Memory

Chapter 6

I had no time to visit the market that day, or the next, caught up in the preparations for my father’s memorial ceremony. But on the third day, when all the notices had gone out and the food had been ordered, I found myself with a free hour in the early afternoon. My mother was napping with the baby and all the other children were quiet, so I took my savant and a folding chair and went out to the orchard with Moki, finding a shady site in a hollow between three trees.

I sat down with the savant in my lap and thought for a moment about strategy. What if Yaphet was in the market? His profile was linked to mine, but I didn’t want him to know I was about. I didn’t want anyone to know. So I stripped all identifiers from my market presence—name, face, notifiers, history. I reduced myself to a blank face within a portrait frame, and then I linked.

I went first to the library and, using a synthesized voice, asked my question of the resident savant: “Has anyone ever survived the silver?”

An oval portrait in the corner of the screen showed me what this savant had looked like when her persona was copied: a dark and wrinkled old woman with wide, bright eyes and white hair, but it was only a still portrait, bordered in black for she had died centuries ago. The intelligence I spoke to was not her. It was only a mechanic that mimicked her thought patterns.

The savant answered me in a low voice, each syllable carefully controlled. “There are several million references associated with your question. The most promising are on-screen now. They refer to a character named Fiaccomo. Fiaccomo is widely regarded as a legend in most markets, but there is evidence to suggest a historical basis—”

“Stop,” I said, scrolling quickly through the list of references. “Let’s try this again. Has anyone besides Fiaccomo survived the silver? Limit references to… the past seven years.” The years since Jolly was taken.

“This search yields only a few works of children’s fantasy from Ano. Do you wish to see?”

“No.”

I closed the link and thought some more. Perhaps the library wasn’t the right place to look. The library was a sanctuary of reliable information, but I was chasing ghosts. I shivered, remembering my exchange with the stranger:

I looked about me, at the insects drifting golden above the grass and the patterns of the leaves overhead against bright sunshine and none of it seemed real. Not nearly so real as my memories.

I entered the market again, but I did not go to the library this time. I put my face back on (though not my name) and wandered through the truckers’ clubs instead. That market linked three distant enclaves into the couplet of Halibury and Xahiclan. The players who walked in those streets or lingered in the clubs might in real life be as far away as Ano, or as close as a truck on the highway north of Temple Huacho, but they came together here, to share news and to gossip. If someone among them had seen a stranger haunting the silver I had no doubt it would be discussed here, and that the rumor of it could be uncovered with only a few questions.

But the time of day was against me. It was still early in the afternoon, and most drivers were on the road. I looked into several clubs, only to find them empty, or nearly so.

I have known many truckers, and they range from intellectuals engaged with every aspect of the world to automatons whose only interests are chemical euphoria and machine sex. I soon discovered that in the daytime the second variety is far more common in the clubs. In half an hour I did not find a single player I dared approach.

And still I continued from one club to the next, my progress tracked by position sensors that brought the sleepy buildings to life with lights and video as I passed. One display in particular caught my eye. It framed a doorway, and the sights exhibited there were so bizarre my brain took many seconds just to puzzle out the parts.

Someone came up behind me as I hesitated in front of that club, though I was not aware of her until she spoke. “Ah, now, Jubilee Huacho, isn’t it? I remember you. But aren’t you a little young for what goes on in there? Hmm. You should let me show you a happier place.”

I jumped at the first mention of my name and turned, but without earphones it was hard to tell the direction of sound within the market. I toggled my viewpoint to the left, but the only players I saw there were well down the street. So I continued to rotate my viewpoint. I’d gone almost full circle when I finally discovered a diminutive old woman, hardly taller than my chest and scrawny, though what little muscle she carried looked tough and well used to hard work. She wore the bright canvas colors that many truckers favor, and though the wrinkles around her eyes and her cloud-white hair testified to an age well over a hundred, her back was straight and her eyes were bright.

Unlike me, she wore a profile, and it gave her name: Lita. I did not recognize it. Nor was her face familiar to me, and yet somehow she knew me, or at least she knew my name. Judging by the span of her grin, Lita was finding my confusion most amusing. “Now, Jubilee,” she scolded, “what would your mother say if she knew you were visiting a place like this?”

Certainly my mother would have found more words than I possessed at that moment. Lita. Who was Lita? I was desperately trying to dredge up some remembrance of her. She must have stopped at Temple Huacho sometime over the years, but I could not recall her. The names and faces of the truckers who had visited us were blurred in my memory and I could not say if I had ever seen her before.

She cocked her head and gave me a coy smile. “You don’t remember me?”

It was the worst manners to admit it, but I had not the wit to hide behind a polite lie. “No. I’m sorry.”

My apology was waved away. “No offense taken! You were a child when I saw you last. No higher than this.” She held her hand at the level of her rib cage. But then her face grew stern. “You’re growing up too fast, I think, if you’re already coming here for entertainment.”

