The Ghost Sister (7 page)

This place was a world away from the style of the rooms above, the delicate, curling carvings and etched metal. This room was of Irie St Syre, using forms that had remained unchanged for thousands of years. It was molded, organic, a flowing sequence of curves which made it difficult to see where the walls ended and the floor began. Everything was a familiar dark, mottled green, like water in a deep pool, and at the far end of the room a long console was set into the wall. Its surfaces were a glistening green-black, and slick as oil beneath nanomolecular filters. It flowed outward like a wave, and light flickered across its surface as though under water. It was humming. As Shu watched, it seemed to shift and change, reconfiguring itself beneath her gaze as though she were making it uncomfortable. The air smelled of something familiar, which Shu was nonetheless initially unable to place. Then she recognized it: it was the smell of technology, of order. Irie St Syre had smelled like this, balanced and harmonious and controlled, with nothing to revolt the senses. Wholly artificial.

Used by now to fresher, wilder air, Shu wrinkled her nose. She turned to find that Bel was standing in front of a second row of equipment: more ancient, organic technology with that strange smell of grass and home. This too did not look like a machine. It looked like many things, and it changed as Shu watched. The only constant element was a flowscreen set into the wall. Data marched in spiky green symbols across the flowscreen, like a flight of dragonflies.

“
What is it?
” Shu mouthed.

“I think it's generating some kind of biomagnetic field,” Bel shouted back.

“Is it dangerous?”

“I don't know.” Bel glanced uncertainly toward the console. Shu peered over her shoulder, trying with limited technical knowledge to make sense of the spiky patterns that strode across the little screen, thus she was unprepared for the hand that snaked out and grasped her by the wrist. She
was so startled that she stumbled against Bel, only to find that the girl had become rigid and that it was Bel's own hand that was holding her.

“Look!”

Someone was coming out of the shadows. It was much taller than a human being. It had a long, pointed jaw, open to display sharp teeth. A dark mane concealed its shoulders, and the hands which it held out before it were tipped with talons. It was entirely transparent, and in the lightning glimpse that Shu had of it before she hauled Bel backward and slammed the bone door shut, she saw that its great, star-filled eyes were intelligent and aware.

It was an uncertain day; one of those times at the very end of spring when colder weather suddenly makes a last-minute return before the brief summer sets in. There was a cool wind from the river, stirring the trees in the orchard, and clouds were hanging heavy over the distant hills. I hadn't seen Morrac for a while—as was characteristic of our relationship, once the first flurry of passion was over. He'd gone up along the estuary, murmuring something about “coming back in a bit.” He had now been gone for over two days. He was like that, blowing hot and cold, judging my mood in order to keep out of my way when he estimated I was at my most desperate. The tower, which we'd spent the last few days cleaning up, was quiet when I entered, but as I walked along the hall, I could hear voices, and one of them belonged to Sereth. The other was Morrac's.

“…just think that you ought not to get so
involved
with it. It's as though you seek it out. This is the third time in as many weeks. And Eiru told me you were off with the ai Zherren last month, in one of their raids. You're not going to tell me that was any business of yours.”

“I was visiting the house. I got caught up in it.” Morrac sounded both defensive and sullen. I pictured him in my mind's eye: looking away from his twin as he had so often avoided my own accusing eyes.

“Well, maybe you should have tried not to 'get caught up in it,' “ Sereth snapped.

“I did try,” he protested.

“Not hard enough, obviously. And I know very well— and this is what really annoys me, Morrac—that the ai Zherren don't always go off on the hunt only when it's strictly necessary.”

“A lot of people don't. What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference,” she said, after a moment.

I found my footsteps slowing as I eavesdropped. I heard him say, “And what about you? We're the same, Sereth. I know you. The world at your heels and blood in your mouth. That's what you want, isn't it?” and his voice was silken, intimate, the same voice I heard when he was holding me down in the casual domination of sex.

“Morrac, be quiet.”

“Why? Don't you want to face the truth, about yourself, about the bloodmind? I know you; I understand. And you know how it's always with us, a part of us. Why fight it, Sereth? Why deny it? You're like Eleres, trying to pretend all the time that he's something other than what he is— than what we all are, except the sick and the weak, like Mevennen.”

