21st Century Science Fiction (65 page)

The sun had sunk down behind the creeper trees, but the air was still warm, heavy and humid following the afternoon downpour. Mosquitoes hummed across the water and the kappa’s long tongue flickered out to spear them before they could alight on the child’s delicate skin. The kappa rose and her reflection shimmered in the green water, a squat toad-being. Obediently, the child rose, too, and reached out to clasp the kappa’s webbed hand awkwardly in her own. Together, they climbed the steps to the water-temple.

Next morning, the child was inconsolable. Ignoring the bed of matting and soft woven blankets, she lay on the floor with her face turned to the wall, her mouth open in a soundless wail. The kappa watched, concerned. Experience had taught her not to interfere, but the child remained in this position for so long, quite rigid, that at last the kappa grew alarmed and switched on the antiscribe to speak to the palace.

It was not the tiger-woman who answered, but the other one, the modified person. The kappa told her what was happening.

“You have no reason to concern yourself,” the woman said, serene. “This is to be expected.”

“But the child is in grave distress. If there’s something that can be done—” The kappa wrung her thick fingers.

“There is nothing. It is normal. She is
ikiryoh
.”

“But what should I do?”

“Ignore it.” The woman glanced over her shoulder at a sudden commotion. The kappa heard explosions.

“Dear heaven. What’s happening?”

The woman looked at her as though the kappa were mad. “Just firecrackers. It’s the first day of the new moon.”

Out at the water-temple, the kappa often did not bother to keep track of the time, and so she had forgotten that they had now passed into Rain Month and the festival to commemorate I-Nami’s Ascension into goddess-hood. Today would be the first day of the festival: it was due to last another three.

“I have matters to attend to,” the woman said. “I suggest you do the same.”

The screen of the antiscribe faded to black. The kappa went in search of the child and to her immense relief, found her sitting up against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Are you feeling better?” the kappa asked.

“I’m bored!”

Like any young child. Bored was good, the kappa decided.

“Let’s make noodles,” she said, and then, because the
ikiryoh
’s face was still shadowed, “And then maybe we will go to the festival. How would you like that?”

The kappa was supposed to be confined to the water-temple, but there were no guards or fences, and she was aware of a sudden longing for a change of scene. There would be so many people in the city, and a child and a kappa were so commonplace as to be invisible. They could hitch a ride on a farm cart.

The child’s face lit up. “I would like that! When can we go?”

“First, we will have something to eat,” the kappa said.

They reached the city toward late afternoon, bouncing in on the back of a truck with great round wheels. The child’s eyes grew wide when she saw it.

“That is a strange thing!” she said.

“Surely you have seen such vehicles before?” the kappa asked, puzzled. After all, the child had presumably grown up in the palace, and she had been brought to the water-temple in one of I-Nami’s skimmers. A vegetable truck seemed ordinary enough.

The child’s face crumpled. “I can’t remember.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” the kappa said quickly, not wanting to disquiet her. She held tightly to the child’s hand and peered over the tops of the boxes, filled with melons and radishes and peppers, with which they were surrounded. The road was a congested mass of hooting trucks, crammed with people, and the occasional private vehicle. The hot air was thick with a gritty dust and the kappa was thankful for the wide hat that she wore, which kept the worst of the heat from her sparsely-haired head. The child sneezed.

“Is it much further?”

“I hope not.” But they were turning into Sui-Pla Street now, not too far from the center. The kappa could hear the snap of firecrackers and the rhythmic beat of ceremonial drums, churning out prayers in praise of the goddess.

Goddess, indeed,
the kappa thought.
She is only a woman, grown in a bag like everyone else.
These deified elevations did little good in the end: at first, after each new coup, the folk all believed, not so much from credulity as weariness, the hope that now things might finally become better. But each time it was the same: the woman behind the mask would begin to show through, the feet turn to clay, and the masses would grow angry as yet another ruler succumbed to self-indulgence, or apathy, or cruelty. Than Geng had been one of the former sort, and had at least retained the status quo. The kappa knew little about I-Nami, what manner of ruler she had become. She knew better than to ask, because that might betray her as someone who doubted, and for some rulers, that was enough.