My cheeks warmed. “Oh, but I’m not—”

Lita cut me off with another wave of her hand. “No explanation is owed! But if you’re going to play here, you should know better than to go in without a name. It implies things. Things you don’t mean, or so I would guess by the warmth of that blush on your cheeks.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“It’s all right,” she said with a laugh. “We’re all curious. But if you want some diversion I’ll show you a better place—quieter—where the real players log in.” She ushered me up the street with gestures and nods that were almost physical, chattering as we progressed. “So how is your mother? Tola was always such a determined woman. Has she kept Kedato in line?”

I could not help myself. A little pained noise escaped me and I stopped—so abruptly that Lita’s avatar brushed mine and disappeared for a moment, before jerking back into existence a step ahead of me. She turned about immediately, her gaze full of concern.

“I’ve said something wrong?”

My voice was not steady. “My father… he was taken by the silver.”

“Oh, no.”Her face seemed to shrink then, becoming something small and wrinkled as if her age had stepped forward to claim her. “Too soon,” she whispered. Then louder, “When?”

“Ah”—I did not want to answer—“a few days past.”

And what was I doing about on this street at such a time? I could see her wondering, and I felt the flush of my cheeks deepen. I was very young still, and I could not bear the thought that she would draw the wrong conclusion. “I’m not here for the clubs. It’s not that. I came because… because something strange happened and… there was nothing in the library, and I—” Her disapproving eyes did not make it easy to find the proper words so finally I just blurted what I had come to ask: “Is there any talk of a man who can survive the silver? Not Fiaccomo, but one that is alive today?”

The transformation was stunning. Lita’s eyes grew wide. She took a step back, glancing behind and to both sides before she spoke in a voice that had gone low and hoarse. “You came here to ask that question?”

I nodded.

“And have you?” she whispered. “Have you asked it of anyone else?”

“No,” I confessed. “There was no one who seemed… savory.”

That stirred a tiny smile, but fear huddled behind it and she continued to speak so that no passerby might overhear. “In that case we cannot altogether despise the filthy habits of this street. They’ve kept you from an attention you would not want. But, Jubilee, you are a young girl from a good family. What would move you to ask a thing like that?”

“I did not know it was a scandalous thing,” I whispered. Then I thrust my doubt aside. “I have seen him.”

All expression vanished from her face, and for several seconds she did not speak. Then she shook her head. “It’s lucky I saw you here. You’re lucky. The goddess must have her eye on you.” She sighed. “I don’t know much about him. The less known, the healthier for me, that’s how I see it. There are some who don’t react kindly to talk of him. They want him to be their secret, and it’s only lately I’ve heard of him myself.”

“Heard what? Of who?”

She glanced around again. “Not here.” With a sweep of her hand she gestured me up the street. We fell into step, resuming our journey toward the unnamed destination where she had decided to deliver me. As we advanced, she searched the street, her gaze darting to take in the face of every player who came into sight. She spoke under her breath. “I’ve set it up. She’s agreed to see you. That’s good. She won’t often talk, but you can trust her. I’ve known her a long time. What she said of the war in Phau… it made my hair stand on end. But the silver is rising, and she said we may soon grow used to such news—”

“What’s Phau?” I asked. “Is it an enclave?”

“Hush! Don’t say it so loud.” Now Lita spoke even more softly, so that I had to cock my head close to hear. “What happened in Phau was no accident. It was not bad luck. He called the silver. It’s what she said, and I believe her. The truth is in her eyes. They look like yours do now, bright and fragile with a vision they were never meant to see. Come. Come in here.”

She turned abruptly onto a tiny side street. Placing her hand against a wall of mortared basalt, she made a door appear where none had been before. When she pushed the latch, the door swung open onto a dimly lit room. “Enter quickly.”

I hesitated. Was this some bizarre game? Or might Lita be the very enemy she warned me against? I glanced back the way we had come—perhaps to see if an accomplice was following, I don’t know. My attention was caught by an open-air restaurant just across the street. Several players were seated at the scattered tables, talking, eating, engaging in their own business—except for one. He watched us. His gaze met mine: a smallish, stoop-shouldered man without hair on his shiny scalp. He gave me a cool smile.

“Damn it,”Lita whispered when she saw where I looked. “When will I learn to mind my own business?” Then she hustled me inside.

I found myself in a dignified club room projected in textures of dark wood, with candles burning on the tables and a slow-moving fan turning overhead. When the door closed Lita and I were the only occupants, but another player joined us, appearing suddenly in one of the chairs surrounding a central table.

“Here she is,” Lita said, and I could not tell if she meant me, or the woman who sat regarding me with a gaze that took my measure. How had Lita described her eyes? Bright, and fragile. I knew at once this was the player she had spoken of.

She was a small woman, and lean, very like Lita in her build, but much younger than the aged trucker. Still, I could see lines of gray in the black hair she wore in a neat bun at her neck. She was dressed in a worn gray-green shirt and gray trousers. Black, fingerless gloves protected her hands. Her eyes were narrowed as if she squinted against sunlight, and there was dust on her face.

Lita did not introduce us.

“Please sit down,” the woman said in a rich, cultured voice that contrasted with her vagabond appearance. She indicated a second seat at her table.

