Flowercrash (27 page)

“They will be delayed by uncertainty. They know little of the true complexity of the underwater tunnels made by the early Sea-Clerics, thinking them unconnected drainage pipes and the like. They may consider you drowned. Go in the morning to Veneris, there to take up your life. Gianflamah has seen a brief vision of the Garden under piles of sand. I have seen two shining warriors in the Garden. These futures may not come to pass, or they may happen tomorrow.”

“The Garden is in danger?” Manserphine considered the possibility, then answered her own question. “If the Sea-Clerics want to change Zaïdmouth they will certainly start with the Garden. And I remember now that Fnfayrq unexpectedly came to the first session of spring. At the time I thought it suspicious.”

“That is motivation enough to hasten your return to Veneris,” Abvoloyns said. “Sleep here tonight, then leave at dawn.”

“I’ll try,” Manserphine replied.

She did not sleep until two hours before dawn, and at dawn she was woken by Gholequie, shaking her shoulder. “Time to leave.”

They followed a winding path set between low hills to the west of the autohives, invisible to all in Aequalaïs, ending in a valley west of the Shrine of Root Sculpture. “You’ll know your own way from there,” Gholequie said. “Don’t forget us, second cousin. We can help if need be. We’re family.”

“I’ll never forget you,” Manserphine assured them, before she hugged them all in turn. Abvoloyns gave her a blue cloak, a long shirt and a pair of sandals, and Gholequie returned her hat. Waving goodbye, Manserphine turned and began walking north.

~

The hour’s journey was uneventful. In western Veneris she marvelled at the number of hoverflies, but she saw nothing of other insects, no butterflies, few bees, and there were roses everywhere, their cloying scent making her choke. Where were the orchids, the iris, all the other myriad of flower species?

She had been absent for half a season. A monoculture had formed. Diversity was approaching zero. What state would the Shrine of Our Sister Crone be in?

Not a good state. She walked through a side entrance to avoid crowds, but almost immediately bumped into Teshazan, the Sister Cleric, who, having almost fainted with shock, bundled her along private corridors to Curulialci’s chamber. Manserphine answered none of Teshazan’s questions.

Inside the chamber Curulialci stared at her as if she was a revenant, before asking in a hushed voice, “Where have you been? Is it you?”

“It is me. I’m back. The Sea-Clerics abducted me, but I escaped last night. I walked back along an old green lane this morning.”

“Thanks be to Our Sister Crone! We have endured a nightmare here.”

“The Garden?” queried Manserphine.

“It is safe. The Sea-Clerics have given up their attack—”

“Not for long,” Manserphine interrupted.

“That’s as maybe. They tried to undermine the Garden by readjusting the metaphors of its existence. Without Shônsair and Zoahnône we wouldn’t—”

“Zoahnône?
Shônsair?
”

“Quiet, Manserphine! Let me tell the tale. Without those two, Zaïdmouth would now be under the thraldom of the Shrine of the Sea. We have had a narrow escape.”

“But what did they do?” Manserphine asked. “Shônsair is the sworn enemy of Zoahnône.”

“That doesn’t seem to be the case now. Through their intimate knowledge of the networks they replanted the Garden with flowering plants, removed the salt from the water, changed the direction of certain streams and cleansed the soil. They have added defences too, in the form of botanic sentinels called dryads.” Curulialci paused, then said, “But you. What happened to you?”

Manserphine related her ordeal, missing out those parts personal to herself and her visions. Yamagyny entered the chamber, and then she had to repeat the story.

Eventually Curulialci said, “We are glad to have you back. However the Garden is out of session until the emergency is over. You say there is more to come? Did you see anything of the Sea-Clerics preparations?”

Carefully, Manserphine replied, “Not from my cell, no. But their harbour is full of ships. And there is a strange new reef enclosing the outreach of the river, the purpose of which is unknown.”

“What is your advice?” Yamagyny asked.

“Keep the Shrine under surveillance. I must remain hidden for a while, at least until the Garden is publically reconvened. I may have to keep a low profile.” Thinking of Kirifaïfra and her room at the Determinate Inn she added, “Don’t be surprised if I leave occasionally for nocturnal walks.”

“Yes, yes, we quite understand,” Curulialci said. “You’ve had a terrifying experience.”

Manserphine concluded, “My visions were correct both in substance and metaphor. I want to rest awhile and recover from my abduction, and perhaps foresee a little of what the Sea-Clerics might do next.”

