Luca stood shivering from the profound impact of knowledge and emotion. I did what I had to do, he told himself. Spanton had
to be stopped. To do nothing would be to destroy myself.
The estate workers were watching him cautiously, their thoughts subdued as they waited to see what he did next.
“Let’s go round up the rest of them,” Luca said. “Especially that bastard chemist.” He started walking towards the nearest
carriage, thumbing new cartridges into the pump action’s empty chamber.
The others began to trail after him, holding their weapons tighter than before.
______
Cricklade hadn’t known screams like it since the day Quinn Dexter arrived. A high-pitched note of uniquely female agony coming
from an open window overlooking the courtyard. The becalmed air of a bright early-autumn day helped carry the sound a long
way over the manor’s steep rooftops, agitating the stabled horses and causing men to flinch guiltily.
Véronique’s waters had broken in the early hours the day after Luca had led his band of estate workers away to help fight
the marauders. Carmitha had been with her since daybreak, closeted away in one of the West Wing’s fancy bedroom suites. She
suspected the room might even have belonged to Louise; it was grand enough, with a large bed as the central feature (though
not big enough to qualify as a double; that would never do for a single landowner girl). Not that Louise would want it now.
Véronique was propped up on the middle of the mattress, with Cook dabbing away at her straining face with a small towel. Other
than that, it was all down to Véronique and Carmitha. And the baby, who was reluctant to put in a fast appearance.
At least Carmitha’s new-found sense allowed her to see that it was the right way round for the birth, and the umbilical cord
hadn’t got wrapped round its neck. Nor were there any other obvious complications. Basically, that just left her to look,
sound, and radiate assured confidence. She had after all assisted with a dozen natural childbirths, which was a great comfort
to everyone else involved. Somehow, what with the way Véronique looked up to her as a cross between her long-lost mother and
a fully qualified gynaecologist, she’d never actually mentioned that assistance involved handing over towels when told and
mopping up for the real midwife.
“I can see the head,” Carmitha said excitedly. “Just trust me now.”
Véronique screamed again, trailing off into an angry whimper. Carmitha placed her hands over the girl’s swollen belly, and
exerted her energistic power, pushing with the contractions. Véronique kept on screaming as the baby emerged. Then she broke
into tears.
It happened a lot quicker than usual thanks to the energistic pressure. Carmitha caught hold of the infant and eased gently,
making the last moments more bearable for the exhausted girl. Then it was the usual fast panic routine of getting the umbilical
tied and cut. Véronique sobbing delightedly. People moving in with towels and smiles of congratulations. Having to wipe the
baby off. Delivering the placenta. Endless mopping up.
New to this was applying some energistic power to repair the small tears in Véronique’s vaginal walls. Not too much, Carmitha
was still worried about the long-term effects which even mild healing might trigger. But it did abolish the need for stitches.
By the time Carmitha finally finished tidying up, Véronique was lying on clean sheets, cradling her baby daughter with a classic
aura of exhausted happiness. And a smooth mind.
Carmitha studied her silently for a moment. There was none of the internal anguish caused by a possessing soul riding roughshod
over the host. Sometime during the pain and blood and joy, two had become one, merging at every level in celebration of new
life.
Véronique smiled shyly upwards at Carmitha. “Isn’t she wonderful?” she entreated of the drowsy baby. “Thank you so much.”
Carmitha sat on the edge of the bed. It was impossible not to smile down at the wrinkled-up face, so innocent of its brand-new
surroundings. “She’s lovely. What are you going to call her?”
“Jeanette. Both our families have had that name in it.”
“I see. That’s good.” Carmitha kissed the baby’s brow. “You two get some rest now. I’ll pop by in an hour or so to check up
on you.”
She walked through the manor out into the courtyard. Dozens of people stopped her on the way; asking how it had gone, were
mother and child all right? She felt happy to be dispensing good news for once, helping to lift some of the worry and tension
that was stifling Cricklade.
Luca found her sitting in the open doorway at the back of her caravan, taking long drags from a reefer. He leant against the
rear wheel and folded his arms to look at her. She offered him the joint.
