directions. And yet, wherever the cursor was moved to, there remained an image of the rift.
Harlan Merriman opened his mouth and out came one small word, “Wow.”
“It self-replicates,” Bernard said. “In any number of simultaneous dimensions.”
“And the spooky bit?”
Bernard swallowed hard. “Although the spatial possibilities are infinite, the time point, wherever you set the cursor, is fixed. In other words, what turned up in David’s dream was not a little ripple in the envelope of space. More like… ”
“A portal,” Harlan said, pushing back his chair. “So if you or I – or David – had stepped into that rift, we would not have travelled through time, we’d have passed into a different dimension, but in the same
time frame as the one we’d left behind.”
“That’s how I read it,” Bernard said, a little shakily. “But the portal, by its nature, must operate both ways. So given David’s reaction in the film, one can only conclude that whatever created that rift was looking for him – not the other way round. It sounds ridiculous, but based on the evidence we have, it would appear that something was trying to contact your son. Something from another
world
.”
14
The taxicar that came to take Eliza Merriman and Aunt Gwyneth away waslike none that Eliza had ever seen before.
It was roughly the same size and ellipticalshape as the standard carriages, but itsouter skin was grimy and badly dented (inseveral places), as if it had been involvedin a number of collisions. Aunt Gwynethassured her new charge there was no needfor concern, but did add that the journeymight be a little ‘bumpy’.
Where exactly are we going?
Elizacommingled.
Back to the beginning
, the Aunt repliedcryptically.
Back to the beginning.
Bumpy the journey certainly was.
Chilly. Tedious. Miserably long. Thecabin light flickered all the way. And theseal nearest to Eliza’s head whistled asthough it would split at any moment andsuck her into some awful void. The chairshe was riding on wobbled persistently. And the whole taxicar would frequentlydrop through the sky so fast that the organsof the body felt as if they’d been pinned tothe roof.
Aunt Gwyneth
slept
through it all.
Finally, the thing did come to a halt. Even then, the doors refused to open. Awell-aimed kick from Aunt Gwyneth’ssturdy heels soon remedied that. A slab ofair came in as the Aunt stepped out. Dampness. Coarse soil. Ferocity in thewind. All of these conditions registeredwith Eliza before she had put a foot
outside. But nothing could prepare her for the wilderness she was about to
encounter. Aunt Gwyneth snapped her fingers and the taxicar zipped away. It was a dot on the horizon before Eliza
could measure the extent of the isolation the two women now found themselves in.
All around them was nothing but barrenland. Grassed and dark green, going toblack. In the sky were thunderclouds andevery threat of cold. Hope perished in Eliza’s heart.
“Where are we?” she shuddered.
“You
know
where we are.”
The Dead Lands. Eliza shook her headin confusion. “Why have you brought mehere?”
“To learn, my dear.”
Eliza clamped her arms and looked all
around her.
What could anyone learn in a place like this?
She shivered and tried to imagineer a sweater. There was no
response.
“Once, there was a civilisation in these lands. Buildings. Rivers. Trees… Creatures. All dead, because of what we became.”
Eliza wasn’t listening. “What’s wrong with my fain?” Her failure to produce a sweater had now been compounded by her failure to imagineer a pair of gloves. She cupped her hands and tried to construct a button: the first thing any child on Co:pern:ica was taught. Even this most simple of acts was beyond her.
The Aunt turned and gripped her powerfully by the wrists. “Your fain is useless here. What would you do if I told
you you could never imagineer again? That you were here to plant a seed? To give something back?”
The wind blew through Eliza’s hair, holding up its strands like precious red jewels. “Take me home,” she said, shaken by the look in the old woman’s eyes. Some kind of madness had enveloped the Aunt, underpinned by a look of angry desolation.
“This
is
your home,” Aunt Gwyneth sneered. “It’s where you came from. It’s where the very soul of this world resides. Here. Still clinging to this dying earth.” She dug in a heel and twisted it hard, churning up a divot of squelching mud.
“
This
is what you will learn, Eliza Merriman. This is what you will take back to your pod and your precious gardenaria.
When you appreciate the truth about thisland, I will grant you a daughter.”
“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Eliza said. The Aunt’s grip was actuallycausing her pain.
The old woman relented and let her go. “Do you know how old I am?”
“No. Does it matter?”
Aunt Gwyneth gave a quiet snort. “Ihave seen things you would not believe.”
“Yes, I imagine you have,” said Eliza. “And I’m sorry that my ignorance of the Dead Lands offends you. But I’m willingto accept whatever knowledge you canoffer me. Especially if it means I can make Harlan happy. A daughter is somethinghe’s always wanted.” She folded her armsand waited.
Aunt Gwyneth circled her slowly. “Tell
me about your parents.”
“My—?” Eliza was suddenly thrown by this. “I… why?”
“It’s not for you to question. Answer me, girl.”
“I can’t. I… I don’t remember my parents.”
“You do,” Aunt Gwyneth said from behind her.
Eliza turned her face to the sky. Theclouds, she thought, were moving towardsher, as if they were eager to hear herstory. “I don’t. I have no memories ofchildhood. I’m an abandoned construct. I
remember nothing before my twenty-eighth spin. When I met Harlan I was an empty shell. He took me in, loved me, married me without question. I have no idea who imagineered me, or why so old, or why
they orphaned me. Why are you making me say what I’m sure you already know? Why are you making me… ”
“Suffer?” said the Aunt.
Eliza looked away.
“You need to reach inside yourself. To do that, you must
feel
.”
