Radiance (49 page)

FILM REEL FROM THE ENYO SITE ON MARS

[INT. A cinema. The seats glow a deep, heart-like red. Cherubs with the heads of fish frame the screen. SEVERIN UNCK sits in one of the seats, soaking wet. She looks confused, upset. She shivers; her teeth chatter. She turns to see if anyone else is in the theatre, but she is alone. When she turns back, MR BERGAMOT is seated next to her, a green cartoon octopus wearing spats and a monocle.]

SEVERIN

Uncle Talmadge?

MR BERGAMOT

I'm afraid not. But this was my favourite of all the bodies you remember. I like his appendages. [MR BERGAMOT flourishes his tentacles.] Can I get you some popcorn?

SEVERIN

Who are you?

BERGAMOT

Who you came for. You stuck a bloody great camera in my face, remember?

SEVERIN

Sorry.

BERGAMOT

No, you're not.

SEVERIN

I'm sorry it hurt you.

BERGAMOT

We were already hurt. Would you like to watch a movie?

SEVERIN

Always.

[A film begins on the huge screen. The camera swoops down out of the starry sky to the surface of Pluto. It is not our Pluto. There are no flowers, no cities, no glowing carousel bridge to Charon. This Pluto is tiny, without an atmosphere, a mass of blasted craters. A YOUNG GIRL walks through the barren rocks. Her hair is white, with bronze kelp growing out of her scalp alongside it. Her skin is made of scratched ice. She is crying. Blood drips from the hem of her dress.]

SEVERIN

Who is she?

BERGAMOT

That's me. My big-screen debut. Callowhales exist throughout everything that has ever existed or will exist. We look different in each place where existence occurs. Think of them as sets, if it helps. Vast, infinite, enclosed realities where anything may occur, yet actions taken in one—say,
The Atom Riders of Mars
or Universe 473a—do not affect any other—say, Universe 322c or
The Girl Who Made Fate Laugh.
A hundred million sets together make a grand studio. The whole of existence.

On your set, we look like callowhales. That has proven somewhat unfortunate. Our milk was not meant to be ice cream. In another six or seven generations, humans are going to look very interesting. But we do not interfere. We do not resist the progression of events on any single set.

On another set, we look like mountains. That is safer. In another, we look like several hammers in one particular woodworker's shed. The woodworker likes sandalwood best. He doesn't know why he never chooses to use those particular hammers. On the set you are seeing now, we look like her.

SEVERIN

What happened to you?

BERGAMOT

What happened to me happened on another lot entirely. There, we look like the colour red. I became very sick. It wasn't anyone's fault. No one did anything to make it happen, at least not on purpose. For us, causality is meaningless. A cow kicked over a pot of glue—perhaps that killed a callowhale. Perhaps it did not, but will 1.5 million years from now. I began to cough. My coughs have echoes upon echoes. You get sick, too—think of me as having the measles. I am young; the stronger among us would not even notice the measles. I ran away from being sick. This is where I stopped running. I was so tired.

[The YOUNG GIRL falls to the stony ground of that Plutonian wasteland. The scene changes. The YOUNG GIRL falls to the ground on Mars. This Mars is not our Mars, either. There are no kangaroos sunning themselves on Mount Penglai, no mango sellers, no moonflowers. Nothing but dust and red sky. The air is poisonous. The YOUNG GIRL crawls, dragging her fingernails on the rocks. She dies slowly. She dies crying and shrieking. By the end, her mouth is full of red dust.]

BERGAMOT

That is where I died.

SEVERIN

[squinting] Is that Mangala Valles?

BERGAMOT

Yes. But a different Mangala Valles. In the place I am showing you, no one can live anywhere but Earth.

[The camera shows a solar system without electric lights—save on one glowing world. Dark Mars, Neptune, Venus, the Moon, all many, many miles further apart than we know them to be. No Orient Express, no Grand Central Station, no bright cannons firing into the black. All those worlds, dead and empty, with no air, no oceans, no rivers, no trees. SEVERIN covers her mouth with her hands.]

SEVERIN

Oh … Oh, God. What an awful, lonely place. No buffalo, no Enki floating on the ocean, no circuses on Saturn, no movies on the Moon. How can a place like that be? How can they bear it?

BERGAMOT

Have you ever seen a movie?

SEVERIN

You're joking.

BERGAMOT

Do you know what a movie
is
, though?

SEVERIN

Is this a riddle?

BERGAMOT

A movie is a ribbon. A long, long ribbon with thousands of pictures on it. Each one slightly different, so that when you run through the pictures very fast, they look like they're moving. But when the movie is playing, the thousands of pictures are all still there on the ribbon. They just look like one picture. There are a million million frames, each one of them only a little different, and callowhales move through those frames like a cigarette burn in the corner of the image. Each frame is a world; a universe. Some of them are full of panthers. Some are full of dancing. Some are so sad I think you would never stop crying if you saw them, far sadder than this one, with its teeming Earth. You and Venus and your lover and your ship and the Moon and your father are only one frame, and there are ever so many more than twenty-four per second.

