Flux Page 8

  Fathers—now that had taken some getting used to when she’d first arrived. Trotting through the evening streets, Nellie shook her head thoughtfully. Actually, it still did. In the Interior, there had been no such thing as marriage. Couples had dated, but all breedings had been dictated by the Suitable Births Registry. Children remained with their mothers, never even meeting their fathers. But here in the Outbacks, couples married and both parents raised their children together.

  Weird, thought Nellie, stopping at a street vendor’s stall to buy a sandwich and a drink.

  “Hey kid, you’re supposed to eat that, not breathe it,” the vendor grinned but she ignored him, cramming the last few bites into her mouth. If only it was possible to breathe in food. Things would be so much simpler if she could live on air. Giving a loud belch, she started off down the street. Tonight’s official activities would be taking place in front of City Hall. Street theatre groups, a musical festival and various fireworks displays would crowd the area with merrymakers careless of their wallets and the general contents of their pockets. Cutting through a series of alleys and backyards, Nellie made her way swiftly toward the festivities and soon began to encounter small groups gathered around jugglers, clowns and other street performers. In a parking lot she caught sight of a mime troupe performing the odyssey of the Goddess’s twins, two actors enacting the sons’ lifelong search for each other on a makeshift stage while two other actors, dressed as moons, perched on a scaffold and watched the drama unfold from their perspective in the afterlife.

  Hovering at the edge of the parking lot, Nellie watched the actors’ fluid movements and white-painted faces. The story was familiar and sang to some inner ache she didn’t understand, but what had attracted her attention was a slight mid-air shimmer between the two actors playing the twin moons. That shimmer was a gate—or what most Outbackers considered to be a gate—one of the temporary kind that could fade within minutes of its appearance. These gates came and went in the air, visible only to those who could tune into them. Outbackers called them “mindjoys,” naturally occurring quirks in the molecular field that could take the mind on a breathless rush through color and sound.

  Having sampled them eagerly when she first discovered them, Nellie now looked upon them with a mild contempt. A lesser form of flux, a mindjoy couldn’t grant the full-body rush of shape-shifting, nor did it hide any hairlike seams that could be opened onto another level. Though many Outbackers repeatedly sought out mindjoys, Nellie thought of them as flux for the stupid, flashin-the-pan vibrations that took the imagination on a quick trip, then disappeared. How often had she seen individuals step inside the shimmery mid-air undulations, only to stand grinning insip-idly until they lost all sense of time and place? It was a situation of innocent beware. Most mindjoys were relatively harmless, offering brief experiences of ecstasy and various pleasure trips, but it was tantalizingly easy to overindulge, and then the mind became muddled, unable to distinguish between mental and physical realities. Sometimes a period of abstinence allowed the mind to sort itself out, and sometimes it didn’t.

  Had Lulunar bestowed the mindjoy upon the theater troupe as a gesture of approval, or had the actors consciously called it into being between themselves? Nellie had heard of the secret groups that explored the many aspects of flux. Some of them had unlocked the deeper mysteries and were rumored to play with the vibrations that resonated at the core of the life force, calling new forms of energy into being and manipulating them. Speculation had it that these groups had learned how to create their own private levels, entire worlds that didn’t fade but remained fixed and everlasting, and could be fashioned to meet individual whims. It was said that these groups sometimes recruited new members by disguising a gate to one of their levels as a mindjoy, then setting it up in a public area and waiting to see who tuned in. Nellie had always given these groups and their blasphemies a wide berth, but today she hesitated. What if this mindjoy hid a secret gate? Would it cry out in pain if she attempted to open it?

  Tentatively she touched her mind to the midair shimmer that undulated between the two actors, but no explosion of pain rocked her. Instead her head filled with rippling spirals of coloured light and a delicate trance-like singing. Snorting with disgust, Nellie withdrew. This mindjoy might last another twenty minutes before it faded. Tantalizing as its images were, they led no further than this level and its molecular field, and could be easily explored by anyone who’d taken a dose of erva, a common street drug that allowed the user to see energy at the molecular level but was notorious for slurring physical responses and blunting consciousness.

