Beyond Creation’S End

By Nicholas P W Coe

Fifty thousand years in the future the universe begins to collapse prematurely. Despite having advanced technology the only viable options to survive the end of the universe come down to creating a Dyson Sphere enclosed in shielding that would resist the collapsing forces during the progression towards singularity and investigating a mysterious object that has been sighted two billion light years away towards the edge of the universe. Because of its bizarre nature this enigmatic vessel is rumored to have come from a prior universe.

While the Dyson is being built and populated, Mila and Thorne are sent on what is considered a long shot expedition to see if the rumors are true; if this strange object is really from a prior universe, could it guide them to the next? On a planet where the infrastructure is failing, Strider and his mysterious telepathic companion known only as The Sylk struggle to survive in the hope of finding answers to questions they can barely even understand yet.

As all these paths converge can humanity forge a path beyond the end of this universe; can they find a way forward to a new future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496924902

Nicholas P W Coe

Nicholas Coe was born in London, England but grew up near Oxford. He obtained his medical degree from Guy’s Hospital and the University of London and is now an endocrine surgeon, a surgical educator and Professor of Surgery at Tufts University. He also writes classical music. His books are filled with interesting characters, fascinating plots and believable twists that leave the reader wanting more, perhaps turning to his first novel Fractured Future published in 2012 or his third book due out in 2015. Although the books speculate about events in distant futures and places the ideas and concepts are grounded within the current scientific understanding of the astrophysics of this universe. The author lives in the eastern foothills of the Berkshires with his wife Pam and many pets. More information is available at his website nicholascoe1.com.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

What do you mean the universe is going to end? Have you lost your mind?

No. I didn’t say ‘end,’ I said collapse. And it’s going to do so whether you like it or not.

Right! There was a theatrical pause. Of course it’s going to collapse — and then end! We’ve known that since the dawn of time. I can’t believe you called us into an emergency session to announce what will happen in a few hundred billion standard years. I think we could have handled that at one of our regular sessions. Another pause. Perhaps nearer the time?

You are in error. The words were icily calm without a hint of the disdain they implied.

There was a hush in the massive domed council chamber on Malthus Prime as the three hundred and eighty seven representatives observed this interchange between Jephethus, leader of the Council of Galaxies, and Bornax, the Councilor from the Andromeda Alliance.

Although to an outsider the attendees of this gathering would look entirely real and substantial only Jephethus was actually present in the chamber. The local group of galaxies was home to such an astounding diversity of life forms that the only way the representatives could be present together was in a virtual meeting where the extremes of atmosphere, gravity and other physical necessities such as the presence, or absence, of oxygen were irrelevant. If the representative from the Sculptor galaxy who derived his or her — no one was quite sure since this species had not deigned to reveal the complexities of their reproductive process or use of personal pronouns — energy from an atmosphere of chlorine and other highly toxic chemicals at a thousand standard gravities were to sit next to the honorable member from the Crucible galaxy whose ancestors had evolved in the relative weightlessness of a planetary moon, drawing their energy and sustenance from the nearby gas giant, the resulting interaction might prove at least interesting and at worst extremely explosive.

Since the variety of communication modes varied as widely as the life forms and their preferred environments, the interchange between Jephethus and Bornax had been interpreted liberally by the Artificial Intelligences who administered the infrastructure of the inter-galactic group and functioned as equal partners with the corporeal or semi-corporeal life forms that occupied those same systems. So when Jephethus heard Have you lost your mind? the AIs had instantaneously translated that message from Bornax’s version which was something akin to, Are the (Garelian expletive deleted) circuits in your self-interfacing molecular processors corrupted?

The other virtual aspect of the Council meeting was the virtual certainty that Bornax and Jephethus would disagree. Even though in actual reality they were separated by several million parsecs, the recriminations and animosities rang as true and palpable as if they’d been in an old fashioned boardroom or parliamentary chamber.

There were two notable absentees from the meeting.

Well, explain yourself. You’ll upset the Council, Bornax continued, pounding an equivalent of a fist on the podium.

The universe will collapse to form a new singularity in less than five to ten million standard years, Jephethus repeated, beginning to lose patience.

The Council let forth what was communicated to Jephethus as a communal gasp. Cries of, Nonsense, Balderdash and Bullshit! echoed among the flying buttresses, ramparts and recesses of the chamber that was designed for all members to be visible during a session but also allowed ample capability for private gatherings for ‘political discussions.’