Certainly, the people were putting on a good show. Still clasping the
ikiryoh
’s hand, the kappa stepped down from the back of the truck and into the crowd.

“Hold tight,” she told the child. “Don’t let go. I don’t want to lose you among all these people.”

They watched as a long dragon pranced by, followed by lions made from red-and-gold sparkles. Slippered feet showed beneath. As the sky darkened into aquamarine, fireworks were let off, exploding like stars against the deep-water color of the heavens. The kappa and the child walked past stalls selling all manner of things: candy and circuit components and dried fruit and flowers. The kappa bought a small, sticky box of candy for the child, who ate it in pleasurable silence. It was good, the kappa thought, to see her behaving so normally, like an ordinary little girl. She pulled gently at the
ikiryoh
’s hand.

“Is everything all right?”

The child nodded, then frowned. “What’s that?”

The firecracker explosions were doubling in intensity. There was a sudden cacophony of sound. A squadron of tiger-women raced around the corner, wearing ceremonial harness, heads adorned with tall golden hats. They carried pikes, with which they pretended to attack the crowd. The child let out a short, sharp shriek.

“Hush,” the kappa said, her heart sinking. “See? It’s only a game.”

The child shrank back against her skirts, hand hovering near her mouth. “I don’t like them. They are so big.”

“It means the goddess is coming,” a young woman standing next to the kappa said. She sounded superior: a city girl enlightening the ignorant peasants. “The procession has already begun up in the main square—from there, it will come down here and into Nang Ong.”

“Do you hear that?” the kappa said, tightening her grip a little on the child’s hand. “You’re going to see the goddess.” She bent to whisper into the child’s ear. “Do you remember her?”

“The goddess?” the child whispered. “What is that?”

The kappa frowned. The tiger-woman had specifically said that the child had come from I-Nami. Maybe the
ikiryoh
simply did not remember. But it raised further questions about her upbringing and age. “You will soon see,” the kappa said, feeling inadequate.

Through the taller humans, the kappa could get a glimpse of the start of the procession: a lion-dog, prancing. At first she thought the
kylin
was composed of another set of costumed people, but then she realized that it was real. Its eyes rolled golden, the red tongue lolled. The child’s grip on the kappa’s hand became painful.

“Don’t worry,” the kappa said. “See—it is on its lead.” The
kylin
’s handlers strained behind it, laughing and shouting out to one another as it tossed its magnificent mane. Behind it came a litter, borne on the shoulders of four beings that were a little like kappa, but larger and more imposing. Heavy, glossy shells covered their backs. They lumbered along, smiling beneath their load. All of these beings—the turtle bearers, the
kylin
, the tiger-women—all were the genetic property of the palace itself. No one else could breed or own such folk, unlike the commonplace kappa, who had been bred so long ago for menial work in the factories and paddy fields of Malay. The kappa remembered people like this from her own days in the palace; remembered, too, what was said to have taken place behind closed doors for the amusement of the goddess Than Geng and her guests. The kappa had not mourned Than Geng in the slightest, but the rumors were that I-Nami was worse.

“Our goddess is coming,” someone said softly behind her. There were murmurs of approval and excitement.
If only they knew,
thought the kappa. But it had always been the way of things. She looked up at the litter, which was drawing close. The curtains were drawn, and now I-Nami herself was leaning out, waving to the crowd. Her oval face had been painted in the traditional manner: bands of iridescent color gliding across her skin. Her great dark eyes glowed, outlined in gold. The very air around her seemed perfumed and sparkling. Surprised, the kappa took a step back. Illusion and holographics, nothing more, and yet she had never seen anyone who so resembled a goddess.

“She is so beautiful!” a woman said beside the kappa, clapping her hands in excitement.

“Yes, she is,” the kappa said, frowning.

“And she has been so good to us.”

“Really?” The kappa turned, seeking the knowing smile, the cynical turn of the mouth, but the woman seemed quite sincere.