  Dismissing the mime troupe and their shimmering mindjoy, Nellie continued through the crowded streets, her eyes absorbing every detail. On all sides children swarmed, wearing the traditional jester’s cap that sported a leering clown face at the back of the head. Many of the merrymakers had also donned a mirrored mask, and everywhere she looked Nellie saw her own reflection slip-sliding across the faces of others. Buying her own mask from a nearby vendor, she put it on and slipped deeper into the crowd.

  Something about the way Outbackers celebrated Lulunar, with their eerie costuming and mind-teasing festivals, made her want to simultaneously leap, shout and weep. A wild, almost angry exuberance filled her and she took a deep breath, knowing it was time to throw off everything that laid claim, tugging at the different parts of her mind, and run. Letting her joy explode Nellie took off through the crowd, ignoring protests as she ducked under elbows and around hips. Twisting and darting, she forced herself to run faster and faster until her surroundings blurred and her body became just another quirk in the molecular field, taunting the expected and jitterbugging with the unknown. Finally she staggered to a halt, raw and gasping, and looked up to find herself not at City Hall as she’d expected, but in front of the Sanctuary of the Blessed Goddess. Aglow with the last of the evening light, the domed yellow-stone building loomed before her, peaking in the spire with the cupped brass hands. At its base a chatting gossiping crowd was filing up the front walk and in through the open doorway. A few of the children wore carnival clothes.

  Of course, thought Nellie, thrilled by a sudden knowing as she watched the crowd ascend the church steps. The Goddess is holding Her own ritual to celebrate the Festival of the Twins. This must be the reason she’d run in this direction—the Great Mother had reached down into the hustle and bustle of heathen street festivities, picked up her lost and lonely daughter, and led her toward the holiness of divine worship. Nellie’s soul had been rescued from pagan revelry, pure and simple. With a voluminous sigh, she started toward the church. She was one of the chosen ones. The Goddess loved her; She—

  A hand clapped her shoulder from behind and Nellie whirled, claws up and ready to scratch.

  “Thought it was you,” whooped a weasely face, grinning at her from under a tangle of brown hair. Deller. With a hiss Nellie drew back, scanning the crowd for the rest of the Skulls.

  “Hey,” said Deller, stepping toward her. Instantly Nellie danced backward and he frowned in confusion. “What’s the matter?” he demanded. “What—d’you think I’m after you?”

  Pushing her mirror mask onto her forehead, Nellie studied him through slitted eyes. “What d’you want, then?” she asked, her voice taking careful steps up her throat. In all her pondering of last night’s events, she hadn’t once considered seeking out Deller to discuss them. He was a Skull, and the Skulls were vermin. Sure, he’d been halfway decent last night, but the events that had thrown them together had been chance. Being part of the Skulls wasn’t. Seeing him now she felt only the danger of his knowing her secret ways, and a slight regret she hadn’t dumped him in the other level when the opportunity had presented itself.

  Deller’s eyes drifted casually lower. “Thought I’d take another look around the place,” he said, shrugging. “You?”

  Crossing her arms over the blobs on her chest, Nellie scowled. What was the politest way to tell vermin to get lost? On second thought, who care
d about polite? “Same, I guess,” she huffed and started toward the church. Immediately Deller reached for her shoulder and she spun round, clawing his hand.

  “Don’t touch,” she growled. “Don’t you ever touch me.”

  “Hssst,” Deller snarled in reply, sucking the cut she’d opened across the back of his good hand. “What is it with you? You after both my hands? I just wanted to know if you were going in.” Tucking his fingers under his chin in the ritual prayer position, he winked. “Want to go do the Goddess thing?”

  Blasphemy. Out and out sacrilege. Lunging at Deller, Nellie shoved him hard in the gut. “Don’t shame the Goddess!” she yelled, pushing him repeatedly so he staggered in backward lurches across the street. “Ivana is the truest mother. Don’t you ever take Her name in vain.”

  “Hey,” Deller protested, lifting his bandaged hand out of range and warding her off with the other. “You were the one who decided to set the church on fire last night.”

