Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“He will have visions,” somebody said.

“Of that I have no doubt. The chemistry is complex enough,” said someone with an accent he did not know. He looked around as the fire hit his neck and branded the side of his face. The Wife of Ovens stood there in her robes and ceremonial apron. Next to her stood a creature with black skin, white hair, and blue eyes, and the strangest clothing. As he fell, Beck thought that the visions had already begun. On Earth sheep eat grass and gurnards are the most unassuming of fish. In Nuremar, the day before a Baptiser’s arrival at the church, a family was massacred by sheep, and in a hundred churches people prostrated themselves before pots of dirty water. Erlin considered these facts, recorded them, and made no comment. In a church of the Fish it was best to make no comments about anything — to remain the detached observer. When first she was shown to her room she thanked her escort and smiled, ignoring the threat of the empty drowning jar in the corner. She was here to observe and to study, not to judge.

“So anyone could be chosen to be a Baptiser?” she asked.

The Wife of Ovens, in her voluminous robes draped with a thousand amulets, and her thick hide ceremonial apron, nodded sagely and smiled her satisfaction. Erlin thought she looked precisely like a female Buddha; hugely fat, bald, and smug.

“Yes child, even you could be chosen.”

Erlin turned away for a moment in an attempt to keep her expression serious. Here, the Wife was very old — seventy years solstan. Erlin, being a member of the human Polity and a citizen of Earth, had access to technology of a civilization that now spanned one tenth of the galaxy. She was two hundred and thirty years old and was determined to live forever, barring accidents.

“Yet it would seem,” she said, “that no Northerners or island people are chosen.” The Wife showed a touch of annoyance. “That is so, but they could be chosen at any time.” Erlin nodded, her expression showing nothing but gratitude at having things so clearly explained to her. Of course she could have pushed it. She could have mentioned that in the entire history of this church no-one had been chosen who had not spent some time living in this building, eating the food, drinking the water. The same rule applied to every church of the Fish. Erlin irradiated her food and drink before ingesting it. She had no wish to get religion.

“So, please tell me again what now happens with this Sirus Beck.”

“Sirus Beck will carry out the task charged to him by our Lord. He will carry the Holy Fish to the mountains of the Waters of Change. There he will baptise the Fish in each spring as in the birth. The Fish, meanwhile, will be reborn here in the new year, two days before the drinking of the Eucharist.”

“Does anyone travel with him to the Waters of Change?”

“No, this is not allowed.”

“What about the sheep?”

“The sheep will not attack a Baptiser.”

There, thought Erlin, another dead giveaway. I’ll have to get a sample of that new year’s Eucharist. Loaded, sure to be. No coincidence either that the springs called the Waters of Change feed into every damned river on this continent. Erlin wondered how the Clergy got past the fact that each of the hundred or so churches had its own fish and its own new year.

Sirus Beck saw the grey shapes of Gurnards in deep pools and in rivers and streams blunt-nosed against the current. He felt their power — the power of God in them, and he hated it, hated that he could not resist it. He saw sheep upon the hill feeding on bloody human flesh and the box moon opened and spilt writhing worms across the land. He saw his world and every part of it he saw was loaded with deep significance. The tangled branches of heather trees spelled out the glyphs of a secret language. A sugar dog defecating behind a rock was a sign from God, its every pant a holistic representation of the turning of the world. There was glory and there was terror. Beck, in some deeply buried and logical part of himself, thought it all too ridiculous. If this was holiness he wanted none of it. If there was a God then he should mind his own business. The resentment of that thought gave him pain, and the pain woke him. This is the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in, thought Beck. The mattress was soft. He was between clean sheets and heavy scented blankets were layered above him. He was warm and dry and he did not want to move, until something prodded him to move and he felt a stinging in his fingers. This is how it will be, he realised. For the rest of his life this prodding would move him on as soon as he got comfortable. Like every Baptiser before him he would die an old man trying to get to that one last spring. It was one of the inconsistencies that had destroyed his faith — that the Gurnard was reborn even before it died.

“You are awake,” said the Wife of Ovens.

Beck opened his eyes and gazed at the bulky shape standing at the foot of his bed. She smiled at him beatifically. He wanted to strangle her, but even a Baptiser would not get away with that. He glanced to one side of her, at the slim dark-skinned woman he had seen earlier. What was she? Some freak from the islands brought to entertain the Wife? Her clothes, he noted, were very clean and looked expensive. In fact he did not recognise the grey and orange material of her coverall. He sat up.

“Yes, I’m awake, and soon I have to be moving.”

“Of course. That is how it must be,” said the Wife.

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

The Wife gestured with one pudgy beringed hand. “This, Baptiser, is Erlin Tazer Three Indomial.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“It is the kind of name they give people from Earth.”

“Funny.”

“I must prepare the way for you. Dress yourself, Baptiser, then come at once to the tank room. The Gurnard awaits.”

The Wife swept out of the room, gesturing for the purported Earther to go with her. To Beck it looked as if Erlin wanted to say or do something else, but she went with the Wife. That was always the safest move. Beck got out of bed and washed himself with the water and soap provided, before inspecting the well-made travelling clothes that had also been provided. It would not do for a Baptiser to be seen in the clothes of a common tramp. Beck was glad to see that his belongings, other than his clothes, had not been discarded. He still retained his pack and his gun. Opening the weapon to check it over, he saw that all three shells were in place in their chambers. He would be safe from sheep yet. As he dressed there came a sharp knock at the door and the woman, Erlin, quickly stepped into the room. She had some strange instrument in her hand. Holding a pair of sheep-hide trousers before his genitals he glared at her.

“I’m a doctor,” she said quickly. “I need a blood sample.” Beck eyed the instrument.

“Then give one yourself,” he said.

“Please, it’s very important.”

“Yeah, you’re right, my blood is.”

She stepped toward him and he quickly stepped back.

“I bet the Wife of Ovens doesn’t know you’re here,” he said, and it was a threat. Erlin frowned at him then pocketed the instrument she had been holding. Beck peered with curiosity at the pocket she had put it in, at the cloth, the way it sealed, at the rest of her coverall. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. So was she.

“Are you really from Earth?”

“Yes.”

“Turn around.”

She looked askance at him. He nodded down at the trousers he was holding.

“I am a doctor you know.”

“That gives you no rights to my body, now turn around or get out.” Erlin turned and Beck finished dressing himself.

“Now why should you want a blood sample?” he asked.