“No thanks,” he said. “I didn’t know you did that.”
“Just for the occasional celebration. There’s not much weed about on Norfolk. We have to be careful where we plant it. You
landowners get very uptight about other people’s vices.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I hear the baby arrived.”
“She did, yes, she’s gorgeous. And so is Véronique, now.”
“Now?”
“She and Olive kissed and made up. They’re one now. One person. I guess that’s the way the future’s going for all of you.”
“Ha!” Luca grunted bitterly. “You’re wrong there, girl. I killed people today. Butterworth’s right to fear his health. Once
your body goes in this realm, you go with it. There’s no ghosts, no spirits, no immortality. Just death. We screwed up—lost
our one chance to go where we wanted, and we didn’t go there.”
Carmitha exhaled a long stream of sweet smoke. “I think you did.”
“Don’t talk crap, my girl.”
“You’re back where we thought the human race started from. What exists here is all we had before people began inventing things
and making electricity. It’s the kind of finite world humans feel safe in. Magic exists here, though it’s not good for much.
Very few machines work, nothing complicated, and certainly no electronics. And death… death is real. Hell, we’ve even got
gods on the other side of the sky again; gods with powers beyond anything possible here, made in our own image. In a couple
of generations, we’ll only have rumours of gods. Legends that tell how this world was made, racing out of the black emptiness
in a blaze of red fire. What’s that if it’s not a new beginning in a land of innocence? This place isn’t for you, it never
was. You’ve reinvented the biological imperative, and made it mean something this time. All that you are must carry on through
your children. Every moment has to be lived to the full, for you’ll get no more.” She took another drag, the end of the joint
glowing bright tangerine. Small sparks were reflected in her gleeful eyes. “I rather like that, don’t you?”
______
Stephanie’s bullet wound had healed enough to let her walk round the headland camp; she and Moyo and Sinon made the circuit
twice a day. Their small secluded refuge had grown in a chaotic manner as the deserters from Ekelund’s army dribbled in. Now
it sprawled like an avalanche of sleeping bags away from the cliff edge. The new people tended to stay in small groups, huddling
together round the pile of whatever items they’d brought with them. The only rule the serjeants had about extending sanctuary
from Ekelund was that they hand over their real weapons once they arrived. Nobody had objected enough to return.
As she circled round the knots of subdued people, Stephanie picked up enough fragments of conversation to guess what awaited
any deserter foolish enough to venture back. Ekelund’s paranoia was growing at a worrying rate. And Tinkerbell’s appearance
hadn’t helped. Apparently, the crystal entity had been shot at. That was the reason for it fleeing away into the empty glare.
As if they didn’t have enough to worry about with their current predicament, there was now the prospect Ekelund had started
a war.
“I miss him, too,” Moyo said sympathetically. He squeezed Stephanie’s hand in an attempt at reassurance.
She smiled faintly, thankful he’d picked up on her melancholic thoughts. “A couple of days without him, and we’re all going
to pieces.” She paused to take a breath. Perhaps her recovery wasn’t as advanced as she liked to imagine. “Let’s go back,”
she said. These little walks had started out to give the newcomers some sense of identity, that they were all part of a big
new family. She was the one they’d come to, and she wanted to show she was available to them if they needed it. Most of them
recognized her as she walked past. But there were so many now that they had their own identity, and it was the serjeants who
guaranteed their safety. Her role had diminished to nothing. And God forbid I should try to manufacture my own importance
like Ekelund.
The three of them turned and headed back to the little encampment where their friends kept a vigil over Tina. A little way
beyond it, the serjeants formed a line of watchers strung out along the top of the cliff, searching for any sign of Tinkerbell.
They covered almost a fifth of the rim now, and Sinon told her their mini-consensus was considering stationing them all the
way round the island. When she’d asked if Ekelund might consider that a threatening move, the big bitek construct merely shrugged.
“Some things are considerably more important than placating her neuroses,” he’d said.
“Quick inspection tour,” Franklin remarked as they returned.