“Do you have any idea?” Curulialci asked.

“None,” Manserphine truthfully replied.

“Hmm. Well, we shall have our network agents train their screens at Aequalaïs.”

With that, Manserphine bade them good morning and departed for her own chamber, where she hastily packed a few belongings, then left the Shrine.

The Determinate Inn was close. Now she was free she felt longing well up inside her for Kirifaïfra’s company. She hoped he was in.

Nephew and uncle both sat in the common room. She burst through the door and lunged for Kirifaïfra, who almost collapsed against the table from the force of her welcome. For some breathless seconds they hugged, until Kirifaïfra disengaged himself and said, “Where have you been?”

“Abducted by the Sea-Clerics.”

He hugged her close. “You’re back now, and that’s what matters. Unc, some whiskey, and quickly!”

Vishilkaïr obliged. Manserphine said, “Did you miss me?”

“We knew you weren’t dead,” Vishilkaïr remarked.

“That’s right,” Kirifaïfra agreed, “though we had no idea where you were. What happened?”

“How could you know I was alive?”

“I just did. Now, drink your whiskey and tell us all.”

So Manserphine related her adventures for the third time. When she had finished, she said, “Have either of you seen Zoahnône in your back garden, looking for me?”

“Not recently,” Kirifaïfra said. He seemed to be looking at her shoulder, or over it, so Manserphine turned to look out of the bay window. “What?” she asked him.

“Nothing.”

Vishilkaïr said, “We saw Zoahnône a week ago, when the struggle in the Garden was at its height. Since then the pair have kept low.”

“The pair?”

“There is another one like Zoahnône,” Kirifaïfra said.

“I must find an orange snapdragon,” Manserphine said, wondering what could have happened while she was captured.

She made for the door. “Wait,” Kirifaïfra said, grabbing her hand, “are you staying here tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Don’t be long, and take care.”

Manserphine ran back to the Shrine garden, where her snapdragon lay, wilting a little under the heat. Twenty two messages lay there. Quickly she scrolled through the most recent, before sending her own; a plea for Zoahnône to join her at the Determinate Inn. Nothing in the messages left by Zoahnône made much sense. The first described a mystical reunion between Shônsair and herself.

Back at the inn, Vishilkaïr waved her upstairs, then continued with his work. Manserphine and Kirifaïfra locked themselves in her room, where for an hour or more frantic passion took them, then laughter, and then tears of joy. They lay on the bed, naked in the heat of the late spring afternoon, basking in the pleasure of their reunion.

“Your oath may cause a problem,” said Kirifaïfra.

Manserphine sighed. “I can see now how absurd it is. But I won’t be forced to choose between work and passion. I shall have both. Now I’ve seen how the Sea-Clerics live, I know it’s a mad illusion to think that the two must be separated.”

“It is.”

“So you knew I was alive?” Manserphine said after a while.

“Never mind that, how could you possibly escape from the Shrine of the Sea? It’s a fortress.”

“Mermaids. My kin. They share my visionary ability.”

“Mermaids…” Kirifaïfra mused. “The sirens of Aequalaïs that we saw before.”

“Not so,” Manserphine chided. “They are a good people and they’re on our side. Some of them have cutting tongues, however.”

“How so?”

“They laughed at how thin I was.” Manserphine pulled a bolster over her torso, then said, “Oh, Kiri, why can’t I be fatter?”

“You will be,” he cooed, stroking her hair. “I expect the ocean diet has lost you some weight.”

“It hasn’t. They fed me well. I’ve always been thin, not like Curulialci and Yamagyny who’ve got a bit of weight to them.”

“You’re perfect as you are,” Kirifaïfra said, raising himself above her, then kissing her breasts. They coupled again and again, until the light of the setting sun illuminated their open window, and she was too exhausted for more. Lying stretched out on her back she gazed up into the sky, smelled the perfume of a hundred flowers and heard the buzzing of a thousand insects, and thanked her demiurge for the forthcoming summer pleasures she knew must be on the way. Kirifaïfra lay silent, half across her, also lost in hazy thoughts.

As evening became dusk, Vishilkaïr called from outside their door, “Zoahnône and Shônsair are here! Come along, lovebirds, wash yourselves and get some clothes on.”

Hastily they followed this advice, then clattered down the stairs to the common room, where Manserphine, her emotions still vivid and intense, ran at Zoahnône and embraced her with almost as much passion as with Kirifaïfra. Zoahnône stood awkwardly, unused to the gesture.