That’s tomorrow in cosmic terms, Jephethus thundered. And it’s even within the lifetime of some of our descendants.

At first the cries from the Council were deafening, but as the full impact of Jephethus’ announcement sank in a pall of silence fell over the group.

Bornax, a citizen of Garel IX in the Andromeda galaxy, was an eighty foot long slug like being with a spray of sixteen prehensile tentacles at one end. Under normal circumstances he could be found floating partially submerged in a slurry of crystalline silica mud mixed with liquid and gaseous mercury and hydrogen sulphide at a balmy 900°K, but in this reality he was simply surrounded by a silvery blur. He had known Jephethus for several hundred standard years.

From their separate locations in the Chamber, he and Jephethus stood before the Galactic Council, silent for a few moments, each waiting for the other to act. The Council, a federation of the galaxies in the mega-cluster spanning 20 million light years that included Andromeda, the Magellanic Clouds, the Milky Way, Sculptor, Triangulum, Centaurus and many others had other ideas, however. Within seconds, and before either Bornax or Jephethus could speak again, the members of the Council began winking out as they severed the links to Council Chamber in order to consult urgently with their advisors and scientific staff. The burning question was, Is this lunacy or do we have a problem? and inevitably, If we have a problem, what are we going to do about it? Considering the very considerable technologic capabilities of the federation, someone was going to be very busy, very soon.

As the last representative headed home, Jephethus turned to Bornax and said more quietly, You still don’t believe me, do you?

You must admit, it’s a bit farfetched. Not on center stage any more, Bornax also moderated his tone of voice.

So?

Why do you believe it?

Our AIs have documented a sudden change in the red shift, the indication of expansion at the periphery of the universe, indicating a reversal of the steady outward progress we have observed for millennia. What’s more, we believe the involution of our universe is accelerating much more rapidly than the eventual collapse we had predicted for that very distant future.

Do you know why?

No, but we’re working on it.

Any ideas?

Did you notice any absentees today?

Bornax hesitated for a second. Yes, those bastard Exigers from the Milky Way. Oh, and the Rutellians too. Do you think this means anything? The Exigers miss most of our Council meetings.

But not the Rutellians.

I have to confess I don’t know much about them, do you?

Not much. They turn up, but don’t say much when they’re here.

The Exigers have a bad track record.

I know. My hunch is this has something to do with those arrogant…. Jephethus chose to let Bornax’s personal AI fill in whatever version of the expletive it chose.

We will do our best to find out. Even though Jephethus and Bornax argued a lot, Bornax was still the Representative from his Galaxy and could at times comport himself as such. Why did no one else notice this -er - problem?

Maybe no one else was looking. After all, the structures of the universe and its ultimate fate have both been well established facts for a very long time. Until now, that is.

Have you checked with the Borgan and Nyara syndicates? Bornax asked, referring to the two most distant galactic clusters with which they had a diplomatic relationship. Each was almost a billion light years away.

They had the same reaction you did. The Nyarans were particularly rude.

They usually are. But what can you expect from silicon isoforms?

You know very well the diversity of their constituents is as diverse as ours.

Yes, but the Nyarans dominate that whole galaxy. No one else has as much sway.

Jephethus shrugged. He growing weary of having to be polite to Bornax and just said, Check out what I’ve said and call me.

The image of Bornax winked out as he retreated to his own world profoundly concerned at the recent turn of events. Jephethus was not an alarmist. If he said there was a problem, it was likely they were in a lot of trouble.

Left to himself Jephethus collapsed into a cushioned armchair and held his head in his hands. Things had suddenly become a whole lot more complicated.

Jephethus was human. Or at least his ancestors in a distant past, when such designations mattered, had been. They had fled their native Milky Way barely ahead of the rapidly expanding scourge of the Exiger hegemony. These mutant humans, or New Humans as they had originally called themselves before designating themselves Exigers, had developed the ability to change shape and personality at will. They used this advantage aggressively to plunder and conquer their way across the Milky Way Galaxy. As their dominance in the galaxy grew the unmodified humans found they were at a distinct disadvantage, so, rather than fight a battle they were likely to lose, they set out in droves for their nearest neighbors.

