Professional Documents
Culture Documents
1. A Journey ............................................................................................................... 1
2. Lucian Gets Up....................................................................................................... 5
3. Into the Heartland................................................................................................. 9
4. Things Get Serious. ............................................................................................... 19
5. A Demonstration of Enhancement..................................................................... 26
6. Preparations and an Interruption....................................................................... 31
7. Things Get even More Serious............................................................................ 35
8. Shaudgel ................................................................................................................. 42
9. A Journey Backward............................................................................................. 51
1
Gentle Fame
‘… remember that our battle is to be accepted in the fullness of our difference and not because we
promise to be like everybody else’
— Joan Nestle, from A Restricted country, (Ithaca, N.Y.: Firebrand Books, c1987), p118-119.
1. A Journey
In the dustless oval of the slanting mirror, a fold of sheet moved. Webs in
the window gleamed. A face, girlish and young, turned into the pillow.
A quill of sun in the corner of the room tickled Lucian’s lashes. He opened a
smudged eyelid.
yawned. The far side of the bed was empty. He rolled toward his slanting image,
brushing together recently waxed calves. The linen sheets were cold too, where
How many were turning over in bed like this, still chilled by wintry breath,
still feel that familiar worthlessness? The slapped child feeling. He’d hardly ever
He drew well. He now had a bit of a reputation for it: he’d even begun to
believe he was good. Last month, Rion Lingel, famed enhancer and
revolutionary, had invited him to exhibit his work in Hazzenton, in return for
some unspecified reward (he’d asked what but she’d grown cagey and in his
2
diffidence he hadn’t pressed the matter). In particular she liked the embroidered
works he’d done in the revolutionary style — for instance, the famous funeral of
Tidiring Naduyn the anarchist with its masses of purple and red Illan flags and
The next day, she’d even had him to dinner, at her house in the inner
suburb of Raxelbrann, and given him a special bangle as a present. His career as
He touched a cold spot and recoiled. Life still went on with its normal
redneckery, of his Midlands birthplace in the Miol Hills. He, at least when half-
asleep, could show them freedom from the domination of the Midlands clans
The pillow below his head was warm as the crook of an arm.
… tick tick tick … tick tick tick … while the kitchen tap dripped just out of
time.
Fuck this, time to get up. He felt whiskers on his face. He wished he had a
His room drew in the sun, like a nest on a bough. The air was fresh and
early. Fledglings scratched dust into it, in the eaves. He didn’t want to stir.
Through the half-open balcony curtain he had a good view. Its frayed
yellow corner (the curtain’s, of course, but he had to blink) wafted tantalisingly.
Winter’s remnant, the mist, clung to the landscape, rising at the river mouth to
Boring. Despite his reclusive nature, he was still young, and he wanted
adventure.
A rainbow danced in his eyelashes, and a snatch of song raced like a rill
through his mind. Up, reluctantly, he sat. Birds chimed, specks on the rim of the
sun.
He fancied a web glistered over the land, quivering with droplets of silence.
The street sloped into a crimson grate; a bell shimmered. A bird alighted on
his balcony railing, to fix him with an indignant stare. Get up!
He smiled back, running a hand through his finger-length white hair. She
launched herself, orange beak parted, at the rising sun. Over the red rooftops,
nel-nel, nel-nel, nel-nel. On the town’s far side a second bell echoed, then another,
and another.
looked down at his small waist, wishing his hips were broader.
“Getting fat again.” He surveyed his bare body. His myriad friends said he
hostile sea whose every swell, according to the joke, was tabulated by the
Empire. The daisy smell of mayflower touched his nostrils. The clouds and the
curtains hung in the window like familiar clothes. Behind them, a vapour trail.
of prying eyes.
It’s only an exhibition, he told himself about his forthcoming journey to the
poster, on the wall yesterday — curl round the green lamp-post that stood
before the access stairs. There was a harsher peal: earthbound, brass, the town’s
Vote Gverin: the other path rustled into obscurity. He couldn’t help admiring
His drawings for the exhibition had already been reproduced electronically
in the city they called Hazzenton; his other works had been sent on by train. All
he had to do was get there — and it seemed he’d have to go there alone.
The pink street remained empty, apart from a padding collarless tabby.
Behind most of the doors, some of the occupants dreamed of each other; but
2. Lucian Gets Up
people were up. Eggs were poaching, butter was steaming on rye longbread.
Electric milk floats rolled through the well-swept streets. Lucian loaded up his
Enga Runing across the way cranked her bubble car and cursed.
Music started up, across the street, plaintive and grieving, the unique Illan
blues. It echoed faintly among the red apartment blocks on the Talida Road, and
seemed to blow like a rainshower through the town, past the library where he
once worked and northward into the high country by the gash of the white-
knuckled river.
Figures in green shirts were straggling (or struggling) into town: a few
militia types who’d been for a 50 runa run. One, a fat-cheeked man, glanced up,
but Lucian was listening too intently to notice. And by this time he had his tatty
The stillness, of the crumpled bed with its green quilt of pentangles, of the
sole, re-covered and re-varnished armchair, of the solid treadle sewing machine,
older than himself, in the northern corner, of the compact Nelma processor
beside it, like a crystal ball, on a ‘recycled’ desk, of his sketches in crayon and 2B
pencil on the walls, of the round brown rug, of the plastic-free op shop knick-
knacks, of the one wall-hanging that hung on, of the mirrors and mirrors and
mirrors, gave him the feeling of standing awake in a room in which one still
slept.
6
One, who to some others was no deeper than a mirror. One, till now, habitually
or unavoidably alone. He did participate in Tiller meetings, but only over the
He ran his lower lip reflectively along his teeth. Illans were free as nellies
(and about as organised). It’d been a long struggle, begun years before his birth.