“No,” she whispered, so low that it might only have been a shiver in the air.

“Stop lying to yourself,” her brother said, and he sounded disgusted. I wondered whether it was with his sister, or with himself. Suddenly, I could not bear to listen any longer. I stepped quickly and quietly into an adjoining chamber. Crossing to the window, I opened it and leaned out to catch the wind. Beyond the river the distant hills still looked winter bare: ocher, mauve, bone pale beneath the wind-driven
sky, and I shivered at the touch of the cold air through my summer shirt.

Clouds massed at the edge of the Attraith. Sereth's footsteps vanished down the hall; she was running. I took a deep breath of air that promised rain, and went in search of Morrac.

He was lying back on the ancient couch with a book across his knees. He opened one eye as I came through the door; it held a sensual, speculative look. Arguments aroused him; it didn't matter who it was with.

“How's your sister?” he asked me, amicably enough. I leaned over and raised the book: it was some inconsequential drama. How appropriate, I thought. It seemed to sum up our relationship admirably.

“She's not too bad,” I said. “She says she hasn't had any more fits, anyway, which is a relief.”

“Surely you don't think she's cured?”

“Well, no, but at least she's not having those seizures.”

“You should have left her at Aidi Mordha, Eleres.”

“Morrac, why is Mevennen having fits
not
better than Mevennen having
no
fits?”

He shrugged. “I'd have thought that was obvious.”

“Not to me,” I said coldly.

Slowly, Morrac said, “Eleres, I know how you feel about Mevennen. I know you're very fond of her, but—”

“
Fond
of her? I love her; she's my sister. You make it sound as though she were some kind of pet!”

“I know how much you love her, then. But you know very well your family should have done something about Mevennen when she first came home,” he said patiently, as if reasoning with an idiot. “And if she's started having seizures, then it might be a sign that she's dying at last and you'll be well rid of her.”

I stared at him, trying to swallow my fury. “You've never liked her,” I said.

“No, I never have, and there's a very good reason for that.

She's ill. It isn't her fault, but it really would have been kinder to have put an end to her long ago.”

“Morrac—”

“We are a certain type of creature, Eleres. We can't afford to tolerate weakness; this world is too harsh and hard for that. That's why the world gave us the bloodmind, after all; made us into predators. Do you like to see your sister as she is?”

“Of course not. But we're not animals, Morrac. Not all the time. Other people might turn on their own but I won't. I think we have to try to be more than we are—more than our natures dictate.”

“Why should we?” He did not like what I was saying; I could see it in his face. “I know you've thought about killing her. You have, haven't you?”

“Just because I feel something, however strongly, doesn't necessarily mean I have to act on it.”

“Oh, stop pretending to be something you're not, Eleres. You're afraid of yourself, that's your problem.” But as he reached out for the nearby water jug, I could see that his hand was shaking, and I remembered the conversation that I had overheard.

“Who's afraid now?” I asked him. Our eyes met, and his gaze was the first to fall away.

“It was some kind of image, of course,” Bel said, absently rubbing the fading scar along her calf. “A hologram, perhaps.”

“At the time I could have sworn it was a damn demon,” Shu said, with feeling. They were sitting on the steps of the aircar, in illusory safety, with the vista of the caldera spread before them.

“Maybe it's some sort of defense mechanism,” Bel said.

“I think you may be right. One look at that and you wouldn't stick around, would you? But what was it supposed to be? I'm familiar with a whole range of cultural images from my folklore research and I've never seen anything like that before.”

“It looked like some kind of demon. Like you said.” Bel shivered.

“Perhaps that's what it was. Something from someone's imagination.” Shu paused, gazing out across the ruins and their secrets, then turned to Bel. The girl's amber braids and gilded skin were now a uniform beige beneath a coat of dust, and her dark eyes were swollen and rimmed with red. Despite the chill, there were damp patches spreading beneath the armpits of her jacket. Doubtless, Shu thought with sympathy, she probably looked a whole lot worse herself. “How's your leg?”

