Mike Ashley: The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF

There were two shapes in front of his house. The smaller bounded towards him uttering squeals of delight. He clambered down, carrying a basket of the new ringlass, then he dismissed the dromedary with a slap on the rump. She loped off, grunting. Jade was upon him, springing onto her hind legs, trying to lick his face. The second, larger adapt hesitated, as if making to run away, but remained. Kuri heard a faint growl. The creature’s tail was held high, bristling and defiant. It called to Jade, a plaintive mew. She looked back and answered, then darted away, stopping and looking back at Kuri.

“It’s good, Jade,” he said. “It’s Brown Boy, isn’t it? Go with him.” But Jade, after touching noses with the other adapt, ran back to Kuri. Brown Boy trotted off into the shadow of the reed beds, from where he continued to call at intervals.

She had caught more fish for him but, when he had cleaned them, he found himself unable to eat. Jade, as usual, devoured the entrails but she was clearly worried, running up to him, saying, “Kuri eat. Kuri eat.” When they went to bed she nuzzled against him, but he said, “I can’t make love to you any more, Jade. I’m too old, too tired.” He stroked her belly.

He heard the other adapt calling from the reed beds. “Go with Brown Boy. He will give you cubs,” he whispered.

But she would not.

Kuri continued his reconstruction of the east window. He removed the centre of the solar shape, now a corona of pale golds and oranges, then fitted the inner circle with tiny beads of plain ringlass, something he had never used before on any of the windows. As he tuned this new work with his krar his absorption deepened. He did not stop to eat — had no desire for food. Instead he drank -water, juice, more water. Even Jade’s plaintive cries failed to distract him.

By night the comet grew until its light was bright as moonlight.

Kuri completed his work on the third day. The new ringlass chimed in tune with the krar; the outer rings of coloured glass resonated in harmony. He was satisfied.

At sunset he found himself unable to stand. He crawled through the tunnel, then knelt on the sand facing the lake, waiting for the night. For the last time he watched the sun plunge towards the water and stain it red as blood. He heard the farewell song of the west window. Jade crept up and crouched beside him, whimpering. He patted her head.

Darkness fell.

Then there was a new vibration, faint at first but soon emerging high and clear, like the resonance of a glass harp. A light rose behind Kuri but he did not look back but gazed transfixed at his creation.

The light struck the East Window. He saw the comet, brilliant as a second moon, reflected in the diamond-white centre. He heard a voice reaching towards Earth from the depths of space, growing louder and clearer. The outer circles of the window chimed in marvellous harmony. And then, new and unexpected, the other windows took up the song — the blazing chords of the South, the wayward dissonance of the North, the trumpeted glory of the West. The dark dome vibrated, wavering before his eyes. He knew that startled birds took flight from the reeds, jackals cried in the distance. He could see shadows beside him. He realized that Brown Boy was beside Jade, that a small troop of adapts had formed a semicircle in front of the house.

But this was only a dim halo of awareness at the fringes of sight. With all his being he gazed at the window on to Paradise, heard the music of the spheres.

He slumped forward.

In the morning Brown Boy called to Jade to come with him. She had lain the whole night in vigil beside Kuri’s body, crying his name. Brown Boy nuzzled her gently. She looked up at him, questioning, pleading, her eyes reflecting the colour of the lake. She rose and stretched, then paced with drooping tail to the edge of the water. He followed her and like her, scooped a mouthful of pumice pebbles. Following her lead he deposited them on the curled body of the last in the line of his creators. Jade ran back for more pebbles. Brown Boy lifted his head and called. More adapts emerged from the reeds.

Soon Kuri, the last of his kind, lay buried in the very place where his primal ancestors had first lifted their heads from the earth to ask “what?” and “why?”.

The adapts spent one more night gazing in wonder at the white blaze of Kuri’s window, swaying to the music that stirred their blood. At last Brown Boy looped his tail about Jade’s shoulders and drew her away to begin a new life.

The windows of Kuri’s house continued to greet each phase of the day but as the newcomer faded the white heart of the East Window became silent until, perhaps, in the years to come the comet should retrace its path, to remind the Earth of the beings that had ruled it for so short a time.

But now the star that had been called Wormwood continued westward across Africa. Its brightness startled flocks of birds into wakefulness, caused great beasts to trumpet and bray, glinted in the eyes of prowling raptors and hopping rodents. It traced a path of wandering silver across the ocean, glinting on metalled dolphins and the gauzy wings of flying-fish.

Somewhere along the coast of Brazil a group of tree-like beings waved their branches in the wind. The branch tips brushed against each other, connections that wound and unwound. As the comet poured its light over them, the light-sensitive tips quested upwards. Others whipped out, clasping their fellows. “What?” they whispered. “Why?”