Boiling up the kettle again, he poured out a cup of jasmine tea, a little
lagoon of warmth in a cold room. A gold line ran round the saucer; he felt he’d
never noticed it before. By the balcony, he filled himself with breath and love for
their twofold world, militia and all. In Illantyn, a militia was not a ragbag of
He reminded himself to get ginger coffee for a change. He wiped a stain off
the Talida Road. The white flowers formed lingering starfields. Hens were
headjerking out to graze. He looked about for imperial saboteurs but none were
he went again from the window and into his morning ‘sunroom’, the bathroom
in fact. Its window was part-open, the way he’d left it. At the rear of the flats the
“Now, what?” his own voice echoed. Oh God, throw it off for a bit. Get
Nothing untoward could happen today. It was hard to believe that he’d do
anything this morning but draw, with soft jazz in the background. But — the
outside Maltida’s Art Centre, wherein he’d once hung his night landscapes, and
his soft pastel miniatures that were sequential like comic strips. The scarf was one
to toss about his slender neck like a sunset cloudlet. Of coarse weave, it was mere
cotton from the Republic of Monda, Illantyn’s only friend on earth. Brangathrel,
The tap ran nextdoor and he heard, faintly, the radio news. Something
The scarf was fine to the touch against the hollow of his neck, soft as
brushed hair on his skin. Arranged the right way, it gave him a ‘pierrot’ look.
Engagingly pathetic — like spring buds, or the courage of the weak. His thin
Oh, for time to play with adornment — though only he was watching. To
Smoky clouds skittered over the downs, which stretched no doubt halfway
across Illantyn, but the downs were barely visible from here. He tossed the
cheap scarf out onto a scrofulous chair. The flat was an eyrie, not drab inside, and
he felt he could peep into every corner of the big country town, yet remain
unseen.
weaved about under the shower and luxuriated in hot soap and the fact he could
leave the door open, for no one else lived here. He kept the bangle on, for it was
his solitary way. He gave her a beehive hairdo, then with three strokes made it a
severe hairbun. He used to cartoon them at Cloùdough Art School like that,
children yelled; the ceiling creaked; the land warmed; his scalp tingled. Two
morning bells, the second hour since dawn, rang out from the Town Hall. By the
window, he fancied he could hear the roar of the Shevelina river, the River of the
“You’ll miss the bloody train!” he said aloud, to the rhythm of his
towelling. He always travelled by train. It was not political correctness but the
journeys he’d made as a child, the steam train he’d thought was on fire.
people opposite had Drafa Thorton’s Review of the Republic blaring from the
the Midlands.
Flexen, a photographer he’d once had a brief liaison with. She said, “you make
love like a woman”, which he’d regarded as a compliment. (She’d added, “You
stoop, but you’re short.”) She’d encouraged him to go with her to Art School,
only to drop him when he began to gain recognition. She lived on a commune of
No point in digging that up again. He gave his hair a last brush and slid the
window shut. He was sure of one thing: he belonged to the earth, like a
As he headed back toward the kitchenette he noticed his tea on the table,
stone-cold. He forced himself to drink it; it was dear. People like Petra grew the
flowers in the far south. One day he’d get round to making his own.
He ate a quick breakfast, spilling no crumb on the thin carpet he’d had laid
earlier that year. Then, he got into the clothes he’d set out on the bed; featuring
today were a jumpsuit and a long, ruched jacket both in carmine velvet from
Round his neck, instead of the scarf, he hung a necklace made up of half-
moons, each piece of a metal rare in Illantyn: aluminium. Once dressed to his
10
satisfaction, he stuffed a tiny handkerchief up his sleeve, grabbed his two bags
In sunshine, he skipped past the Ansital Street junction. The warning light
winked: car coming. A glinting scooter came into view instead. It banked like a
brown carriages, and went into the ticket office. No one sat behind the counter.
In a back room, they were all having a Tiller Meeting, and it sounded quite
heated.
“Passengers!” he was yelling back. He saw Lucian. Lucian thought his face
showed disappointment; he began to feel self- conscious, all done up like a pretty
pixie.
“Only one. Sorry sevlin, we’re arguing about the new fare structure.
He took the ticket and punched it. Clearly computerization hadn’t reached
“Have a nice trip. But watch out for that stewardess!” The man grinned and
disappeared into the meeting again. Before the door shut Lucian heard the word
‘Nelmanet’ yelled several times, and wondered if they were about to chuck the
He musingly climbed aboard. This wasn’t the Midlands. But it wasn’t the
carefully so as not to crush the velvet, and folded them to one side. He looked
about him idly and wondered if anyone else on board would know his name.
The train all too soon hauled itself out of the station, not scattering the tiny
grass parrots which hopped in and out of a puddle left last night by the steam
engine. The seat next to him was empty, but celloglazed with talc from a
previous incumbent.
disappeared. He took out his sketchbook and broke a pencil trying to prove it
hadn’t.
turning vast composting drums, flashed by and were gone. He grabbed a new
pencil and busily sketched them. They’d been erected by the enhancer
movement.
His panic dissipated. Soon in his mind the train was crossing the sparse
saddle of Lobelia Hill, and then plunging into the Hazzen Valley. Below lay red
and white canal boats, like fallen blossoms, and broom-straws of barges; he felt a
pang for the midlands. Nel birds rose in great flocks and towed their collective
shadow across unmown ridges. He touched the green enhancer’s bangle on his
wrist and its crotal bells tinkled over the roar of the train.
woman. She grimaced and dabbed at the empty seat with a serviette.
12
“I’ve already had tea.” he said, stretching his velvet legs so the wedge heels
of his sandals scraped along the floor. He felt a strange sensation in his chest
“It ain’t ambrosia, honey.” she said, running an eye over his dainty ankles.
“Mmm, but it looks more like the stuff that runs out of cat’s eyes when
She behaved in fact as though she’d known him for years. He hadn’t a clue
“And you’re an enhancer!” she told him, and the whole carriage, while
Lucian imagined people goggling, but when he dared to peep from the
corner of his eye he saw nothing but bored passengers keeping themselves to
themselves. They ignored them — they’d probably ignore them if they made
She prized the bangle away from his wrist with her little finger, which itself
“I bet you will be one day. Turn it into tiravit.” she added, pointing at the
pot.