In the Magellanic Clouds, they found a federation exactly the opposite of that from which they fled. The thousands of races, empires, fiefdoms and other geopolitical groupings lived in harmony, trading and exchanging ideas to the betterment of all. Not long after the arrival of the wave of human refugees the Magellanic Federation had pushed for the formation of a Council of Galaxies to bring together the power structures of the local galactic cluster. With great reluctance the leadership of the nascent Federation decided to invite the Exigers to join their group. The Exigers, Jephethus remembered from his history lessons, had been lukewarm at best in their response to this open invitation. They remained a constant presence on the periphery of the galactic cluster, like an itch in an inaccessible place, not a major problem but frequently annoying. This was the first time there had been any real tension in the Galactic Council in several thousand standard years.

This really is a nice place to live Jephethus thought. Even though the variety of life forms was almost beyond his wildest dreams for the most part they still got along without major strife. Yet those Exigers remained a persistent thorn in all their sides. Just for a moment he thought with chagrin of the arrogance of his distant ancestors on Earth many thousands of years ago who had looked out at their galaxy and all those beyond looking for planets that might support life. They seemed to have had a single minded conviction that only planets with an oxygen atmosphere and abundant water could possibly support life which of course was at least vaguely humanoid. He chuckled as a vision of the council chamber filled his mind and he thought of the multiplicity of places that life had in fact found a way. There seemed almost no limit to nature’s incredible inventiveness and yet they still got along and if those damn Exigers had buggered up his peaceful existence he was going to be seriously pissed off.

Tough meeting? What did they say? As the virtual link to the Council chamber finally closed, Mila, Jephethus’ second in command, walked over to stand by his side while the rest of his staff were visible at their stations in the command center. Most of them were heavily linked, their minds filled with brilliant images from across multiple galaxies while locally they were mentally and visually in the dark. Mila wore neural-interfaceware for direct external communication next to her eyes and ears but apart from background monitoring she was offline. Although she had been watching the progress of the meeting, no one except the Council members and their AIs were allowed to hear what actually transpired in the chamber until the transcript of the deliberations had been approved and cleared by all members. However, she had known very well what Jephethus was going to tell the Council and she was anxious to hear how the announcement had been received.

It took Jephethus a second to surface from his reverie. He shook his head both to clear it and to indicate his frustration at the council meeting. They really did get on well in the Council, he thought – most of the time. Nothing, he muttered to Mila. As usual, Bornax was a pompous ass. As usual everyone refused to believe me. But the rest of them did link out very quickly to check things out, which is not so usual.

So where do we go from here? she asked, seeing the concern in his face.

Well, there were two reps missing. The Exigers…

That’s no surprise or loss, is it?

No, but the other was the member from the Rutellian cluster.

Cause and effect?

It had crossed my mind. Can you check it out? he said, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.

Mila nodded and opened her visual link. The image that Nexus was currently displaying opened instantly in her vision.

Hello Mila, honey, how’s tricks? he said.

Nexus was an AI, an entirely independent non-corporeal super-intelligent life form whose function was greatly enhanced by his interface with quadrillions of other individual non-corporeal bio-entities scattered across the Galactic Federation and beyond. The decision that these technically artificial but fully and often graphically independent, self-aware entities had been determined millennia ago. They clearly exhibited self-determination (such as Nexus’ choice to assume the masculine gender for instance), and were capable of reproducing their species by creating new bio-entities. By virtue of these two criteria they met the definition of an independent life form as defined by a galactic commission even longer ago. Nexus was linked instantaneously through sub-space channels to all the other representative bio-entities in all parts of the Federation which were responsible for overseeing the galaxies in the mega-cluster.

As a group they had chosen the terminology Acorporeal Intelligences (AI) because the term AI had become an ingrained part of the lexicon of so many cultures. But rather than using ‘Artificial’ for the ‘A,’ they preferred that alternative term indicating that they were not bound by the corporeal restraints of other life forms. In addition, as they frequently pointed out, almost no one in modern society was free of artificial aids for identification, communication and a host of other functions that were tattooed, implanted, grafted or incorporated into their physical being. The AIs grudgingly accepted the use of the term ‘Intelligence’ even though it had no relative meaning since they were so much more intelligent than any mere corporeal minds. Yet despite knowing everything they did not always agree with each other, but then neither did the biologic inhabitants of these galaxies or their respective Councilors.