“Zoahnône!” Manserphine cried. “I’m glad to be back. There’s so much to tell you. The flower crash is just days away. Your creation is alive right now. I almost caught her name, Zaha-something.” She looked at the figure at her side; black eyed, stern faced and very tall. Grim and gothic. This must be Shônsair: she recognised the face.

All five sat in the bay window, where Omdaton served them with a sweet-and-sour supper. Whiskey and vodka flowed freely while Manserphine explained her new understanding. Zoahnône was pleased to hear all this, but her serious manner told Manserphine an alternative story. “Much has changed,” she said. “Baigurgône has departed her body and entered the networks. She now wields immense power. Baigurgône will want to control events following the flower crash for her own reasons. As for my creation, the embodied gynoid… I cannot see how she can be alive today since my plans have not yet come to fruition. To this day, Shônsair and I have no final gestation method, let alone an actual being.”

“She is here,” Manserphine insisted. “I’ve seen her face so there is no doubt. There must be an explanation.”

Shônsair said, “There is one possibility. The flower crash and the conception and birth of a new species of gynoid might be related. We had not considered that before, but your news suggests the possibility.”

Zoahnône nodded in agreement, but remained cautious. “As yet we cannot be sure. We do not understand enough.” She turned to Shônsair to add, “Your idea means the networks themselves have already pursued my strategy.”

“It is not impossible,” said Shônsair. “Last year, the networks over-produced seeds in an attempt to survive. Suppose they have grasped hints of your plans?”

To this question the only answer was silence.

“How can we understand more?” Manserphine asked.

“I do not know,” Zoahnône softly replied.

~

One week later the Garden was reconvened. Manserphine entered it as Interpreter, making her first public appearance since the abduction, although rumours on the ground had told of her return to Veneris. Nine members appeared, to reflect on the closeness of the victory.

Then Fnfayrq appeared. Without a word she walked towards Manserphine and said, “A great storm crosses our sea, killing gulls, churning water, but the depths remain undisturbed.”

Manserphine smiled to hear this assertion that the Shrine of the Sea would not be changed by her escape. She knew now that they would not bother to recapture her. She replied, “See a thousand new shells along the shore, the product of evolution, even those frequently bathing cannot count or categorise them.”

Fnfayrq seemed unconcerned by this declaration of natural liberty. She said, “The greatest storms have more than one channel of destruction, rain pouring, thunder crashing, lightning flashing, winds roaring, change inevitable across sprawling land next to our shores.”

Uncomfortable with these metaphors of damage, Manserphine glanced at her two superiors, but they, with urgent gestures, encouraged her to stand up to Fnfayrq.

She decided to mention the attack on the Garden. “If Garden merges with immeasurable ocean, how carefully we should watch its progress.”

“The symbol of hierarchy is vertical,” Fnfayrq declared, “order bright in our minds, chaos expelled to the impractical body, oh, we can reach the stars if we think beautifully enough, minds striving to fit into the endless cells of our ocean.”

This description of their intellectual stance made Manserphine shudder, and all her scorn of their insincerity came out in her reply. “Fish trying to be clams, whales trying to be crayfish, coral trying to be anemones, so many fractured people trying to escape the prison of their shells, so many fractured communes trying to plant grass at the edge of the sea, see how the stars remain eternal, despite our oh, so frantic attempts to reach out and turn them into baubles.”

Fnfayrq hissed like a cat, scowled, then turned to address the other members of the Garden. “See jellyfish immobile on our shore, see the naked fish flap on sand, whales beaching themselves and dying.”

And with that, she vanished.

Curulialci asked Manserphine, “What did she say?”

“Essentially she berated us for the lack of rigour in our hierarchies. I think the Sea-Clerics think of the Garden as a place of decadence, unfit to be the forum of Zaïdmouth. That is perhaps why they tried to change it.”

“But they are the decadent ones,” Curulialci protested, “cavorting naked with men on the sands.”

“If you separate the personal and the political as far as they do, you end up with rigorous hierarchies, self-obsessed communities and a desire to obliterate others. They hate us only because we are not like them. Yes, their promiscuity is legendary, but they see that as wholly separate from the activities of the Shrine, which is their gestalt entity. The Shrine is all to them. And they do despise their descent into bodily passion, despite rumour. They feel guilt.”