“Not on this train, darling. We’re freer than nellies. You can even smoke.”
“I think I’d prefer tea, in a cup with a gold line round the edge.”
“Oh, aren’t you swish. Well, dear, we haven’t got any Midland tea, mind.
She pouted and fixed him with a sidelong stare — deliberately, he thought,
like a nellie.
“Others would like a cup of tea as well!” bellowed a man behind him,
stubbing out maveluthra joint and swatting the back of the seat with his copy of
the Brangathrel Star. Lucian jumped out of his skin. She rolled her eyes.
“I heard that! Is this the Empire that decent working-men can be insulted
by insolent young girls? I suppose you think work is all about having Meetings
“I’m not as young as I look, either.” she bent over and confided. “I’m 39
tomorrow.” She showed her teeth. He thought she was going to invite him to
count them.
“I’d say he’s a Midlander as well.” she said to Lucian. “Ugh.” She
“Lucky man.” he went, very weakly, as she moved down the carriage.
“That’s right, lad. Meet Lechid — ” Lucian turned and smiled. The man, clad
in a thick black coat, had a superficially ‘jolly’ sort of face, something to do with
14
the jowls. He looked away briefly, confusingly, since he didn’t appear shy, then
Lucian faced the engine again, patting down his hair. Was it his clothing,
mascara, or the bangle? Maybe neither slight had been intentional. He was so
sensitive to nuances of the moment that he sometimes caught them when they
Other people ignored each other really. The man lost interest once he’d got
his cuppa.
He never actually found out when she realised her mistake (or had she?),
but he knew now that he still had a midlands accent, and resolved to disguise it
further.
Fiddling with the valuable half-moons of the necklace, he sipped at the tea.
Not too bad. He felt warm again, and sang still in his mind, without (as far as he
It was easy to believe the sea had once covered this landscape. It was so
smooth, apart from brackeny gorges here and there. It looked about to roll. The
As the train steamed on, the sevlina with the crooked smile loped by with a
tray of late breakfast, which he ended up spilling everywhere, along with his
Brangathrel.
“I’m sure you got a spell for that.” He found himself glad to see her. She
gave the tight jumpsuit an envious once-over which made him feel the train
“You never been on this train before? Not recently? I’m the star
She sat next to him. She slumped in the seat and her patched teeth flashed.
“But I’m sick of the job. It’s my last day today.” she said. She pulled her
skirt tightly over her knee. “Do you need a travelling companion? I love your
He wished he had worn a skirt — he could have pulled it tightly over his
knee too. It was a way of expressing a common identity and sense of purpose,
he felt.
“Good. That’s it then. Oh, Stella … ” she called out to the person who’d
replaced her. “Cup of tea, please, and make it strong. None of this weak
perfumed rubbish. Give that to him.” She jabbed her thumb behind her. The
“Why don’t you stay on?” said the other woman, pouring it out and
At that point Lucian realised he didn’t even know her name yet.
“And— where was I? Just a sec., you’re trying to ask me something. Sorry?
What is it?”
your name.”
“I don’t even know yours. Maybe names don’t even matter as much as we
He faltered. She thought he was lying. His work was well-known, his face
not — that was his idea of ‘gentle’ fame. And while he craved fame, such
“I like art, believe it or not.” she said, a bit nervously. “I loved your night
landscapes in Maltida’s.”
“I’m Nelly Snell. The most famous traveller in all Illantyn.” she said, and he
Through the grimed glass of the window, he saw they’d reached a drab
village called Mautigall, or Middle o’ the Valley, and were surrounded by rice
paddies which spread alongside the Hazzen River. People weren’t working in
them at present, but a group had gathered by the edges, having a Meeting no
doubt. With a wheeee the engine stopped for water and he took the air, rather
apart from the others. Nelly had nelmagrams to send to friends in the city.
The sun skimmed across the sluggish green ripples and brought out the
evergreen oak (more typical of the Miol), and stared into the water.
17
“You’re a donzetta.” said Nelly, falling heavily beside him. “Of course you’re
sensitive. “
“Aren’t you an exhibitionist?” she asked, and roared with laughter. She
gave him a hug. She was an Illan ‘gypsy’, a wandering people who were treated
‘Of course! But Rion — she has other concerns. Political ones. I don’t know
‘Sounds great.”
“What?”
Nelly laughed.
“What?”
The enhancers supported the arts, of course, and Lucian hoped it was about
They walked around the village, looking into touristy shop windows and
buying nothing. They were peering through the lead-paned houselike windows
They stood inside a dark and dusty room chocabloc with stuffed toys. A
small double-chinned man leaned over the counter and smirked at them.
18
“Welcome to the Mautigall Co-op.” said he. “We sell everything here from
“I hope you don’t get the parts mixed up.” smiled Nelly.
Lechid came in behind them, but he ignored them and they him.
19
Nelly, he would find later, made love like a woman too. But for now they
When he next opened his eyes the scenery had changed; they were leaving
the downs and heading into very core of the Illan heartland. His apprehension
deepened. The Hazzen river ran beside them, lined with myrtles, alive with
sailboats and dinghies. People were diving in, some of them naked. A dart-
shaped jet whined overhead, the Carial flight to Hazzenton, he imagined. There
were fields beyond the river, dairy farms that shone as though dusted with
temple dome like a saucer and thought of Rindaling. That was where he’d been
born, where his family still lived, and where a recurring dream first told him he
would meet the Emporer for the final struggle. The old obsessive and ridiculous
premonition. He normally did something mundane to get rid of it. But at present
new companion.
“The country’s close as the air you breathe.” she said. He didn’t agree; it
window and, risking a cinder in his eye, looked out. He felt a sudden
exhilaration. The largest city of the Republic (with a population that fluctuated
around the 850 000 mark) spread west from the ‘meeting pool’ of the Hyne and
the Hazzen rivers, to the cold Sea of Ashes — which itself stretched to the hostile
Empire and beyond, into the green mist. Its ancient site upon a confluence
hidden substratum of it older still — that did not crumble. What he saw of
of sky.