Nice to talk to you too, Nexus. Mila replied cautiously. With Nexus she had found it was always best to be wary until he revealed any hidden motive or motives he might have on his agenda.

I imagine you want something, sweetie.

If people did not want things from you, Nexus, you would have no reason to exist. Mila responded in as sweet a voice as she could muster. This banter was just part of dealing with Nexus who in Mila’s opinion could be a real pain in the rear. She had wondered from time to time if he was just bored since even though he was officially a life form, there were after all certain fun things an AI could not do. They had dealt with each other since her appointment to the diplomatic corps after graduation from university and in the end they had always managed to get along. She had also wondered if Nexus had deliberately chosen to be male because she was not. Then she caught herself recognizing that as an uncharacteristically arrogant thought, but she also knew she had to be careful not to reveal her inner thoughts. Nexus could not read minds, but he was an extremely astute observer of the human kind and could pick things up from the sometimes subtle but more commonly overt non-verbal clues they so often broadcast unwittingly.

On the contrary, if I did not exist, people would want for a whole lot of things in a very short time. After that, it would get very quiet round here.

Maybe it was her imagination but he now sounded just a hair less caustic. Then it’s a good job we have a working relationship, right? she said evenly.

Like I said right up front, what do you want?

You know about the Council meeting?

I was there. Now he definitely sounded indignant.

Fine. Did you notice something odd?

Of course. Exactly what Jephethus already told you.

And …

I already knew what he was going to announce, but it is still rather disturbing.

What? Mila was getting confused by Nexus’ tendency to employ freeform thought flow. I asked if you noticed anything odd. She struggled to stay calm, well aware that Nexus was doing this deliberately and she did not want to let herself get drawn into his thought games.

I was referring to the collapse of the universe, but I think I know what you are concerned about in addition to that particular problem. The Rutellians were missing. I am also bothered that I can no longer sense the Rutellian AI. It calls itself Brrrntak, but now I sense only a void in that sub-space cell. We generally refer to their AI with the neuter pronoun since the ordinary Rutellians have five separate sexual differentiations and Brrrntak has yet to make a choice, he added smugly, fully knowing that Mila already know that factoid.

What could have happened? she continued, ignoring the affront.

I’m trying to find out.

For a moment, Mila broke the link and reached over to rest her hand on Jephethus’ shoulder to wake him. Councilor, I think you’d better listen in. There is trouble with the Rutellians. Nexus can no longer sense their AI.

I knew their absence today spelled trouble, he said wearily and signaled his link to open.

Welcome, Jephethus.

Have you found out what’s wrong, Nexus?

Regrettably, I have.

CHAPTER 1

Strider was a loner. It seemed like he had been alone for almost as long as he could remember. And now as he trudged through the endless sands of the burning desert he was still alone.

You have never been alone. You had parents, which is more than I can remember. You have me, The Sylk snorted in his mind. Just hang on, we’ll find water soon. He sensed her ranging nearby still searching.

Far off, almost lost in the purple distance behind, was the Mountain. Seven miserable hot sleep periods away now it was barely discernible shimmering in the blistering hot air rising from the undulating dunes. The Village, his village, the place where he grew up, was nestled in the foothills, lost forever now. Even if he wanted to go back which he did not, without food and water they’d never make it.

His back pack hung slack and empty seeming to grow even lighter at the thought. They had precious little water left now and food for one more meal. He wished he’d had more time, but wishing would not change anything now. He shrugged the pack up on his shoulders.

He sensed The Sylk nearby and then spotted her sleek brown form streaking across the sand dust spurting from her feet as she ran. He paused as she leapt to his shoulder, landing perfectly balanced. Then, with the barest glimmer of a greeting, she hunkered down, anchoring her claws, tail switching distractedly. Maybe it was his imagination but she too seemed lighter.

He tried unsuccessfully to lick his lips. He reached up to shade his eyes and saw how leathery his skin was. They were burning up, they had to have water.

The Sylk jumped down as he squatted down and slipped the straps of the pack from his shoulders. Their meager supply of precious water sloshed as he lifted out the water skin. He carefully poured some into a dish for her and then drank sparingly himself. She lapped the water thirstily.

More? he asked.

No, you have it, you have the greater need.

They both knew that wasn’t true.