“All right. I strained it, running. Look, Shu, I suppose we should go back in there but to be quite honest, I'd rather wait a bit.”

“You said you'd sent the field signatures up to the ship, didn't you? Have you checked to see if there's any result yet?”

“No,” Bel said, brightening. She shot Shu a wry glance. “That's a good enough excuse for me.” Still limping, she clambered up the steps and into the depths of the aircar. Shu looked down at her hands, noticing with a shock the thin blue veins that traced a landscape across her knuckles. They'd been here less than a week, and already she was losing enough weight to show. But perhaps it was just age. She wondered uneasily if she was catching up with herself, with the years spent in cold-sleep on the ship. Maybe she'd end up crumbling into a little pile of dust. The thought of aging did not particularly bother her, but it was still a reminder of how little time she really had, here on this unforgiving world.

Still, she had few enough regrets. She'd raised a family—
children, grandchildren, surely great-grandchildren, by now, to honor her image in the Ancestor's Alcove even if she wasn't dead yet—and maybe her books on myth and folk tales were still being read.
If I
'
m lucky
, Shu thought. But her musings were interrupted by Bel's voice calling her name.

“Shu? I've tried calling camp. I can't seem to raise them.” There was a faint, but discernible edge of panic in the girl's voice. Shu scrambled back into the aircar.

“We'd better get back,” she said tightly.

Bel took the aircar out through the labyrinth—too fast, Shu thought. She gritted her teeth, and closed her eyes, but when she did so, she saw only the face of the thing they had met, gazing at her from the shadows of her mind. She did not like to think of what might have happened at the camp. Once they were out of the cliff wall, however, the strip lights in the aircar seemed to brighten, and the communications console in front of Bel whirred into life. Bel punched in the coordinates with an urgent hand, and Sylvian's puzzled voice answered.

“It's all right,” Bel said shakily into the console. “We couldn't reach you, that's all. Some kind of communications blackout.”

“Maybe it's the field,” Shu said.

“There's some data back from the ship,” she heard Sylvian say. “It's downloading now; I'll back it up for you.” She signaled out and Shu leaned back in her chair, limp with relief.

They spent most of the following day back at base camp, analyzing the data that Bel had gleaned from the ruins, and the books that Shu had brought back with her. Most of the books were too worn for analysis, but a few pages still remained. The languages were a lot closer to Old Syrean and Pasque, and Shu found a number of significant passages. The story of the colony's early origins took the form of myths: speaking of Irie St Syre as the world from which the colony had sprung, and giving a slanted account of the reason why
the colonists left. As far as Shu had understood it, the government at the time had sought reconciliation with Shikiriye and the colonists, but this text spoke unequivocally of persecution, and Shu wondered uneasily where the truth might lie.

Predictably enough, to Shu's eyes, Elshonu Shikiriye's paternalistic utopianism had encountered resistance quite early on. Elshonu had been the typical charismatic leader: autocratic and adored. Patriarchies seemed to generate this kind of individual—very different from the democratic counsels of modern Irie, Shu thought with initial complacency, but then a picture of Bel's mother floated into her mind. There was talk of schism, relating to Elshonu's attempts to set up a society that practiced perfect harmony with its environment. Shu couldn't make out exactly what the arguments were about, but it was fairly clear that a good third of the colony had disagreed with their erstwhile leader's methods and departed for settlements elsewhere.

There was also some mention in the books of biomag-netic currents bisecting the northern hemisphere of the planet. The texts commented on these at some length, and they had obviously preoccupied Elshonu. He compared them to the Songlines of his ancestors, except that these were definite currents that could be experienced and felt. In other passages, the writer spoke of Elshonu's increasing obsession with these currents. Although they were a natural phenomenon, they could be harnessed and used, Elshonu believed, but the passage did not say how or why. There was mention too of the “generator”. Shu didn't know what this might be, but she remembered the glimmering console in an otherwise empty chamber. Was this the generator, and if so, what purpose did it serve? Thoughtfully, Shu put down the ancient book. She'd hoped that the texts would answer her questions, but they seemed to generate more queries than they settled. And she wondered again about that most
burning question of all: what had happened to the colonists, and why had that last transmission spoken of a curse?