“We say, ‘this is Hazzenton, where the small hand rules’.” She twirled on
the platform, not caring if anyone stared, and nobody did, or not
disapprovingly.
She dragged him down toward the square. He saw plenty of toyshops but
had no chance to duck in. Instead he dodged the traffic as she crossed. There
were only a few cars, but dozens of bicycles and tricycles and quadricycles and
mopeds and scooters and trishaws squealed by. And there, crossing the street
and dodging green trolley buses was the goddess Illana. She was about 18, with
red-black hair and a turned-up nose like most Illans, and eyes that were almond
and green. She was dressed in peasant purple. Her skin was an amber shade. If
she’d been wearing red lipstick she’d have looked like an ornamental traffic light.
They took a trolley-bus and soon were wandering near the water, assailed
by a stink of fish that inland-dwelling Lucian marvelled at. Some people stared at
him but he ignored them as usual. Nelly kept dragging him across to market
Rion, ancient and bejewelled, embraced him and embraced Nelly too, even
though they couldn’t have set eyes upon each other till then. She smelt of port.
21
“I’m getting fat.” interposed Nelly, patting her stomach where her skirt
“I’m sorry. I can’t keep it in any longer. We’ve both been having you on,
Lucian.”
The old woman spoke. “Nelly is one of us. An enhancer. We had to protect
you.”
“Possibly.”
“I couldn’t say anything out there.” apologised Nelly. “Too dangerous. The
Empire’s spies are not really everywhere — we’re no threat to them, except
morally — but the few that are here know an enhancer’s bangle when they see
one.”
“Feel no fear, Lucian.” she said in her brittle voice. “What we are about to
“Don’t fear me. I am old — older than I seem, indeed — but I am not
become an enhancer. But first you must look into yourself. It helps to be an
artist. And you are one of the best in the land. We have asked many other artists
the favour we are about to ask of you, and all have declined. You are our last
hope.”
“The Empire has sought to destroy us since the Revolution. That we all
know. Yet we have strengths they do not possess. Our social cohesion, our
government deal with all that nonsense. The fact is, though, that the Emporer
was originally an enhancer from this country. The only way he can break our
The great and dark Shaudgel pine forest had terrified Lucian as a child. He
“But how… ?”
23
way we can stop him, given our relative openness as a nation, our rustbucket
navy and the fact that we have thousands of kilometres of coastline. He has to
enter the forest in order to restore his enhancement skills. And if he does he will
“But that’s all ridiculous! That’s just a tale. And why should he wait so long
to come back here? We’ve been a thorn in his side — as you said — since the
Revolution.”
“Lucian, listen to me. It isn’t just a tale. The Emporer has for years misused
his enhancement power to destroy the freedom of his people. This misuse has
gradually sapped that power. By now, his only strength is political. The economy
has collapsed. And he is old and roundly hated and may soon be overthrown. So
leave that sort of drivel up to the Council. What we need is a person who can
confront Mevilionid in the act of renewing his energies. That is all. There will be
Lucian was about to tell her she was crazy when Nelly intervened.
carries a wand. He’s got to thrust that deep into the earth of Shaudgel forest in
“All you have to do is approach him in the forest, wearing the bangle. You
possess creativity. In that encounter, you must retain your sense of childlike
wonder. You must retain your compassion. He will attempt to take the bangle
off you. He can do it only by persuasion, for it protects you from physical
attack.”
“He has to be, or just about. Enhancement tools are normally designed to
work for their owner alone, and despite his dictum — when magic fails, force avails
— the real enemy of enhancement is greed or lust for power, a scourge he has
spread across the earth, reducing people to ciphers, downsizing all in the
Empire’s path. Were he too surround himself with his thugs or his Midlander
casuistry — to get around these inherent limitations for a time. But no more of
this chatter — please give us your reply. Do you agree to take on this task?”
“I — I don’t know.” he said in the end. His head was reeling — his
recurring dream was unbelievably coming true. And he felt angry with her for
putting him on the spot in this way. Yet something else — the desire for
Rion looked grave. “We are not sure. Possibly we can find someone else.
But there are not many people around whose creativity is developed as much as
“He was an Illan. But that is long ago.” She rounded on him. “So what is
your answer?”
Lucian jumped, but then he saw the smile playing at the corner of her lips.
“Y-yes.” he said.
26
5. A Demonstration of Enhancement
The exhibition was a success. But Lucian naturally wondered what he’d got
himself into. Here in her office above the Gallery, Rion had taken the bangle
from him briefly, and passed it over what appeared to be a large silver bell in the
middle of the desk. Both had glowed a dazzling green. Then she returned it to
“Why did you give me this, if I was in danger wearing it?” he suddenly
thought to ask.
“Nell exaggerates! There is little danger — yet. And if you had not wanted
not unaquainted with contention, either. For we are dealing with a power that is
of the earth, one we are far from fully understanding. But enhancement is also of
the mind — the fact that you wore it all the time — ah, so you did, even in the
shower, I’ll bet — ” he reddened “ — shows you are the right person, indeed the
only person, for the job. Once you accepted that, subconsciously if you like, you
had accepted the task before even knowing of it. You had accepted the mantle,
so to speak, of an enhancer. Nelly was just there to make absolutely sure you
“You can still change your mind.” Rion assured him. “At any time.
Enhancement can’t be forced, as I told you. But you will not.” she smiled.
27
He knew she spoke the truth. He wouldn’t miss this for the world.
Thoughts of the accolades he would receive were already teeming in his brain.
“That is significant. You’re Illana!” she said jokingly. Illana was the goddess
who returned in times of crisis, usually to be sacrificed. In the middle ages, they
had a great sacred bell in Hazzenton and an Illana — a local peasant girl who’d
been captured from a rival faction — was tied to the clapper of it.