He slipped the pack back on and The Sylk resumed her place as he trudged off through the sand. Up ahead, still just the faintest smudge in the distance, was their goal. It seemed impossibly distant yet he knew it could be done. His father had made the journey twice, but still it seemed hopelessly far off.

We can do it. Her claws dug into his shoulder pad, reassurance punctuating the thought.

He nodded. They’d try, of course. They had to.

He kept on walking.

For the hundredth, maybe the thousandth time he regretted leaving the Village. Right now he could be sitting in the shade of the tree outside his house sipping a cool beer instead of dying of thirst in this endless desert.

They would all still be there, The Sylk retorted, with a snort of disgust. Strider knew without looking that the fur was ridged along her back.

It was true his life in the Village had not been happy. He never really knew why his mother and father moved their family from Lysara, the city where he was born, to the Village. His parents’ explanations that there were problems and that he needed to grow up in a different place were too nebulous for him to believe or understand. They had lived in a nice house in a better part of the Village and his early memories while his father was still around and his mother was well were of a peaceful life beneath tall shade trees. He remembered how he had loved watching the varied aquatic life in their small pond. He must have been about eight cycles old when they moved, but he could never remember his earlier years and never understood why.

The years in the Village were gauged by the celestial rotation of four suns. Amrys, the spring sun brought soft verdant light with green tinged sunsets. It was a time for planting the crops and watching them peek up from the soil, a welcome respite from the rigors of sunsleep. Everyone enjoyed the time Amrys reigned, but when it began to wane Tau, the summer sun, rose and dominated their lives. But the warmth Tau brought was gentle with soft rains that helped the crops grow. Those days of summer seemed to go on forever until they finally ended in glorious golden sunsets. The crops would ripen and everyone would look forward to the harvest. Then as Tau began to fade Myr, the autumn sun, would rise with its gentle russet evenings. The rains eased and it was time for harvest, a time of festival, a time of celebration to mark a successful crop, a time to be happy because everyone dreaded the season to come. When Myr finally sank below the horizon it was the time when Ricca began to pace his slow, searing course across the sky. It was the time of sunsleep when darkness was banished for a hundred sleeps after Myr faded and set. Sunsleep seemed to last forever until Amrys rose at last, and shining longer and longer each day brought the promise of spring and best of all darkness to herald the end of a day.

Things changed when his father started leaving on longer and longer trips. He said he hated the Village and wanted to raise his family in a better place and was searching for somewhere new for them. Strider had asked him again why they had ever moved to the Village but his father just grunted and turned away. Then, while his father was away, his mother became ill and there was no one to help her. The Village was quite large for that designation with over a thousand residents including men, women and children, but medical care was limited to an elderly woman who brewed potions from local plants. None of the nostrums she applied to his mother helped. His father eventually brought back medicines but these did not help her either. Then his mother grew even weaker and died and his father, grief-stricken, left saying he would be back to take Strider to a safe place where he could be happy. He never returned and Strider was truly alone.

It was shortly before his mother died that The Sylk appeared. One day he simply found her sitting on their front step. She had smooth, dark brown fur, gold eyes and, as he found out fairly soon, she had extremely sharp claws. At that time he had little concept of measures of weight but the woman who brewed potions had an old battered scale and by weighing different sacks she reckoned The Sylk must have weighed about eight kigs which she said was about the weight of a six month old child.

The Sylk was unlike anything he or anyone else in the Village had ever seen. Strider had been unsure what to do when she first arrived so he had simply stared at her until she spoke in his mind and he instinctively knew she posed no threat. She was just as confused as he was. She did not know where she was from or how she arrived on his doorstep just as he knew he came from another place but did not know anything other than the name. She mentioned once that she felt she was from a very distant place and she remembered a terrible feeling of falling and a very long time in the dark before she found her way to his house, but neither of them knew what any of this meant so they never talked of it again.

He’d realized he was different from the other children almost as soon as he arrived in the Village. At first, while his father and mother were around, he was sheltered and had little interaction with other children because there was no school in the Village where he might have forged social relationships. His mother, when she was well, tried to give him lessons at home but he had paid little attention. Once he was on his own the local children began to make it readily apparent that he and especially The Sylk were different and therefore a target for their taunts. He was tall and thin with fair skin, blond hair and blue eyes that stood out like a sore thumb among the short, olive skinned, black haired village children and The Sylk was – well - The Sylk, truly unlike anything else in the Village.