This frame has only one living world. It is where I died. Sometimes we are not very tidy when we die. Pieces of my body washed up in every possible reality. A scale here, a pneumatocyst there, a frond on a beach near a village called Adonis. I spasmed all the way through my death. When I got sick, I shook and shivered, and my shaking and shivering happened not to this Pluto, but to the one you know, to a town called Proserpine. When I died, I screamed in pain, and my screaming happened not to that cold Mars but to a town called Enyo. We have no manners when we are sick. I am ashamed.

SEVERIN

If you died, how are we speaking? Am I dead?

BERGAMOT

I would prefer you not to be dead.

SEVERIN

You and me both, buddy.

BERGAMOT

This octopus, sitting with you, is just a piece of my body washing up, like the others. It will dissolve, eventually, like the rest. I wish you could stay here forever with us under the sea.

SEVERIN

But I can't. I have to go back. I have people to look after.

BERGAMOT

You were vaporised at the point of contact. You cannot go back, only forward. Back and forward are nonsense words, anyway. But you can still look after your people, if you want to.

You do not understand what a callowhale is. You have never seen like we see. In some places, we look like a camera. Like an eye shared between three women. Like a story about seeing and being seen.

[The screen shows a parade of images, of scenes, each lapping at the next like a wave. ERASMO in a small room with an espresso, agony and anger and exhaustion on his face. MARY PELLAM sleeping next to a green creature with lion paws. MARY as a child in Oxford. PENELOPE leaving a basket on the doorstep of a grand house. PERCY and VINCE, arguing over a script, swimming naked in a lake on the Moon. PERCY and FREDDY arguing; Freddy running off with PERCY's gun, shooting THADDEUS IRIGARAY, weeping. MAUD LOCKSLEY and ALGERNON B washing blood off a floor. ERASMO and ANCHISES eating biscuits on Mars, laughing. ERASMO and CRISTABEL jogging together in the morning. MARIANA sleeping in a morphine haze. MARIANA singing to the dragon SANCHO PANZA in the broiling sun. SEVERIN, very little, trying to work out who is telling the story to whom. Many more flash by, millions more. Wars that come sooner in one universe come later in another, but come all the same. There are great rockets instead of airplanes; battles stretched by transit windows and orbits until they fray to pieces, leaving fleets abandoned in the night; more and more; human bodies sailing further out, past the solar system, filling with milk and starlight until fiddleheads open out of their navels, blossoming with flowers; great-grandchildren playing with CLARA without understanding what she could ever have been, more; until SEVERIN is crying; until she puts her hands over her face.]

BERGAMOT

Buck up, baby blowfish. Just puff up bigger than your sadness and scare it right off. That's the only way to live in the awful old ocean.

[SEVERIN looks up. She laughs.]

BERGAMOT

Why are you laughing?

SEVERIN

I just … I really wish you could've met my dad. I wish I could tell him it really was an ice dragon, after all. [She wipes her eyes.]

All right, mister. Put me in the picture.

 

Acknowledgments

Radiance
began very simply, with the desire to write about having grown up as the daughter of a filmmaker. Though my father ultimately went into advertising, his passion colored my childhood profoundly. But somehow, it grew tentacles along the way, and has been growing (and growing and growing) for seven years. In that time, even the smallest of creatures racks up a lot of debts.

My heartfelt thanks to: Dmitri, who asked for a story set on a Venusian waterworld, Neil Clarke for publishing the short story that knew it wanted to grow up big and strong from the first line, to my agent, Howard Morhaim, and my editor, Liz Gorinsky, for feeding it its spinach, Winter and Fire Tashlin for the hours spent in my living room forking nineteenth-century history off into strange and unruly paths, and Kat Howard for being a new set of eyes. I bow in the direction of all the classic science fiction writers who envisioned the worlds of our solar system as they were not but might be, but particularly Roger Zelazny.

This book owes more to Heath Miller than it is polite to admit in company. For his constant readings and rereadings, listening to me say the whole thing was terrible over and over, theatrical consults and structural advice (I hear Mom's really great with structure), for his midnight meatball sandwiches and infinite supply of index cards, he has my eternal gratitude. I love you right in the face.

And finally, thanks, Dad, for the movie of my life.

 

About the Author

CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE
's adult novels, including The Orphan's Tales,
Palimpsest,
and
Deathless,
have been finalists for the Hugo, World Fantasy, and Nebula Awards and won the James Tiptree Jr., Mythopoeic, Lambda Literary, and Locus Awards. Her YA phenomenon
The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making
is a
New York Times
bestseller and won the Andre Norton Award. Valente lives on a small island off the coast of Maine with her partner, two dogs, and a cat. You can sign up for email updates
here
.

 

BOOKS BY
CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE

The Orphan's Tales: In the Night Garden

The Orphan's Tales: In the Cities of Coin and Spice

Palimpsest

Deathless

The Dirge for Prester John: The Habitation of the Blessed

The Dirge for Prester John: The Folded World

Six-Gun Snow White

Silently and Very Fast

The Fairyland Books

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making

The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There