He swallowed his glass of iced green tea languidly, crushing a bitter Isabella
“Well, Illanas were usually told of their status in recurring dreams.” said
“I know.”
“Well, then.”
“Nelly, we’re a modern people. We might live in the ‘Magic Republic’ but
The Sage of the medieval period whose gender was unknown, though
older, patriarchal historians used ‘he’. The Sage who swam with the dolphins and
“Yes, and they’re beginning to see that there’s more to the world than
brute matter.”
“Since we all come from the earth. Morality is not a human construction, it
is found in the very heart of matter. Human beings can pervert it but it is of the
earth.”
world.”
Such hopeless idealism was in contrast to the picture the Empire painted of
Illantyn — grim, poor and isolated, a victim of totalitarian ideology and poor
economics.
“They were even meant to. Funny that Rion doesn’t consider it
plagiarism.”
“She’s not a painter. She knew Naduyn, did you know that honey? They
lived together.”
“Really?” He still hadn’t got used to talking about such legendary figures as
for the old woman swept over him. He felt a bit teary for an instant. Then
“She knows what she likes! No, she is cultivated enough. But your art is
make it totally predictable or controllable, like we can more or less with a Nelma.
Every time you practice it it’s like painting a picture or writing a story. Different
every time.”
“See the salt cellar? Hold your hand over it — no, the hand with the bangle,
dimwit.”
“Now what?”
‘Imagine that the salt, spraying out of the cellar like a fountain.”
He did so; the bangle tingled his wrist, but nothing happened. He tried to
“No! I — ”
He swiftly saw what she meant. He visualised the salt spraying out of the
salt cellar like a beautiful, miniature white fountain. The bangle tingled again and
glowed a dull green. A grain or two escaped, so he thought. But they may have
“Keep going — just as when you paint. Visualise it, let your mind freely
Another fleck or two of white. No, they were not dust-motes, for the
afternoon sun was not shining on the table now. The bangle glowed brighter.
Isolated grains of salt began shooting up through the holes in the salt cellar
“Of course.”
30
The upward cascade grew denser. Soon the salt was flying out exactly like
water from a fountain, showering the tablecloth and causing nearby patrons to
stare.
one down at the Hazzen Theatre last week. Clever stuff, but all trickery.”
It was not, he knew, a form of trickery. He imagined the salt catching fire.
Lucian imagined him with the ears and nose of a pig. The flames went out
“We’re leaving.” Nelly assured the man. She paid the bill and they left.
“You see what happened. As soon as you thought something unkind, the
“In self-defence, yes. But their fire as we say ‘burns backwards’ — it’s better
used for building than tearing down. And for that you need to be observant.”
Lucian was certainly that. He’d notice the dent in a once-pierced, ringless
ear, the partial loss of three-dimensionality when one closed an eye (which Petra
the photographer hadn’t been able to detect), the obscure crack in soil where the
shoot would surface. Even Rindaling school taught him to love that world his
people were enhancing for their sisters and brothers and other shevelbrann (or
androgynous) siblings everywhere. Not only ‘nature’, which they nurtured well:
a simple, well-made factory bottle, or its mould, its idea, was a grail.
To see was to be part of, yet apart from, as shevel was to brann. Impossible,
for the purely verbal mind. Scribble, though, in that special state of calm
alertness, and it happened, like their remarkable unburning history since the fire
of revolution.
“So what’s next?” he said as they walked to his hotel. “Secret flight to
“Ah — maybe we should wait till we’re inside. Well,” she whispered, “we
He trembled a bit.
“But we must prepare. You’re not quite ready. It will take a while.”
“Don’t get too hopeful! No, he must prepare as well. Remember, he has
little to lose. There’s been mass-rioting in the Empire, even in the capital. It could
Fired by the thought, they rushed up the steps and into the lobby.
Over the next few weeks, Lucian learned the art of the bangle. Within the
first week, he was able to paint with it — the colours flying to the canvas and
forming themselves into whatever shape he imagined. The purpose of all this
was to hone his enhancement skills so he could use it for the far more difficult
task of combatting the Emporer’s terrible will. The confrontation was planned on
Tilishcanen Day, the day Mevilionid was rumoured to have acquired his powers.
was ruthlessly put down, but the newspapers, including those from Monda,
were saying it was the beginning of the end. And no one really knew what was
coming next.
As the day to leave approached — his sister had come down from the
convinced he could never go through with the mission. Rion Lingel had
couldn’t speak about, and Nelly alone would accompany him on the road north.
“It’s partly that I just don’t want to go back to the Midlands.” he told her. “I
hated it there. My family are ok, but they aren’t donzettas, not one is
shevelbrann.” The clans hated such people and blamed them and the ‘gypsies’ for
“I can’t say I blame you! I’m not fond of the place myself. But then I’m
“Ah. Well, I left when I was eight and moved here. But the snowdrop
meadows along the Leimeth river …” she sang “are in my blood. So to speak!”
“Maybe I should do the singing then.” He finished the line in his high voice,
“ … are most beautiful when the sun shines from the east. ”
They sat in her apartment on Carmon Street. She was now working part-
time in a ‘legume mutuality’ or collective bean-farm just outside the city, and
drawing what Illans called the ‘minimum’, a basic income which everyone
received if they were out of a fulltime job. Enhancers refused to take payment
“I still can’t believe I’m involved in all this.” he said. She touched his hand
“Honey, we’ve had our eye on you for quite a while. You’re better-known
“But — you’re not an artist, are you? What made you — how did you
become an enhancer?”
“Oh, well, that’s a fine question!” She rummaged behind the sofa and
produced a temen — a bowed lyre or crwth. She replayed the folk-song, and the
“The Emporer is rumoured to hate music.” she told him. “All art, but
especially music.”
Lucian, rather musical himself, sighed. “Will you help me confront him,
Nelly Snell?”
34
“That’s the idea. We’re not letting you go there alone — ” She broke off
Lucian was sitting opposite her, facing the apartment’s large clear window.
Nelly was facing the door. Her eyes were wide, almost popping, as though with
fear.
