Principles of Angels (45 page)
Read Principles of Angels Online
Authors: Jaine Fenn
The world returned in a mad, crazy rush, like sex, like chemicals, like being born. He had a body again.
Except it wasn’t his.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
In the Assembly Hall politicians cower under their benches while the High Speaker lies sprawled on his dais. A lone fragment of consciousness tries to slip back into the Speaker’s inert body, but it’s like trying to flex a deadened limb.
I am filled with echoes of other amputated islands of consciousness: one slumped at the head of a table in a boardroom on Silk Street; another on the floor by a bed in an Opera Street penthouse; a third lying in a pool of noodle soup by a bench at the end of Chow Street. All beyond reach now.
How can I be all those people?
Through half-blind eyes I see hundreds of others who are not part of me:
. . . below an ancient tree in the Gardens two strangers fuck like beasts, bodies sliding over each other, desperate that their end should be in ecstasy, not terror . . .
. . . outside a Memento Street hotel whose gilt and marble facings are cracked and skewed, a man is trying to pull the body of a child from under a fallen pillar, his cries for help ignored by the few people still standing . . .
. . . on Chance Street a riot has evolved, a confused rush of desperate humanity looting and screaming purposelessly . . .
. . . on Grace Street isolated groups of people pray together, while others stand transfixed, turning eyes wide with fear to the disintegrating heavens . . .
. . . Amnesia Street, the haunt of those already halfway out of reality back when reality was still a viable option, is empty now, save for the occasional prone figure, dead or paralysed . . .
How can I be in all these places?
Who am I?
What am I?
I look beyond sight for the answer.
Above the Streets the skin that covers me is breaking down. Soon the bubble of warmth that has endured a millennium against the thin air will disperse to the winds. Soon I will lose myself to the void.
The deep engines of decay and rebirth have fallen silent: the great breaths that take in foul air and excrete oxygen have faltered, the water that trickles down through filters and back up has dried up, the ingestion of used matter, the molecule-by-molecule conversions that create nourishment or structure from waste - all have stopped now.
My thousand-year heartbeat is slowing to nothing . . .
I am dying.
I do not know who I am, but I know that I am dying.
But I cannot die. I am eternal.
This must not happen. I must take control.
First, the skin that encloses me, and the million minds I watch and protect: I must draw energy from the planet’s core to feed the processes of transformation deep underground. Slowly, slowly, the swirl of energy starts to coalesce, to strengthen. I start to rebuild the forcedome—
But something else is wrong. While I am concentrating my efforts on my skin, I realise my very body is tipping off-balance, and if my unimaginable mass comes crashing down—I have to catch myself, stabilise myself, and centre myself, reach down to access the great devices that offset gravity. I must juggle the forces that bind the universe and harness them to my service . . .
But while I work on gravity, my control on the forcedome is slipping. The pressure of the gases trying to escape is ripping holes in the damaged fabric of my skin.
So many processes, so much to think about: too much. I cannot do this alone.
I cannot control all this—
The other presence slips in gently, supporting, augmenting his efforts, taking control of the forcedome, healing the wounds in his skin. He concentrates on the gravitational trickery that keeps the City afloat. It is stable, just. The other presence is here too, underpinning his own efforts, buoying him up in the vortex.
Soon he -
they
- start to deal with the myriad other problems. Deep down, the recycling systems start up again: water flows, power surges and the chill air starts to warm.
they
- start to deal with the myriad other problems. Deep down, the recycling systems start up again: water flows, power surges and the chill air starts to warm.
Together they are strong.
Now, for the first time, he wonders who he was before he was the City.
Human, like the tiny beings cowering and running about and dying: small, pathetic, insignificant, and yet strangely compelling beings. Could he really be one of them?
- are not meant to live like this. We still have flesh.>
He addresses the unknown presence that is supporting and comforting him. <
But the City still needs us. We
are
the City now, we are in control. In charge.>
But the City still needs us. We
are
the City now, we are in control. In charge.>
He looks, though he has no eyes. In a dark limbo, protected by the same presence sharing control of the City with him, a small pearl of life is curled in on itself. As he watches the pearl grows, strengthens.
He feels an invasion at the edges of his consciousness: the original mind, feeling its way back? No! This City is theirs now!
He starts to resist.
The voice is soft and sad. <
You must let him take back what is his, Taro.>
You must let him take back what is his, Taro.>
She is right. He starts to comply, reluctantly allowing the growing consciousness that Nual has nurtured begin to take the reins of power from him.
He can no longer see the whole world, no longer sense the thousand complex processes that keep the City alive. He is shrinking, becoming reduced to a mere human boy. He starts to panic; if he is no longer the City he will no longer be anyone.
But she is still here, the presence that supported him and sheltered the City: his goddess, his love.
Suddenly he has a body again, a tiny, confining thing, damaged and insignificant. His soul is filled with the dull ache of pain and loss. He begins to collapse in on himself, fading, fading to nothing—
He is embraced, and knows it is her.