Stephanie guided Moyo to a comfortable sitting position a couple of metres from Tina’s makeshift bed and sprawled on a blanket
beside him. “I’m not exactly an inspiring sight any more.”
“Of course you are, darling,” Tina said.
Everyone had to strain to hear her. She was in a bad way now. The serjeants, Stephanie knew, had basically given up and were
just making what they considered her last days as comfortable as possible. Even though Rana rarely even let go of her friend’s
hand, she didn’t exert any energistic power other than a general wish for Tina to mend. Active interference with the woman’s
crushed organs would probably only make things worse. Tina didn’t have the willpower to maintain any form of body illusion
any more. Her dangerously pale skin was visible for anyone to see as she laboured for air. The stopgap intravenous tube was
still feeding fluid into her arm, though her body seemed determined to sweat it out at a faster rate.
They all knew it wouldn’t be long now.
Stephanie was furious with herself for wondering what would happen. If Tina’s soul would migrate back to the beyond, or be
trapped here; or if she’d simply and finally die. A legitimate enough interest given their situation. But Stephanie was sure
Tina would pick up the pulse of guilt in her mind.
“We’re still attracting Ekelund’s discards,” she said. “At this rate everyone will be camping here with us in another week.”
“What week?” McPhee grumbled softly. “Can you no’ feel the air fouling?”
“The carbon dioxide level is not detectable at this moment,” Choma said.
“Oh? And what are you lot doing to help right now?” McPhee indicated the line of stationary serjeants standing along the cliff.
“Other than making that madwoman more paranoid.”
“Our efforts continue,” Sinon said. “We are still trying to formulate a method of opening a wormhole, and our observation
role has been increased.”
“Putting our hopes on a bloody fairy! This place must be making us all soft in the head.”
“That term is a misnomer, though a perfectly understandable one for Cochrane to use.”
“I guess that means you still haven’t figured out what it was,” Moyo said.
“Unfortunately not. Though the fact that some kind of intelligence exists here is an encouraging development.”
“If you say so.” He turned away.
Stephanie snuggled up closer to Moyo, enjoying the reflex way his arm went round her shoulders. Being together made the awful
wait a tiny bit more tolerable. She just couldn’t work out what she wanted to happen first. Though they’d not spoken of it,
the serjeants would probably try to open a wormhole back to Mortonridge. As a possessed, it would hardly be a rescue for her.
Perhaps staying here until the carbon dioxide built to a lethal level was preferable.
She flicked another guilty glance at Tina.
Three hours later, the wait ended. This time the serjeants saw it coming. A riot of tiny dazzling crystals swooped out around
the base of the flying island to rush up vertically. They erupted over the top of the cliff like a silent white firestorm.
Thousands of them curved in mid air and cascaded downwards to spread out above the headland camp, slowing to hover just over
the heads of the astounded humans and serjeants.
The light level was quadrupled, forcing Stephanie to shield her hand with her eyes. Not that it did much to protect her from
the vivid scintillations. Even the drab ground was sparkling.
“Now what?” she asked Sinon.
The serjeant watched the swirl of crystals drifting idly, sharing what he saw with the others. There was no real pattern to
their movement. “I have no idea.”
They are watching us as we watch them,
Choma said.
They have to be probes of some kind.
It is likely,
Sinon said.
Something is coming,
the serjeants along the cliff warned. A disc of raw light was expanding out from underneath the island. Not that it could
have been hidden there, it was well over a hundred kilometres in diameter. The emergence effect was similar to an Adamist
starship’s ZTT jump, but much much slower.
Once it had finished distending, it began to rise up parallel to the cliff. A cold, brilliant sun slid over the horizon to
fill a third of the sky. It wasn’t a solid sphere, snowflake geometries fluctuated behind the overpowering glare.
The small crystals parted smoothly, racing away over the landscape, leaving nothing between the headland camp and the massive
visitor. Fountains of iridescence erupted deep inside it, mushrooming open against the prismatic surface. Streaks and speckles
shimmered and danced around each other, striving for order within the huge blemish.