How the man had entered the locked apartment he could not guess. But he
was undeniably there, standing before them in all his black-coated, be-jowled
“Yes, my fine young donzetta. Which is it to be, the White Standard Club or
Nelly had a bangle of her own. A blue flame sizzled across the room and
knocked the gun from his grasp. Lucian had been too terrified to move; now he
ran for the door. But the awareness of his own cowardice pulled him up short.
Lechid was scrambling for the gun, and Lucian turned and raised his arm. A shaft
of green fire washed the weapon away like water from a hose. He pictured it as
very hot. The man grabbed for it again but screamed with pain as he burnt his
fingers on it.
both of you!” He lunged at Lucian and with one blow knocked him flying. Nelly
grabbed his throat but he threw her off, panting and red-faced. Lucian passed
into unconsciousness.
He awoke in a cellar of some kind. Nelly was not there — he knew this by
instinct. He felt like a cat left abandoned in a cage, the sick sense of
The cellar was dark, but he fumbled till he came to a trap-door. Through a
Nelly had told him that no one could remove it without his consent —
unless he was dead. He placed his wrist near the door. But he was shaking too
36
much to concentrate. Slowly, though, the image of the door bursting asunder
And sure enough, in time it flew open. But as he scrambled out, thanking
the Shevelina and all her daughters, he came face to face with Lechid.
“Don’t try your swiller tricks again, son. You’re in the Midlands and you
know what we think of your kind up here. You didn’t believe all that rot Rion
Lingel told you, do you? The old bag is senile. Lives in a dreamworld, reliving
he’d come here! In person! Besides, he’s got troubles of his own at the moment.
“Listen to me, boy. You don’t think we’d dare harm an enhancer, do you?
Whole country’d be up in arms, worse than the Empire. Your friend Nelly is in
the farmhouse. She’s quite safe. But we’ll be damned if we’ll let you participate in
a stunt whereby you ‘confront the Emporer’. That’s our government, the swiller
propaganda against the Empire. Even the Mondans are saying it. It’s got Sevlina
“What are you talking about?” Lucian demanded, somewhat relieved that
“They’re playing on her obsessions. Told her that he’s coming back. Talked
doubt it. And even if he was, he’s not returning to Illantyn, and certainly not
“But —”
“You’re on White Standard Club territory, son. Now I’m a Midlander, and I
don’t care much for what your sort represent. But I’m no murderer. I can’t say
the same for some of the other hotheads round here, and even if they can’t or
daren’t kill an enhancer, I can’t say the same for your family. So just go along
with me for a while. I’ll take you to the farmhouse. We’ll keep you here till
meekly to the farmhouse. Any attempt at escape seemed futile. It would be good
to see Nelly again; maybe they could work something between them.
Nelly was sitting in the corner, watched over by a big woman with a
pitchfork. Her bangle was still in place too. But she wasn’t using it; she was
depression.
She brightened when she saw him; she leapt up and embraced him, then
“He’s saying it’s all a hoax.” blurted out Lucian. “That Rion’s senile.”
“Delude yourselves as much as you like. You won’t get away from here in
a hurry.” He gestured toward a window; through it they could see the farm
“The whole area’s surrounded. You can’t fight them all off. Now, I suppose
They sat at the table eating kidneys with dumplings, a strange meal for one
brought up on rice and barley. The WSC made the eating of meat mandatory as
it was in the Empire. Fortunately for Lucian, he’d never sworn himself to
vegetarianism. Nelly ate slowly, used to rice and fish and no doubt feeling as
upset inside as he. Lechid grew quite genial as the woman served them with a
stony face.
Lechid turned on the radio. When the news came on, their disappearance
“Oh, she will, but not till after Tilishcanen Day. Two days away. By then
the, er, psychological moment will have been lost and the whole shabby swiller
plot exposed.”
“ — I don’t give two pins for those black bastards. I mean, it’d be different
if they were Illans. But I do care that swillery is removed from this country, and
kept out of the Midlands forever. We’re a proud, independent people, and we
don’t care for high taxes and collectivism. If this hoax is perpetrated the
government’ll use it as an excuse for invading our province and imposing direct
rule.”
The only reason it hadn’t already, as all Illans knew, was the danger of civil
war. The last one, before the revolution, had almost destroyed the country.
“I don’t believe that.” said Lucian firmly. The meal had perked him up quite
a bit.
39
“Shut up and drink your tea.” said the woman, who didn’t appear to be
joining them. “I’ve got better things to do than be waiting hand and foot on a
She did a double-take. “Yes I have. How did you know that?”
She became enraged with such rapidity that he was struck dumb.
“You people make me sick! The sooner you’re out of our territory the
“Oh, now you’ve gone and annoyed Mrs Flexen. That wasn’t wise. You
won’t get any more home-cooked meals. You’ll have to put up with my cooking,
and I learnt in the Army. We used to say that my rabbit stew was too bad to feed
“Honey, we’ll do our own cooking.” said Nelly, and her bangle glowed.
The phone rang. Lechid answered it. He spoke for a while in a soft
“What?”
“Auntie Rion. She rang the WSC and was put through. Go on — you can
say whatever you like. You don’t know where you are. And I’m not so stupid as
to respond to provocation.”
“Are you both all right?” said the frightened, brittle voice at the other end.
He’s due tomorrow, just before Tilishcanen Day. Any later than than Tilishcanen
Day and his chance of renewing his power is gone forever. That’s what I’ve been
“He’s right, they won’t kill an enhancer. So I think you’re safe.” she said.
“N-no.”
“Good. Now, I’m sure they’re listening into this, but believe me what I say
is true. Don’t forget that for an instant. Now please put Nelly on — ”
“That’s quite enough to satisfy them that you’re ok.” said Lechid, thumb on
the phone-hook.
Nelly was fast when she wanted to be. She shot a bolt of blue fire into the
man’s face. It did not burn but dazzled him, rendering him temporarily blind.