Taro opened his eyes. He was lying at the base of the throne. Nual’s arms were wrapped around him as she cradled him in her lap.
With a supreme effort he looked up and focused. Her face was pale as bone beneath the dust and dried blood. Through the link they still shared he felt the other, more serious, physical injuries she was repressing.
Speaking was too much effort so he just thought at her, <
You look terrible.>
You look terrible.>
Nual smiled and, safe in the shared knowledge that they had done what had to be done and could finally let go, they slipped together into a place beyond thought.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The glass dome of the transit hall had taken more than its fair share of damage during what the media, with a typical mixture of irony and understatement, were calling ‘the Cityquakes’, but it was already well on the way to being mended. After all, it was the first thing the rollers saw when they arrived.
Taro looked up at the scaffolding over the main doors as he walked into the transit hall. There was barely a building that hadn’t been affected by the City’s recent near-destruction, but given the amount of money Khesh City attracted, the only place where the scars might never be healed was the Undertow. The entrance into the transit hall was one of many once-forbidden thresholds he’d crossed in the week since he and Nual had woken together in the Heart of the City. There was no place in the City he couldn’t go now - but he had already seen the whole City, with senses that were not his own.
The Minister stood a little way off from the main flow of the crowd, talking to Nual. They turned as Taro approached and he allowed himself to meet Nual’s eyes. She held his gaze just long enough for a brief surge of warmth to flash through him. Perhaps love - ordinary, human love - was like this. In some ways the deeper union they’d shared, an experience beyond that of even the most intense human lovers, was as far away from him now as his days as whore and victim. But it’d changed him in ways he’d yet to come to terms with.
If Taro hadn’t known better he would’ve said the Minister was embarrassed by their wordless exchange.
‘There you are. Goodbyes all said?’
Taro nodded. It had been a hard decision to make, and the thought of the vast unknown universe beyond the forcedome filled him with apprehension, but he couldn’t stay in Khesh City now, not when Nual was leaving. And not when he’d experienced what it was like to
be
the City. Even life as an Angel seemed nothing more than an indulgence of the City’s ongoing fascination with the squabbles of the self-absorbed humans it sheltered. He’d accepted the offer of Angel implants, though: hidden blades and the ability to fly might come in handy, and he had an idea that once he got out into the big wide world he was going to need every advantage he could get.
be
the City. Even life as an Angel seemed nothing more than an indulgence of the City’s ongoing fascination with the squabbles of the self-absorbed humans it sheltered. He’d accepted the offer of Angel implants, though: hidden blades and the ability to fly might come in handy, and he had an idea that once he got out into the big wide world he was going to need every advantage he could get.
It occurred to him that the Minister expected more than a nod in reply and though he no longer felt any obligation to show respect he said, ‘Not that many people to say goodbye to. The survivors’re busy rebuildin’ and lickin’ their wounds, though Solo’s almost healed. By the way, he says the topside bakery where he gets his bread insists on not chargin’ him any more.’
‘Oh, she’s male already? Must have been the stress. Yes, I try to be fair, which includes rewarding those who deserve it. Not knowing much about the alien’s lifestyle, that seemed the least I could do. I was just telling Nual that the infobroker - his name is Ando Meraint; I don’t think either of you were formally introduced to him, and he’s mercifully oblivious of the significance of what he did - came out of hospital to discover a mysterious increase in his credit balance. The man had the good sense to use it to relocate his family off Vellern.’ He looked around at the bustle of rollers coming and going. ‘The resiliency of the human mind never fails to amaze me. That and its capacity for self-deception.’
Nual said softly, ‘And of course, we Sidhe would never deceive ourselves, only others.’
The Minister
hurrumphed.
‘
We
Sidhe? I hardly think of myself as Sidhe, whatever race the body I originally had might have been.’ He looked at Nual and raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, I see, you’re baiting me. Old habits die hard. You know, I think I’m going to miss you. Sometimes the games can get a little wearing, all that pretending to be human. Nice to drop the mask occasionally.’
hurrumphed.
‘
We
Sidhe? I hardly think of myself as Sidhe, whatever race the body I originally had might have been.’ He looked at Nual and raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, I see, you’re baiting me. Old habits die hard. You know, I think I’m going to miss you. Sometimes the games can get a little wearing, all that pretending to be human. Nice to drop the mask occasionally.’
‘Having spent so long thinking of you as my reluctant protector, I can’t yet say whether I will miss you or not.’ Nual spoke lightly, though Taro sensed the undercurrent of gratitude and affection in her words. Despite their inability to completely trust each other, these two minds were closer in nature than Taro liked to consider.
‘Touched, I’m sure.’ The Minister sounded almost emotional as he said, ‘I will tell you again that I think you are very unwise to even consider taking your late guardian’s ashes back to Khathryn. You realise they’ll be watching out for you?’
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