her now into a kind of infantility, a view of the world in which she and she alone was central, and even real, a view where she had to contort her mind bizarrely to keep shreds of self-esteem and identity. And although she understood, intellectually, that the other people she saw, on boats, or running in and out of the Water Station, were in the same position as she, numbed by horror and exhaustion and perhaps even beyond searching for an answer, she cared nothing about them, to the extent that they did not figure in her emotional calculations even as saviours. Her thoughts concerned only herself, and how she might persuade the Dodspaat to recognise her as humanity’s offering.

Leaving the attic, she again looked into the room containing the Dodspaat messenger. It had acquired four projections like legs, a front arm endowed with what looked like a mutated crab claw, and a way of humming whenever she approached it.

She knelt in prayer. She understood that the Dodspaat could hear her thoughts, but it seemed they would only reply through radio. She did not know why this was. But tomorrow evening she would foray into Kray. She would find perhaps three, four, or five chunks, and bring them back, then place them on the floor near to the messenger. Next morning they would be part of it.

The amalgamating thing grew with considerable speed. Since Zinina and Arrahaquen had come to steal the pyuton it had doubled in size.

Soon it would be as tall as her.

~

Two days after Arrahaquen’s return from Gwmru a messenger knocked on the door of Clodhoddle Cottage. Somebody off the street it seemed at first, making Eskhatos tremble with fear, for the discovery that people lived in Clodhoddle Cottage, if brought to reveller attention, would mean ruination. Secrecy was essential. But the small, dark woman outside, dressed in green protectives and wearing a flat hat, said she was a representative of Taziqi come to fetch Arrahaquen.

Eskhatos insisted that Arrahaquen talk with the woman. ‘You’re bringing me a message?’ Arrahaquen said. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Taziqi told me herself,’ the woman replied. ‘I am to tell you that Taziqi’s knowledge is one of the things to be shown to you. You are to be taken into the innermost sanctum.’

‘Why?’

‘I haven’t been told. It’s vital you return with me.’

‘Wait there,’ Arrahaquen said.

They discussed their options. Arrahaquen, not unhappy with the idea of returning to the temple but disconcerted that she had been located, was persuaded by Eskhatos that she should take Reyl along. Arrahaquen agreed, unwilling to argue. The pair dressed for the city, armed themselves, then said their goodbyes.

The journey was difficult and lengthy. Arrahaquen had no idea what she had been called for and her future memory gave no clues. By the time they reached the green furrow that was Lac Street her toes were aching, her skin was itchy and drenched with sweat, and her mood was irritable. The minion, a lay-priestess called Oquo received into the sisterhood after the collapse of the Citadel, knew nothing of what was to come, or was clever enough to give nothing away.

Tashyndy welcomed them all into the temple and led them into the cleansing room, where they showered, soaped their bodies, drank fresh water, then dressed in green velvet cloaks. The process took a lingering hour because of Tashyndy’s sensual propensities.

Waiting in an ante-chamber, eating tangerines, Arrahaquen asked, ‘Why did you call me? What’s this about the inner sanctum?’

Tashyndy stood and beckoned her into the corridor. ‘We have to talk with you,’ she replied. ‘Leave Reyl
–
our Oquo will look after her.’

Arrahaquen walked out into the corridor, taking a pear to eat along the way. Tashyndy stood behind her, hand on her shoulders, and nudged her down the wooden passage. They walked slowly. At a crossroads Tashyndy took a green scarf from her waist and tied it around Arrahaquen’s eyes. Arrahaquen did not complain and her guide pushed her on, murmuring encouragement.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Arrahaquen said.

‘Anything.’

‘Do you still have any men here?’

‘Ooh!’ Tashyndy cooed, ‘do you want one? Are you desperate?’

‘No,’ Arrahaquen answered. ‘I just wondered if any survived the attack.’

‘Twelve did. They’re all very good
–
very, very good.’

There was a clean, grassy smell and Arrahaquen knew that she was nearing the inner sanctum. She heard musical drones phasing with one another. ‘I know where we are,’ she said. In reply, Tashyndy rotated her, running around to complete the confusion. Then a second pair of hands grasped her, and she was led down a slope. Mud slipped below her feet before the ground became hard. They walked on. Echoes took on a metallic tinge. A door opened, then closed.

‘Just stay here, for a moment,’ Tashyndy said. She stroked Arrahaquen’s face. ‘You can take the blindfold off if you like.’

Arrahaquen paused, listening, then pulled it off. She stood alone in a small, bare white chamber, lit by panels.

A door opened. Taziqi beckoned her into another room.

This place was large and filled with machinery up to the ceiling. A framework of tubes, cables, wires, screens and pyuters hung over Arrahaquen like metal foliage. It clicked and ticked, and made the floor vibrate. She noticed how cool the air was. Maharyny and Arvendyn sat nearby on couches.

‘Welcome,’ said Taziqi.

Arrahaquen stood at the door. ‘What’s this?’

Maharyny said, ‘This is the temple which supplies us with energy direct from the Goddess’ heart.’

‘But we want to talk about future memory,’ Taziqi said.

Now Arrahaquen saw a glimpse of the truth
–
some connection with the noophytes, or their predictions. ‘How did you know where to find me?’ she asked, keeping her expression neutral.

‘By seeing your friends via the medium of future memory.’