Lucian copied her. They were able to get out of the farmhouse and across to the
A fusillade of shots whiplashed around them and the dived into the barn.
They realised then that the greencoats were drunk or stoned, or both.
something.
41
“Not much.” gasped Nelly. “The bangles will keep them back for a time.
“Blue and green should not be seen.” said Lucian, amazed he could joke in
such circumstances.
The roof had taken fire. They crawled to the other and of the barn and
snashed a hole in the thin wooden wall with an axe they found hanging from a
nail. Then they were running, running, the roars of the WSC-men in their ears
and nothing ahead of them but Shaudgel Forest itself. Into it they disappeared as
the less-intoxicated soldiers jumped onto their motorbikes and pursued them
while firing from the hip. At the edge of the forest the soldiers stopped; they
“Better tell Lechie.” said one of them, a Corporal called Carn Merkin.
“They’ll never get out of there alive.” He spun his motorcycle and sped back to
8. Shaudgel
It was so dark in Shaudgel Forest that they could not see each other’s faces
They wandered on, squeezing between the rough, sticky bark of the tall,
spindly pine trees, looking up to see only faint glimmers of sun. They were lost,
of course, but it seemed sensible to get as far away as possible from the
farmhouse.
It was then Nelly got the idea of lighting their way with her bangle.
“Now that’s a good idea.” agreed Lucian, doing the same himself.
They could see only a few trees in, which ever way they turned. Too afraid
to climb up to reconnoitre lest they be seen, they moved slowly into the forest,
not knowing that they were heading for the very centre, some hundred
kilometres distant.
“We could have a lovely romantic interlude here,” said Lucian, “if we
“I’m in no mood for romance.” said Nelly, her sandals in shreds. Lucian
“Nor me. You know, I think we’ve got everything wrong. I think Lechid
“Why?”
43
“What Lechid said about Mevilionid not coming makes sense, but not the
bit about the government making civil war on the strength of the rumour that
he’s here. No one would believe it, no one would dare start a war.”
“Rion is wrong too — he wouldn’t dare come here while his regime is
“So — ”
“Not so. Remember that silver bell in Rion’s office. It’s used to sensitise the
bangles and make them specific to the wearer. It can be used to desensitise them
“So she could restore its power. Then she resensitises it for his use. And
“She’s a traitor ?”
“She was in love with Tidiring Naduyn all those years ago. He was
murdered, some say, by Mevilionid himself. But she knew the Emporer pretty
well too. Maybe he has some hold over her. Maybe — maybe she’s even in love
“Maybe she really has gone over the waterfall. But this is all speculation.”
“If there’s an enhancer within range, maybe, the emanation might find
Lucian sent the green shaft through the trees. It bounced from one to
another like a stream of water under high pressure, with a vague hissing sound
accompanying each impact. But they saw no sympathy interference in the shaft.
As they trudged on the both kept trying. Winter was coming on and a few
flakes of light snow floated down between the trees. What they could feel of
wind in the forest was chilly, and their resolve was flagging.
the two, grubby and footsore, woke the next morning (as they supposed) and
little knowing what else to do struggled on. It was about and hour into their
It was quite a large clearing, one that looked hand-made. To cut the pines
He heard the sound of a helicopter and automatically charged back into the
Swivelling round, he peered back out again. The helicopter, black as the
carapace of a female red-back, was landing in the middle of the clearing. Nelly
was standing before it, waving. We’re rescued!, he thought at first, though still
marvelling that the Illan government would dare to commit such an act of
outrage. The Midlanders would raise hell. But then the latter would also conduct
any search and rescue operation. He decided not to break out from the trees just
45
yet. As the helicopter landed the door swung open and out stepped a young
This was clearly the Emporer’s flight, and she was prepared to battle with him
singlehanded. Now, in fact, he did come out of the trees, bangle raised, ready to
confront the Emporer and his entourage, ready to fulfil his bargain.
At once he felt acutely conspicuous, aware that he was the target for the
two security guards who had leapt out, not in uniform but bearing automatic
weapons. When magic fails, force avails. His first reaction was to dash back to
the trees but recalling how he’d nearly run out on Nelly before and how much
he loathed his old, antisocial self he stood his ground, calves and shoulders
shaking uncontrollably.
Then a most horrible event occurred. From the still-open door of the
helicopter emerged a long, emaciated leg, clad in purple tights that were
wrinkled and covered in fluff. Then another leg, similarly garbed (save that the
hose were a shade lighter). Then a thin, shaking hand, and finally a torso, head
and shoulders, each one shuddering more violently than the other. It was the
To his horror, Nelly Snell, his dear companion, fell down upon one knee
He raised the bangle once more. The guards, knowing perhaps that it was
futile to fire at him now, since the green light had bathed the clearing, stared
direction, and to his consternation gave a hideous, sweet and wrinkled smile.
Then he himself fell to the ground, and drew from his robes the Wand of Power.
46
“No!” Lucian found himself yelling, and the sounded rebounded from tree
to tree to tree.
The bangle still bathed the Emporer in green light, but that seemed to
bother him not a jot. He even looked up and smiled again, as if he were doing no
more than turning a first ceremonial sod with a gold spade or planting a tree for
the birth of a new project. Lucian was terribly confused. How was he to
‘confront’ this man? He remembered how Rion had described him as ‘pompous,
number-crunching economist’, and how even that statement had diminished him
from his mythical status as the world’s most evil, indeed only, dictator. Lucian
came in peace, holding the lighted bangled aloft as if it were an olive branch. The
guards still made no move. He came up behind Nelly, who was still bizarrely
“Nelly Snell.”
in his garden and about to plant a tomato seedling. He was digging resourcefully
in the exposed soil, which Lucian now noticed had been wetted and cleared of
Lucian quailed. He went to raise his bangle, but then that appeared gauche.
The guards stared, but did nothing. Maybe a physical confrontation really were
pointless.
didn’t know how to address an emporer, which should not have been a problem
for a ‘swiller’ or socialist. “I am Lucian Rai Nin, and I am here to prevent you
continuing your reign of evil. Go to your homeland, and live out the life that has
47
been granted you by the enhancing power of the earth.” The words of the
dream.