“Feel?” Eliza’s pretty face screwed into a ball. “You know very well that the Higher put an end to all that… ”
“‘Soul-searching’?” The Aunt examined her fingernails, as if they were suddenly the answer to everything. “That was what people called it in the past. The inner search for meaning. You’ve tried it, haven’t you, Eliza? You question your parentage constantly, tormenting yourself because you cannot resolve it. But you don’t have the courage to examine the
doubts. Question the doubts, child. Only then will you be able to deal with the truth.”
“What are you doing?” Eliza said. The Aunt had spread her fingers and was pointing them, root like, at the ground. Wisps were beginning to rise around her feet, emerging from the soil like coils of smoke. Eliza gasped as two of them twined together and formed themselves into the shape of an animal. Long floppy ears and a rounded body. Roughly the size of Boon, but not a katt. Her eyes darted to another wisp. A tiny buzzing creature was flying round an even wispier flower. And then…
The next apparition stopped her rigid.
She knew what it was. She even had a
name for it. The word was in her head as
if it had been there all her life, simply stored away for safe keeping. She stepped forward for a closer look, but the ghostly contours shook their wedge of tail feathers and waddled off before dispersing again. Duck. It was a
duck
. The very creature she’d fantasised about but never seen on
the river. She sank to her knees, feeling the softness of the earth where it
supported her. Slowly, she put her hands into the mist, trying to gather the threads of it in. But it was the mist that soon had control of her. It wrapped itself round her arms and tried to pull her down. The force of it made her cry out, but with one snap of Aunt Gwyneth’s fingers the mist retracted into the soil. Eliza looked up to see the Aunt looking down. In what appeared to be an act of genuine kindness,
the woman laid a hand on Eliza’s forehead and moved a lock of red hair out of her
eyes.
“You did have a childhood,” she said.
Eliza by now was shaking uncontrollably. “How? How do you know this?”
Aunt Gwyneth hunkered down. Thecentres of her eyes were a stunning violetcolour. “I know, because you spent it withme.”
15
Teeth gritted, Eliza struggled to her feet. “No,” she said, crossing her hands severaltimes. “Why are you mocking me like this? If I’d met you before, I would haverecognised you. And this mist. Theseforms. Are they some kind of… advancedimagineering? Some trickery to measuremy worthiness for motherhood? If I’mflawed beyond redemption, please just tellme.”
Aunt Gwyneth straightened her skirt asshe rose. “In the days before we had fain,”she said, bringing her fingertips together, “people would have used the word ‘magick’ to describe what you just saw. Are you familiar with this term?”
“No,” Eliza said abruptly.
The Aunt gave a supercilious sniff. “‘Magick’ was an art form used by charlatans skilled in deception to make the impossible appear to be plausible. It was considered ‘entertaining’ by some. Nowadays, we have no need for such amateurism. We simply materialise whatever we require. But oh, the price we have paid for it.”
Eliza’s head swept back and forth. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You recognised a rabbit, a bumble bee
and a duck. Tell me if these names mean
anything to you?”
Eliza sighed and covered her eyes. The smell of damp earth was on her hands. “Duck,” she muttered. “I’ve found myself
trying to picture them.”
Aunt Gwyneth nodded. “Good. In time, you will recognise more. These creatures were not my constructs, Eliza. They were
your
memories, given limited reality by your residual association with this place.”
“Aunt, I’ve never
been
here before! And this ‘place’ just tried to kill me!”
“No, girl. It was trying to reclaim you.”
“Oh!” Eliza threw up her hands. Her eyes were almost as dark as the clouds. She turned and stared intently at the horizon. “Are you saying I spent a childhood
here
?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t I remember it?”
“Because you were not meant to. It was erased days before your fifth spin. You were then re-formed by the Higher to
become the woman that Harlan Merriman would marry.”
“Are you implying that Harlan and I were deliberately brought together by the Higher?”
“That is immaterial.”
“Not to me.” There was an uneasy pause. When it became clear that the Aunt would not be drawn further on this matter, Eliza said, “Very well. I was re-formed. For what reason? Was I ec:centric, like David?”
Again, Aunt Gwyneth chose to hold her tongue.
“Tell me,” Eliza insisted, having the courage to shake the old woman. “Did I do something wrong? Did I threaten the Design?”
“
Yes
.” Aunt Gwyneth’s voice was
brittle. “Yes, but through no fault of your own. You were given up to the Higher when it became clear that you’d inherited… your father’s anomaly.”
Eliza reared back. “This is not from one
of your reports, is it? You
knew
him, didn’t you? You
knew
my father.” Her gaze narrowed. The Aunt’s face was as rigid as stone.
“He was an out:kast,” she said eventually. “The very worst kind of ec:centric.”
“Why don’t I know him?” Eliza pressed. “What became of him? Is he still alive?” She thought of David, in the librarium. In her father’s time (and just how old would her father have been?) the Counsellors and Aunts might not have been so generous as to send a potentially
dangerous individual to a place of relative safety.
But just as Aunt Gwyneth was about to give an answer she flicked her head to one side and said, “I am being summoned.” Her sober expression faded to a glint of amused curiosity. “Well, well. How interesting.”
Eliza could hear nothing of the Aunt’s communication, and with her fain disabled could detect no thoughts in the ether, either. “We’re leaving?” she said, looking for a taxicar. None was coming.
“
I
am leaving,” Aunt Gwyneth said, brushing down the sleeves of her jacket. “It seems I’m required – by Thorren Strømberg.”