  “That was in another level.” Turning on her heel, Nellie marched toward the church. “Besides,” she shot over her shoulder, “the Goddess told me to do it. She placed the vision in my mind, or I never would’ve thought of it.”

  “So you and the Goddess are good buds?” Sucking the back of his hand, Deller fell into step beside her.

  “We hold frequent conversations.” Pointedly Nellie gave him her back, then joined the crowd climbing the church stairs. She hoped Deller would clue into the obvious and take a hike. Why in the world had he decided to come back here anyway? It couldn’t be because of his devotion to Ivana. Just one look at him would tell anyone he was a pagan. Maybe Nellie didn’t attend church often—well, almost never, except for some mid-afternoon visits to small parishes when she needed to get in a good dose of official praying—but the Goddess knew she loved Her with her whole heart and was one of Her most devoted followers. Not like Deller, the heathen. Shooting him a contemptuous look, Nellie caught Deller smirking and whirled on him, forcing the crowd to part and go around them.

  “Exactly what are you laughing at?” she demanded.

  “I’m not laughing,” grinned Deller, flinching in spite of himself.

  “You are too,” insisted Nellie, jabbing an accusing finger in his face. Someone had to protect the Goddess’s holy house from vermin. “You’re laughing at Ivana and the holiness of Her worship.” With satisfaction, she watched the grin flee Deller’s face. “Beware, heathen,” she hissed, deciding some extra emphasis would do him good. “You don’t know the danger you’re calling down upon yourself.”

  Rerraren. There it was again, the unspoken flashing across Deller’s face. It truly was a weasely face—narrow and long, with a wide mouth and muted green eyes—and the rest of him carried the same weasely quality, tense and restless, always sniffing for prey. Well, he had it wrong if he thought he could go after the Goddess. He was nothing but a speck of dirt on the hem of Her heavenly blue robe.

  “Beware,” Nellie spat again for good measure, feeling the sky come to rest approvingly on her shoulders. “Just you beware.” Several older women gave her admiring glances as they passed and Nellie nodded back stiffly, then sailed up the last few stairs. Maybe she didn’t have the right kind of clothes, maybe she hadn’t memorized all the words to the Goddess’s ritual prayers, but at least she had the proper attitude. She wasn’t a heathen.

  Entering the lobby, she was swallowed by immediate coolness and the feeling of an ancient knowing carried within the stone walls. In spite of the blasphemy she’d seen taking place here the previous night, immediate wonder leapt through her. Everywhere she looked candles glowed, sending great shadows across the domed ceiling. In the distance an organ played, slow and doleful, and the scent of incense weighted the air. Statues of the Goddess peered from wall alcoves, their tiny ceramic hands cradling offerings that had been placed within them—tightly rolled prayer scrolls, flowers, jewelry, even a child’s tiny doll. Frantically Nellie searched her pockets, but she’d spent her last cent on the mirror mask. Thoughtfully she tugged at the kerchief wound around her scalp. It wasn’t much, but it was something. If only she didn’t need it to cover the worms. Her hand brushed the mask riding the top of her head and her face brightened. Of course! The mirror mask was like a soul—you looked into it and saw yourself. What better offering to make to Ivana! Carefully she slid the mask off her head and hung it from the nearest statue’s upraised hands. Silvery and moonlike, it swung from its string, a myriad candle flames leaping across its face.

  “That’s right, dearie,” whispered an elderly woman, patting Nellie’s arm. “Give all your devilry to the Goddess and She’ll cleanse you.”

  Turning, Nellie was about to protest, but the woman hobbled on, revealing Deller standing in her wake. At the sight of him, Nellie’s anger came rushing back. She’d assumed she’d left him outside, crushed and withered, having learned proper respect.

  “How dare—,” she began, but he shook his head at her, touching a finger to his lips and she fell silent, her anger swallowed by the change in his expression. All signs of mockery gone, the weasely caution was back, prowling his body. Eyes narrowed, he turned from her to study the crowd.

  “The men are here,” he said quietly. “Have you seen them? So far I’ve spotted four. D’you think they’ll recognize us?”