Mevilionid smiled again, but then he spoke, in a cracked voice a little like
Rion’s.
“Water?”
“I have the wand,” said Mevilionid, “that will make my country free. My
wand is called Illana. But — give me the bangle, donzetta. You cannot help my
people. I know what our newspapers and television say, that Illantyn is from
hell. But my people are starving. I do not want that. Give me the bangle.”
“You do not understand the situation. I have been a bad ruler, I grant, but
the forces of opposition include parties which are totally evil — there is one in
particular which seeks my imperium. It too craves to misuse the life force, the
force that is inherent in all matter, but in ways that in no way gurantee cohesion
course. If that happens a disastrous war of all against all may take place, killing
millions, and affecting Illantyn itself — indeed, the world — in who knows what
way. For that I need this power. No Illan enhancer is in a position to help me.”
Lucian was very confused. Instead of appealing to his sympathy, let alone
his compassion, the man was appealing to his logic. He wished that Rion was
there.
48
But why was Nelly — clearly the traitor all along — so inert? He tapped her
on the shoulder but she did not stir. Meanwhile Mevilionid continued to stab at
the ground with the wand, as if waiting for some cataclysmic event to occur.
Then Nelly did stir, though she did not turn to look at him.
“Lucian Rai Nin, you have been witness to the most extraordinary event in
history. The Emporer has renewed his wand.” And Lucian saw that it glowed a
glossy black, the colour of frozen crude oil. it was too late.
You can still change your mind. Enhancement can’t be forced, as I told you. But
He felt the burn of the single bullet in his ankle, a bullet only slowed by the
bangle. But the guards were cautious and did not fire again. Then Nelly Snell
raised her own bangle and the forest echoed into silence.
Lucian was swatting at his ankle, gingerly, as if it was on fire. He had not
succeeded in touching His Majesty, that frail and faintly ludicrous figure who
The young man in the brown uniform, clearly distressed, took a step
toward him.
wand? There was only one way to tell. Flinching at the pain in his ankle, he
raised his arm again and the Emporer was bathed in green. The security guards
The wand began to coruscate, waves of brown light rushing to meet and
struggle with the green. The Emporer’s son placed himself between Lucian and
Lucian relented. He dropped his arm and his unburning fire went out. At
that, Nelly slumped forward. The brown aura enveloped him and he felt at once
a numbing sickness, a chill worse than he had felt in the cellar. The Emporer was
peering over his son’s shoulder and grinning like one possessed.
that he had experienced before, when many years ago, as a child in fact, he had
dying, and this felt almost pleasant. He was falling into a void, and the world
seemed to be flickering on and off, and ever more rapidly. Childish notions of an
afterlife passed through him. Or were they childish? He gave into the sensation,
“The Emporer is dead.” she said. “His wand — well, it sort of exploded.
The Emporer was there. I don’t know … what Rion calls ‘reducing’ or
‘downsizing’. It puts you in a sort of hypnotic stupor. They tried it on you too
“So — he’s dead!” he went, as his strength flowed back to him. “Thank
Illana! Thank ourselves!” He struggled up; his ankle, though only grazed, ached
“We won!” he yelled, when he could manage it. The old forest echoed. He
“We won! We won!” they both chanted, Nelly wishing she had her temen
upon her. “We won! We won!” they sang, laughing and pointing to the mangled
corpse of the former Emporer, now rotting back into Illan soil. “We won! We
won!”
Then they stopped, and were awed, as they noticed now a figure kneeling
beside the body, head bent, peaked cap removed, and brown uniform
unbuttoned. It was the young man Aangla, the Emporer’s son, softly weeping.
51
9. A Journey Backward
The grizzled enhancer Rion Lingel sat solemn and tightlipped as the
Emporer’s coffin was lowered into the grave. Lucian, another successful art
exhibition behind him, sat beside her; Nelly sat on her other side. Brown bunting
bedecked Tiernelva Square. Lucian thought of painting this funeral too, but then
speech. The revolution in the Empire, she said, the revolution that had broken
out on news of the Emporer’s death, had been crushed. The Emporer’s son had
elected to stay in the country of his father’s birth. A new Emporer, much
younger and more rapacious than the former, had siezed power: his name was
Carn Merkin. The people of the Empire were presently too depleted to resist.
once he got Illantyn in his grasp. But it is true, our understanding is limited. We
Lucian was a hero for a time. But his fame was no longer gentle. Indeed, to
escape it he became even more isolated and brooding than before. Nelly tried to
drag him out of it but finally gave up and took to travelling once again.
Three months later, Rion Lingel suffered a stroke, slipped into a coma and
died herself.
52
drew less and less. His powers of observation declined and his career faded.
Enhancement was something he now cared nothing for; even though Nelly
informed him that the Emporer died because he had taken control of her mind,
and that that outrage above all was the cause of the deadly disintegration of his
wand, the young artist felt like a murderer, something even Lechid had not
been.
Slowly the years passed by, as Lucian was consumed by guilt. He had lost
track of Nelly though it was rumoured she now had assumed Rion’s position.
In the dustless oval of the slanting mirror, a fold of sheet moved. Webs in
the window gleamed. A face, still girlish but not so young, turned into the grimy
pillow.
A quill of sun in the corner of the room tickled Lucian’s lashes. He opened
an eyelid.
The far side of the bed was empty. He rolled toward his slanting image, brushing
together hairy calves. The unwashed linen sheets were cold too, where he hadn’t
been lying.
and opened the first tiravit of the day. It was famous too, but not so gentle.
And then he thought again of Nelly Snell, of the train ride to Hazzenton, of
the city by the grey rolling waters of the Sea of Ashes. And of the myrtles along
53
the confluence of the rivers, and the handbuilt mound floating above Tiernelva
And he slipped the bangle onto his wrist, and he watched, and he
wondered.
The End