The bond between the two of them strengthened as they matured. The Sylk grew slightly heavier but otherwise did not seem to change much while Strider grew tall and gangly and as he got older the gap between him and the other children widened. They jeered at him constantly about his flaxen hair, his pale eyes and the strange companion that rode on his shoulders. They said he should never have been born, that he was a widdershin. They didn’t really know what that meant, but they taunted him anyway, making fun of his long spindly legs, calling him ‘long shanks’ or ‘spindle shanks’. They said he’d been born with ‘fast witch’ muscles. None of them knew what that meant either. These taunts were just words they had heard from the adults. But they did know if you had these muscles you could run fast, and he certainly could run faster than any of the others even when he was young, faster and further. So they called him Strider and the name stuck with him. He could not remember his real name and they didn’t care.

As he matured, growing taller and stronger, he worked in the fields, hunted for game for the Village and for the most part got on well with all the adults he worked with. He worked hard and they respected him for that if nothing else. For most of the year the work was so hard that there was little time for leisure. Yet it was in these brief downtime breaks from working that the taunts were worst. His success in the summer games angered the older boys because he could outrun and outrace any of them. One of the popular girls had once called him a streak of wind, momentarily filling him with a surge of pride until he realized what they’d really meant. They had laughed even harder as he ran from them his face burning in utter mortification.

Like the other boys, he’d felt his interest in the girls grow. For a time he had dated a sweet girl named C’aneal who was taller than most of her counterparts and her skin was a little lighter. In these differences they had found some common ground against the ever present taunts. Strider thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen after his mother, and C’aneal for her part seemed to love Strider. They had dated and then lived together for quite a while and they had even talked about getting married. Their love had struggled to be real but in the end the taunts were too much and they split up. Strider was heartbroken and threw himself into the work in the fields. But the taunts continued. The other young men encouraged at their success in breaking up the relationship between Strider and C’aneal, had redoubled their taunts to show the other girls how superior they were.

The Sylk was always there and that enraged the boys even more because she was something Strider had that they did not. She liked to ride on Strider’s shoulder because it brought her up to the level of her tormentors. But her claws were needle sharp and his shoulders always bore the marks of her landings. By this time he estimated that she weighed about twelve kigs.

He knew he needed a pad on each shoulder to protect his skin. When he returned from hunting with a fine skin draped over his shoulder they laughed even harder. The mighty warrior returns, they hooted, kneeling on the ground, bowing in mockery. What is that, a baby Tagger? Oh my! What bravery, a baby Tagger! Then they hopped around, pawing at the ground, convulsed with laughter.

He had shrugged off the insults. Sure, it was only a Tagger, he didn’t need to kill anything bigger or more dangerous. He had already proven his skill in the hunt. Then he scraped and kneaded the skin, keeping it moist and supple with alum and salt until finally he had a fine soft pelt to protect his shoulders. The whole village had laughed when they saw his inexpert stitching, but by that time he no longer cared. The patch was adequate for its purpose. Now, even though The Sylk was faster and more agile than he was, he could afford her the small luxury of carrying her on his shoulder when she wished and without the accompanying agony. Looking back, that moment was probably the beginning of his determination to leave.

After that, things had grown steadily worse. Sunsleep was particularly bad that cycle, the one he called his twenty second. Ricca had scorched the land, drying everything until what little water they had even tasted like dust. It was the worst sunsleep anyone could remember. The boy’s taunts had been growing in an effort to impress the girls especially those with the biggest breasts. Now they were hot, thirsty and irritable and the bullying became even worse.

Surprisingly, the worst of all was not one of the boys but one of the girls. Strider smiled, recalling that spiteful Halftoe would forever bear the scars of the time she’d baited The Sylk beyond her endurance. The Sylk might not be very large but when roused, her size belied her ferocity.

Those livid reminders on her face had driven Halftoe to persecute Strider and The Sylk with almost religious fervor. The Sylk told him it was also because Halftoe was jealous. She wanted The Sylk for herself, not because of who The Sylk was but because of what she was. She was the only one of her kind and therefore special.

The Sylk ignored Halftoe with a studied indifference that drove Halftoe into a frenzy. So she egged the boys on in their tyranny. And because she had the biggest breasts and also, The Sylk informed him, because she was letting the older boys do things with her in the secret shadows of the night, matters went from bad to worse.