  “No,” said Nellie immediately. “It was too dark.” She’d been spying on the eight men for over a month. Time after time she’d passed them in the street and they’d never given her a second glance.

  “But you’re wearing the same clothes,” Deller said dubiously. “And the kerchief.”

  “We were at the back of the church and they were at the front,” Nellie shrugged. “I couldn’t tell them apart in all those shadows.”

  Deller shook his head. “They might’ve seen us in the fire.”

  “That was in another level,” Nellie said. “With their doubles. Not these guys.” Crossing her arms, she surveyed him scornfully. If Deller wasn’t such a heathen, she thought, he would know it was the Goddess who’ d saved us last night. Against the Goddess, mere men could do nothing in any level. But how could she expect him to understand something like that? He wasn’t a chosen one. Let him worry his guts over piddling little details if he wanted to, she had more important things on her mind. Rapt, Nellie stood watching candle flames flicker and leap on a nearby prayer table, signs of the Goddess’s divine presence.

  “Okay then, we’ll sit at the back.” Deller started toward the nearest pew and Nellie stood thunderstruck, gaping after him. Where on earth had he gotten the idea she’d traded in her brain for an empty dried-out Skull? She wasn’t about to start taking orders from him.

  “You sit at the back,” she sniffed and sailed past him. “I’m sitting at the front.”

  Most of the congregation were now seated, and she moved quickly up the nearly empty aisle toward a seat that gaped at the end of the second pew. Slipping into it she knelt on the prayer bench, locked her fingers under her chin and began to whisper fervently. A knee bumped her shoulder and she looked up to see Deller slide into the empty spot on the pew. Annoyance twisted her lips and she prayed more desperately, trying to shut him out. Why did the pagan have to keep following her around? Hadn’t she made herself abundantly clear?

  Abruptly the prayer bench rocked beneath her knees, and she felt Deller’s shoulder press against her own as he knelt beside her.

  “This church has a real buzz,” he hissed.

  “I am praying,” she hissed back, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. “Can’t you feel it?” he whispered nervously, his breath tickling her ear.

  Glaring through narrowed slits, Nellie said slowly, “That buzz is the presence of the Goddess. Only a pagan wouldn’t know that.”

  Deller’s face twitched, and then he said slowly, “You’re really into this stuff.”

  “The Goddess,” Nellie sighed dramatically, “is the morning star that watches over all missing mothers and children.”

  Deller blinked,
his face unreadable. “Sure,” he said. “No prob. But I don’t get a buzz every time I pass one of Her statues. This church is freaky.”

  He was right, of course. Tonight the Sanctuary of the Blessed Goddess shifted and sighed with flux. The air was dense with it, the molecular field quivering with unusual vibrations.

  “Is this the same buzz you felt last night?” Nellie asked suspiciously.

  “No,” he said quickly. “Different. Thicker.”

  So he was truly feeling it. Nellie studied him with new eyes. Suddenly she realized she hadn’t the faintest idea why he’d been at the church the previous night, spying on the eight men. “Hey,” she whispered, elbowing him for emphasis. “What were you doing here last night, anyway?”

  He shook his head. “Not here.” His eyes darted to the front of the church, and Nellie followed his gaze to see last night’s green-robed priest step out from behind the floor-to-ceiling statue of the Goddess, followed by several white-robed priestesses. Immediately preceding them were two small boys, chanting and carrying incense balls on chains. All across the sanctuary, pews groaned as the congregation rose and reached for their prayerbooks. Unsure of the procedure, Deller glanced to see what Nellie was doing, then got to his feet beside her. Little did he know, she thought grimly, that he probably had more experience at this than she did.

  Cautiously she glanced at the open prayerbook held by the woman on her other side, then flipped to the correct page in her own and tried to follow along. A sideways peek at Deller showed him slit-eyed and weasel-tense, looking as pagan as ever. Burying her nose in her prayerbook, Nellie pretended she’d never seen him before. On all sides the voices of the congregation rose and fell in murmured waves, repeating phrases back to the priest. They had everything memorized, Nellie realized in amazement. Even when she squinted, she couldn’t read the prayerbook’s tiny script in the flickering candlelight.