Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

Although she had resolved to be courteous, Virginia did not evade the issue.

“Your offspring is draining energy from Markon’s realm.”

“It is?”

Efficiently, as if giving a report to the VSD, Virginia outlined what she had discovered in her tour of the site. She ended by noting that Markon had not been quite as communicative as of late. The genius loci’s response to Mercury’s threat had been proof enough that he was still quite able to interact with others—as long as that interaction was nonverbal. It was best that Earthma not know the level of his impediment.

When Virginia finished her summary, Earthma sighed.

“Surely you did not believe that sheltering one who is intended to become the Lord of Entropy could be done without some side effects?”

“Why were we not warned?”

“I didn’t want to get into an argument. Besides, Markon knew he had no choice.”

“Still, he might have chosen destruction rather than submitting to this vampiric debilitation.”

Earthma studied Virginia. “Celerity is right. You are impudent.”

“I prefer to think of myself as realistic.”

“Is that a pun? Realistic—Veritean? Very well, give me a realistic reason why I should change anything.”

Virginia had already considered this. “You told Markon you would respect and promote his neutrality…”

“For my convenience.”

“Yes, but if he becomes markedly weak, then another genius loci may notice and comment. This could lead either to an attack—which would endanger your offspring—or to gossip. Your desire to have your offspring kept secret was one of your reasons for hiding it here.”

“I remember. Still, who would know to gossip?”

“Mercury knows that you would respond to a prayer from me. There are others who can hypothesize based on data such as the attack of Sayjak’s clan and your retreat—a retreat that would no longer make sense if Markon becomes weak.”

Earthma’s expression became thoughtful as she considered Virginia, her earlier annoyance touched with respect.

“Yes, you have a good point or two, there. Perhaps Markon does need his full capacities if he is to serve me. I will restructure my infant’s power demand. The side effects on Markon will be reduced.”

“Thank you.”

Earthma reached out and made motions in the air around the sarcophagus. The light around it shifted from shades of red, went around the spectrum once, then repeated the cycle until it stopped at green. Earthma made further adjustments until the forcefield turned the pale shade of new grass, darkened to lime, into leaf, then into the deep green-black of old pine needles.

When her adjustments were completed, the goddess reached out and touched Virginia beneath the chin, tilting back the Veritean’s head and looking into her eyes.

“You could become dangerous, Virginia Tallent. I will be watching you. Perhaps Markon should send you back to the Verite.”

“We will discuss it,” Virginia promised.

Earthma laughed and let Virginia’s head drop. “I expect that you will and I expect I already know the end result of that discussion!”

“It is the privilege of deities to be omniscient,” Virginia responded with a bow.

“It is,” Earthma said, “and don’t you forget it.”

Death’s garden was possessed of bowers of dead flowers, streams that ran with boiling blood, and fountains of fire. Many of the flowers still showed traces of once brilliant yellow in the creases of their faded petals, others evidently had been roses. Their scent was the scrapings from the bottoms of old perfume bottles when the rare oils have evaporated away.

Jay was offered a chair—the rest of his party had to fend for themselves. Mizar did this by flinging himself at Jay’s feet, midway between his old master and his new. Tranto stood behind Jay’s chair, one pace to the side. Still less than certain about how long Death’s cordiality would be maintained, Dubhe perched on the relative safety of the phant’s broad head.

The Lord of Deep Fields himself was enthroned on a high-backed seat of aged rattan, a complex bit of basket-making that had been the throne of the ruler of a Polynesian island site until she had the lack of insight to believe that her piraguas and canoes could successfully challenge the British sailing vessels brought in by a neighboring site. Her monarchy had ended in a shower of cannon shot and the wicker throne in a burst of flame that consumed its occupant along with it.

Phecda coiled around his arm. Servitors made of scrap metal brought palm wine and oddly assorted dainties. To be polite, Jay accepted a goblet of the wine. Death touched nothing, whether out of design or lack of inclination could not be known.

“And so, Jay Donnerjack, are you prepared to listen to a tale?”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Very well. I so wish.”

Death did not move, but (perhaps from the stirring of the air within the courtyard) there was a feeling that he had sighed.

“Long before you were born, Jay Donnerjack, even before your father came to Virtu to perform research and remained to court the woman who would become your mother, a man named Warren Bansa announced that he would perform a magic trick to rival all other such tricks.

“Now Warren Bansa… but wait, perhaps you could tell me what you know of Warren Bansa, Jay Donnerjack. Let me have some demonstration of the education which you received in your father’s house.”

As much as he disliked the implied slight to Dack and to his father, Jay complied without so much as an edge to the tone of his voice.

“Warren Bansa was a Veritean—a computer specialist like my father, but less concerned with the programming of material. In many ways he fell between my father, who was interested in how things work, and Reese Jordan, who was interested in the ‘whys’ of perception and the structure of the human mind. Most agree that Warren Bansa was the person who unintentionally initiated the system crash that resulted in the creation of Virtu.”

Death interrupted. “That last is correct, as far as it goes—although ‘creation’ is typical human arrogance. ‘Access’ might be a more correct term. But, continue, Jay.”

“Reese said that Bansa’s hobby was magic—stage magic—tricks with mirrors, sleight of hand, misdirection, and escape. He was less appreciated in his day than Harry Houdini had been in his own era, but Reese was of the opinion that this was no reflection on Bansa’s talent. Rather, the modern age had become so jaded from tricks of virtual reality (even in its comparatively primitive pre-Virtu state), mass communication, and the like that it had lost its taste for—and ability to believe in—miracles.”

With a noise like a mirror cracking, Death laughed.

“Remember that last—about the question of belief, Jay. It touches on something that I wish to discuss later. Now, finish what you know of Bansa.”

“As you said, sir, he announced a great magic trick, jumped from a plane in Verite wrapped in ropes and chains as if he was going to perform an elaborate escape. As far as anyone knows, he never reached the ground. He simply vanished. They searched for his body, rewards were offered, but Warren Bansa had vanished. People still argue whether this vanishing was his greatest trick, or whether he intended something else. As far as I have been able to learn, no one knows.”

Jay raised his goblet of palm wine and took a tiny sip to signal that he had completed his narration. Inwardly, he was pleased with himself. Death, however, said nothing by way of praise. His response, indeed, was condemnatory.

“Had your father permitted you to be educated here as I had intended, you would know the answer to the riddle of Warren Bansa. It is integral to my purpose for you. No matter. Do you know anything of the Great Flux and the gods on Meru?”