Peter Hamilton - The Evolutionary Void

A young Novice was waiting at the top of the stairs, her blue and white robe immaculate. She bowed her head slightly. “Waterwalker.”

“How is he?”

“A better day, I think. The pain is not so great this morning. He is lucid.”

“He’s taking the potions, then?”

She smiled in regret “When he wants to or when the pain becomes too much.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course.”

Finitan’s room had long slim windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The walls and ceiling were white, and the floor was a polished red-brown flecked with emerald in the shape of minute leaves, as if they’d been fossilized in the city substance. It was furnished equally simply, with a desk and several deep chairs. The bed was large, half-recessed in a semicircular alcove. Finitan was sitting up in the center of it, his back resting on a pile of firm pillows.

“I’ll be outside,” the Novice said quietly, and closed the heavy carved door.

Edeard walked over to the bed, and his third hand lifted one of the chairs over. He sat down and studied his old friend. Finitan was quite thin now; the disease seemed to be consuming him from within. Even so, up until a few months ago he had weathered it well; now he was visibly frail. Blue veins stood proudly from pale skin, and what was left of his fine hair was a faded gray.

Edeard’s farsight examined the body, exposing the malignant growths around his lungs and thorax.

“Don’t be so bloody nosy,” Finitan wheezed.

“Sorry. I just …”

“Want to see if it’s retreating, if I’m getting better?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Finitan managed a weak smile. “Not a chance. The Lady is calling. To be honest, I’m always quite surprised these days when I still find myself waking up of a morning.”

“Don’t say that.”

“For the Lady’s sake, Edeard, accept I am dying. I did quite some time ago. Or are you going to start making politician’s talk about how I’ll be up and about soon? Cheer my spirits up?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Thank the Lady. Those bloody Novices do. They think it helps, while what it really does is get me depressed. Can you imagine that? I’ve got a gaggle of twenty-year-old girls fussing over me, and all I want is for them to shut up and get out. What kind of an ending is that for a man?”

“Dignified?”

“Sod dignity. I know how I’d rather go. Wouldn’t that be something, eh? Scandalizing everyone at the finish.”

Edeard grinned, though he felt like crying. “That would indeed be something. Perhaps the doctor knows of some concoction that would give you a final burst of strength.”

“That’s better. Thank you for coming. I appreciate it. Especially now, when you should be out campaigning. How’s it going, by the way?”

“Well, Trahaval’s a certainty. I’m not sure about me; in private, my campaign people tell me there’s only a couple of percent in it. Yrance might be returned as Chief Constable.” He bit back on his irritation.

Finitan smiled broadly and rested his head back on the mound of pillows. “And that annoys you, doesn’t it? That’s the wonderful thing about you, Edeard; after all this time the one thing you of all people cannot do is shield your emotions properly. It’s amazing that that’s the only psychic ability you lack. So I can tell how it irks you that you, the Waterwalker, should have to struggle for votes after all you’ve done for the city.”

“It’s true. I didn’t expect quite such a struggle, yes.”

“Ha. You’re just angry because people have forgotten. Only forty years since the banishment, and you get taught in history class. That’s what you are to a whole generation, a boring afternoon stuck in school when they could be outside having fun.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Always does good to knock politicians down a peg or two.”

“I’m not a poli-”

Finitan chuckled, which turned to an alarming cough.

Edeard leaned forward in concern. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m dying.”

“There’s a difference between facing up to your fate and just being plain morbid.”

Finitan waved him silent. A glass of water drifted through the air and finished by his lips. He took a sip. “Wonderful; my psychic powers remain intact. How ironic is that?”

“It’s not your brain that’s affected.”

“I hate the brew they give me to numb the pain. It tastes vile, and then I spend the day dozing. I don’t want to spend the day dozing, Edeard.”

“I know.”

“What’s the point in that? My soul will soon soar free. Why spend the time bedbound and humbled? I hate this existence. Lady forgive me, I want it to end.”

Edeard could feel his cheeks flush and knew Finitan would be scrutinizing his thoughts with expert ability.

“Ah,” the old man said in satisfaction, and closed his eyes. “So what truly brings you here?”

“A Skylord is coming.”

“Dear Lady!” Finitan twisted around abruptly and winced at the spike of pain the motion caused. “How do you know?”

“The city revealed it to me. Then last night I spoke to it.” He smiled warmly and gripped Finitan’s cold hand in his own. “It comes to see if any of us have reached fulfillment. It comes to guide our souls to the Heart.”

“Fulfillment?” There were tears spilling from Finitan’s eyes. “Do I look fulfilled? The Lady damn its arrogance. By what right does it judge us?”

“Finitan, dearest friend, you are fulfilled. Look at the life you have lived, look at what you have accomplished. I’m asking you, I’m begging; go to a tower in Eyrie. Accept its guidance to Odin’s Sea. Show Makkathran, show the world, that we have become worthy again. Let people have that ultimate hope once more. Show them your way is the right way.”

“A Skylord will never take my sorry soul anywhere other than Honious.”

“Stop that; it will. Trust me one last time. You read my emotions, but I can see your soul, and it is glorious.”

“Edeard …”

“If you go, if you are worthy of guidance, other Skylords will know; they will come to Querencia again. Our lives will be complete. Everything you and I have achieved together, all that it cost, all that pain we endured to wrest the city from the grip of darkness and decay, will have been worthwhile.”

For a long while Finitan said nothing. Finally, he sighed. “Honious take me, I’m dying anyway. Why not?”

“Thank you.” Edeard leaned over the bed and kissed the old man’s brow.

The decision seemed to have cheered Finitan up. He pulled his pale lips into a rueful pout. “Well, at least the election’s over. What does it feel like to be Chief Constable?”

“How do you see that? Have you got a timesense you’ve been hiding all these years?”

“You’re going to be the Waterwalker again. You’re going to be the one who calls the Skylord to Querencia. Then in front of the whole city you’ll hoist me up to the top of the tower so I can be guided to the Heart. You, Edeard. Just you. Who’s not going to vote for a savior like that?”

– -

Edeard announced the Skylord’s arrival that afternoon as he was making a campaign speech to Eggshaper Guild apprentices in Ysidro. There was silence in the hall at first, as if his words hadn’t quite made sense. Then came a swell of surprise and incredulity. Longtalk calls shot out to friends and family. Dozens of hands were raised, and questions shouted.

“It’s very simple,” the Waterwalker said. “The Skylords are flying to Querencia again. The first will be here in just over a week. It will guide Finitan through Odin’s Sea to the Heart.”

“How do you know?” several apprentices barked out simultaneously.