“Of course! Now, it is safe to walk the streets at night. She came to my tenement building and walked up the stairs to see it for herself, then ordered the canal to be cleaned. Now we have fresh water and power again. And there is food distribution on every corner for the poor, from subsidized farms. Things are so much better now.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. Startled, the kappa looked down at the child. “Did you hear that?”

But the child’s face was a mask of fainting horror. Her eyes had disappeared, rolling back into her head until only a blue-white line was showing, and a thin line of spittle hung from her mouth. She sagged in the kappa’s grip. Without hesitating, the kappa picked her up and shoved through the crowd to an empty bench. She laid the child along it. The
ikiryoh
seemed barely conscious, muttering and cursing beneath her breath.

“What’s wrong?” the kappa cried, but the child did not reply. The kappa shuffled back to the crowd as fast as she could and tapped a woman on the shoulder. “I need a healer, a doctor—someone!”

The woman turned. “Why, what is wrong?”

“My ward is ill. Maybe the heat—I don’t know.”

“There is a clinic around the corner in Geng Street, but I should think they’ll all be out watching the procession,” the woman said.

The kappa thought so too, but she had little choice. What if the child was dying? She picked the
ikiryoh
up and carried her through a gap in the buildings to Geng Street, which was little more than a collection of shacks. I-Nami’s benign influence had clearly not penetrated here—or perhaps it had, because the street pump was working and when the kappa touched the button, a stream of clear water gushed out. She wetted the corner of her skirt and dabbed at the child’s face, then carried her on to the blue star that signified the clinic.

At first, she thought that the woman had been right and there was no one there. But as she stood peering through the door, she saw a figure in the back regions. She rapped on the glass. A stout woman in red-patterned cloth came forward. Her face soured as she set eyes on the kappa.

“We’re closed!”

“Please!” the kappa cried. She gestured to the child in her arms. Muttering, the woman unlocked the door.

“You’d better bring her in. Put her there, on the couch. You’re lucky I was here. I forgot my flower petals, to throw. What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know. She suffers from these fits—I don’t know what they are.”

“You’re her nurse?”

“Yes.”

“She’s very pale,” the woman said. “Poor little thing. The healer’s out—we have three here, all of them are traditional practitioners. I’ll try and call them.” She pressed her earlobe between finger and thumb. The kappa saw the gleam of green. “Ma Shen Shi? It’s me, I’m at the clinic. There’s a little girl who fainted. Can you come?”

It seemed the answer was positive. “Sit down,” the woman said. “He’ll be here in a bit.”

The kappa waited, watching the child. She was whimpering and moaning, fists tightly clenched.

“Has she ever been this bad before?” the woman asked.

“No. She has—episodes.” The kappa glanced up as the door opened. A small, elderly man came in, wearing the healer’s red, with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Go and throw flower petals,” he said to the woman. “And you, kappa—do something useful with yourself. Make tea. I will examine her.”

The woman melted into the warm darkness outside. Reluctantly, the kappa found a kettle behind the reception desk and switched it on, then put balls of tea into three cups, watching the healer as she did so. He examined the child’s eyes and ears, stretched out her tongue, knocked sharply on her knees and elbows and checked her pulse. Then he simply sat, with eyes closed and one hand stretched out over the child’s prone form. The kappa longed to ask what he was doing, but did not dare interrupt. The child began to pant, a terrible dog-like rasping. Then she howled, until it became a fading wail. The healer opened his eyes.

“What is wrong with her?” the kappa whispered. “Do you know?”

“I know exactly what is wrong with her,” the healer said. He came over to the desk and sipped at the tea. “If you can put it like that. She is
ikiryoh.
A fine specimen of the art, too.”

The kappa stared at him. “That’s what they told me, when they brought her to me. But what is an
ikiryoh
?”

“An
ikiryoh
is something from legend, from the old stories they used to tell in the Nippon archipelago. It is a spirit.”

“That little girl is no spirit. She’s flesh and blood. She bleeds, she pees, she breathes.”

“I am not saying that the legends are literally true,” the healer said. “I have only ever seen one
ikiryoh
before, and that was male. In the old tales, they were formed from malice, from ill-will—the projected darkness of the unconscious.”