I glanced at Lita for reassurance, only to discover her avatar had disappeared. I thought about leaving too. All that held me in that room was a market link—and my curiosity. The player watched me, waiting patiently as I decided what I would do.

Finally I pulled out a chair. I had come here for a reason, after all. I made my avatar sit. “I want to know if there is a man who can survive the silver.”

“I was told you saw such a man.”

“I don’t know what I saw.”

She nodded. “There is sometimes a gap between what our senses tell us, and what we are willing to accept. Will you tell me what you think you saw?”

“Have you seen him too?”

“Yes.”

“And if I speak, you’ll tell me in turn what you know?”

“I’ll tell you what I feel is safe for you to know.”

I thought this over. The offer did not seem fair. Still, there was something in this player’s steady gaze that made me want to trust her. So in halting words I described the stranger and his impossible appearance on the road beyond the temple wall, when the land all around had been drowned in silver. “I saw him gesture at the silver and it came hurrying to him. He did not try to run. He stood there, and it swallowed him.”

“You did not see him come out of the silver?”

“No. I didn’t see him after that. But his manner was not the manner of a man who goes to his death.”

She asked me some questions about the stranger’s appearance, and his clothing. I answered as I could, but I said nothing about my conversation with him. I could not speak of that. I would not take the chance.

“When did this happen?”

“Three nights ago.”

She looked startled at this news. “The same night your father was taken?”

“Lita told you that? Did she tell you my name too?”

The player nodded.

“It was the same night,” I admitted. “But my father was on the road. He was not at home.”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss. I can’t tell you if it was coincidence or not, but I can say that you have seen Kaphiri himself, and that you are lucky to be alive.”

That was not what I wanted to hear. “People are always telling me I’m lucky, but my father is dead. If that’s luck, it’s a treacherous kind and I’m sorry I have it.”

She nodded. “It’s true that luck is not always good. Sometimes, it only softens an evil result.”

My gaze fell, for I felt ashamed. As hurt and angry as I was, I knew others had seen far worse, and faced it. So in a contrite voice I asked, “This… Kaphiri? Will you tell me about him? What is he? Why do you know of him?”

“What is he? That’s the key question, and I have no answer for that. But what he does—I’ve seen it. So have you. He commands the silver. Have you heard of Phau?”

“Only now, when Lita mentioned that name.”

“Phau was an enclave, an old one, far to the east in the district of Lish, close to the Reflection Mountains. Some fifty-five years ago a cessant cult formed in the district. They had the luck to found a new temple, very close to Phau. You’ve heard of cessant cults?”

“Yes.” Cessants are those who have given up the search for a mate. I guessed that this player was herself a cessant. They have no children, so they turn their minds to other things: art, science, business, history. Life. But some are bitter, and of these, a few form cults that are dedicated to celibacy and it is said they will lure young players into their ranks, persuading them to give up the search for a lover even before it’s begun.

“The families of Phau were naturally concerned,” the player continued. “They got up a posse to confront this cult and they tore down the new temple and poured acid in the temple well. The cultists spoke the name of their absent leader, Kaphiri, and they promised he would bring revenge.

“They did not lie. That very night he came. He appeared in the lower streets of Phau and a flood of silver rolled in behind him, consuming the outlying neighborhoods. More floods arrived on the next night, and the next, until the fourth night came. All the people who had not been taken and who had not yet run away were huddled within the sanctuary of the temples. They should have been safe there, but when dawn came and the night’s flood receded, only one temple remained in a wasteland of barren soil. Phau was gone.”

For a moment I was not in that club. I was on the wall again, with the stranger looking up at me, his face still lost in shadow. What could such a creature do to us at Temple Huacho? What had he already done?

“Is it really the same man?” I whispered. “Can it be, after so many years?”

“He is very old—very much older than he seems—and clever. He has learned to use the kobolds to extend his life far beyond any natural limit. He is certainly the oldest player alive in the world today.”

“You know this?”

She nodded. “His history can be traced back almost four hundred years. There is no doubt it is the same man, in the same life. Since Phau he has been seen many times—and far more often, this last half year. But his interest lies with the cessant cults. I can’t guess why he came to Temple Huacho.”

I nodded, more frightened now than I had been on that night. “I have to go.”

The player’s eyes were grave as she regarded me. “Perhaps it’s best. But if you want to find me again, come back to this room.” She tapped the table. “Leave a message here. My name is Udondi Halal.”

I started to close the link… but there was one more question I had to ask. “This Kaphiri… does he ever have another with him? A young man who can survive the silver too?”

Udondi Halal saw through me then. She knew I’d told her only part of my story. Though her expression did not change, I felt suddenly cold before her gaze. “That is a strange question.” She glanced at my scarred hand, which in life was poised to tap the link off. Then she met my gaze once again. “This is truth, Jubilee Huacho. Kaphiri makes many promises, but I’ve never heard of anyone following him out of death.”

I nodded, my thank you barely escaping my dry throat.

Then I closed the link.

When I looked again at the orchard the sunshine seemed to me only a fleeting promise. In just a few hours dusk would come, the time of silver. And then Kaphiri might return too.