Arrahaquen knew that the priestesses wanted information from her, but she was determined to find out all she could first. ‘Did you foresee the fall of the Citadel?’ she asked.

‘Not well enough,’ Maharyny replied after a pause. ‘But we foresaw the attack on our temple, and took appropriate measures.’

‘You did…’ Arrahaquen studied their faces. ‘Well, why am I here?’

In turn, they darted glances at one another. Taziqi shook her body into a more comfortable position. ‘Haven’t you guessed?’

Arrahaquen had guessed. ‘No,’ she said, with a frown.

‘Recently,’ Maharyny said, ‘we have seen nothing of your future, but we know you’re important to Kray in some way. We decided to bring you here so you could...’ She paused, glancing at her kin. ‘So you could use our facilities.’

Arrahaquen nodded, sensing serpentine forms in the imminent revelation. ‘These would be cobras, kraits and water snakes?’

Maharyny seemed almost relieved as she answered, ‘Yes, our wyrm ball. You see, Arrahaquen, long ago there existed a small group of beings – the noophytes – one of which is known today as the Silver Seed, or just Silverseed. This noophyte, because she seemed to share our faith in the Goddess, was estranged from the others. It is from her that our prophecies come. We know that you are a pythoness, with mind freed in time, and we want you to come to Silverseed. Through the wyrm ball you can speak with her, mind to mind, and discover what we must do to avoid the doom of smothering in green.’

Arrahaquen sat back against the couch, thinking. The priestesses possessed arcane knowledge, that was certain, but it all seemed so twisted. And why did they need
her
all of a sudden?

‘Do speak,’ said Taziqi.

‘What are you going to do,’ Arrahaquen asked, ‘now the Citadel is gone?’

‘Rien Zir continues her life,’ said Taziqi. ‘We are here to understand her thought.’

‘If you mean,’ Tashyndy added, ‘do we plan to rule Kray ourselves, then the answer is no. Power is now a redundant notion. Only local groups exist, vying for food and water.’

‘Well, what has Silverseed told you, then?’

Silence. Arrahaquen became aware that she had asked a question both unexpected and impossible to answer. She shrugged, pretending it was not so important, that the atmosphere not be tainted.

‘Do as we wish,’ urged Tashyndy.

‘I will do what I can,’ said Arrahaquen, realising she did not have much choice. ‘Just show me where.’

Maharyny led her into the clicking machine. The others did not follow. All around devices ticked, cable-wound magnets hummed, screens flickered and pyuter orbs glittered. They continued walking along the framework passage, Arrahaquen peering up through silhouetted pipes to screens placed at odd angles, while Maharyny flicked switches.

Soon they were through. Maharyny opened a wooden door, which creaked like a wounded beast, and led Arrahaquen into a musty chamber. It was muddy and damp, with a green illumination flooding from the ceiling. ‘In there,’ Maharyny said, pointing to a pit in the earth.

‘What?’

‘Go in there.’

Arrahaquen approached the pit. Inside writhed a score of serpents, their gold and platinum scales green slimed, their forked tongues flickering in and out of aluminium mouths. Was this the path to a noophyte’s consciousness? She fell to one side, dizzy, the fluctuating points of prophecy at the top of her mind vibrating like a hive of bees.

She was hovering above Kray. Involuntarily she gasped and pawed the air. Wind raced against her body, whistled past her ears and chilled her skin. But she felt the firmness of earth. She set her body rigid and closed her eyes, but still the chill wind surrounded her. Eyes tight shut she felt mud under her scrabbling fingers. Opening them, she looked again, and saw below the greened city.

In seconds her vertigo departed. She was able to watch without fear, noticing how strange the city looked, as though it was simultaneously very close and very far away, as though she were looking at it through the wrong end of a monocular with one eye open to reality. These feelings merged, and the exhilaration began to thrill her. She was able to jump mentally, images and feelings blending into one another. She could change locations, ignore distance, hop around like a grasshopper on its home plain. This was no pyuter graphic, no Gwmru, this was a real world, and the experiences it offered were more intense even than Gwmru.

And all the time, as in a dream, certain things stood out. She saw deKray wandering the streets. He was important – a metaphor for something, though he seemed an ordinary Krayan, grim faced, green, trudging. Occasionally she would look over her shoulder expecting to find him close behind.

She remained unaffected by the city, but could herself touch it. Any object – brick, leaf, mud – she could reach. People, on the other hand, ignored her.

All this time the Clocktower, either distant as she flew above the city or near as she walked Nul Street, attracted her attention. She realised that its significance was vast, unimaginable in fact, like space and stars, or perhaps so tiny, quantum tiny, that notions such as space did not have any meaning. The Clocktower both transcended and did not transcend her mind.

Again she saw deKray in the Clocktower’s vicinity, wandering around on his own, his serious expression modified into something more dreamy. He would pause as he tramped the streets of the Old Quarter, as if he himself was as old as that most ancient part of Kray, and then he would roll a cigarette and light it with a flint-spark device.

Then she saw deKray entering the Clocktower. Subjective time passed and he did not reappear. Extraordinary: that place was dreaded. Arrahaquen wandered on. The city was now dead, green to the cliffs with no people. Her heart seemed to stop beating as the entirety of Kray, its rotting glamour, its fecund breast, the geological density of its innumerable data strata, entered her mind and forced her to
experience.
She gasped.