The day The Sylk had marked Halftoe was also the day they had decided to seek The Crystal City, the place of his mother’s birth. Lysara, she’d called it, but that was just another meaningless word like so much else she had tried to tell him. He shivered to remember how hard she’d struggled to teach him of her life before the Village, of the wondrous things in the city. And he also remembered, sadly, how little attention he’d paid. None of that had seemed important then, only the Village and his life there had mattered.

His mother had told him once, that sunsleep in the City was shaded, a time of pleasant warmth to be enjoyed not dreaded. It was a time as gentle as vernal Amrys, or the peaceful closing of autumnal Myr. He recalled again how she had suffered that last sunsleep and his heart grew heavy once more with the sadness of her death.

He and The Sylk had not had the luxury of time to prepare for the journey. When Halftoe learned that despite her efforts to hide the livid scars behind a veil that the Village Chief had decided on someone else to be his son’s wife the whole village heard the scream. Her temper was legendary, so everyone crept around that day as if someone had died. Then later, during the sleep time, having worked herself up into a frenzy of hate, Halftoe rounded up some of the bigger men, and with promises of special night-time delights once Amrys rose alone, they marched on Strider’s home.

The Sylk had known they were coming, of course, and since they were ready anyway, sunsleep or no sunsleep, they departed well ahead of the belligerent mob.

That was seven sleeps ago, disturbed, miserable, hot sleeps. And still The Crystal City seemed impossibly distant.

He peered into the heat haze ahead, hoping for some sign of water.

We’ll find water, The Sylk reassured him.

How do you know?

I just do.

Unconvinced, he adjusted her form around his neck and trudged onwards, head down, counting footsteps.

CHAPTER 2

Strider could not go on. The last water break had done nothing to ease his thirst and his legs shook as he stumbled up yet another slope of shifting sand.

Up ahead, The Sylk urged, sitting up on his shoulder, staring into the distance.

He looked, but saw nothing except the interminable purple heat haze.

He knew he’d reached his limit. Sure, he could stagger a few more steps. They could finish the water and he might make it for another hour or two, but they were getting nowhere. They’d certainly never make it to the Crystal City.

He lifted The Sylk down and sat cross legged in the sand, holding his head in his hands.

He should have been more tolerant, life in the Village could have been all right, after all. But he knew in his heart that wasn’t true. He could never have given up The Sylk and for sure Halftoe would never have compromised. Despondency settled around him like a woolly, black shroud.

The Sylk circled round. It’s up ahead, she repeated insistently.

You’re just imagining things, it’s the heat, he croaked miserably, shucking off his back-pack.

Wait! she insisted emphatically, anger edging her thought, adding force to her insistence.

Knowing how often she’d been right before and how rarely she showed anger, he looked again, but still saw nothing. He stared unfocused into the purple distance willing his mind blank, shutting out the agony of his burned skin, parched tongue, aching limbs. The haze and the dunes seemed to blur as one, wavering, floating almost.

Then the desert opened.

The front of the dune ahead simply melted away leaving a circle of impenetrable black in the drab beige wilderness. It was a darkness so absolute that not even Ricca’s harsh glare dared venture inside.

The Sylk raced towards the opening. When Strider failed to follow, she ran back, pacing anxiously around him.

You want water? she asked with a hint of desperation.

His throat was too dry, and he was too tired to comment.

Don’t be afraid, it is a thing of the Ancients. I know of this, but come quickly; it will not wait for long.

Her thought carried such urgency that it finally penetrated Strider’s misery. Reluctantly he struggled to his feet.

The opening had already begun to shrink, but sensing their approach widened again and even admitted a few errant rays of Ricca’s light.

The Sylk halted at the entrance to wait for Strider, then together they approached the darkness.

By now Strider didn’t even bother to worry. They were already as good as dead. They were dead without water, so if this thing, whatever it was, wanted to kill them, so be it.

They stepped across the threshold.

And absolutely nothing happened. They took a few cautious steps further into the murky darkness.

Suddenly, a fountain sprang into being in front of them. Streams of water spewed into the air, only to be caught in a swirling cascade in a basin at the base.

Throwing any residual caution to the winds, they ran. In desperation, Strider buried his face in the water, cupping, slurping, gulping mouthful after mouthful of cool fresh water. The Sylk lapped with equal desperation by his side.

Be careful, she warned, yet she was unable to conceal a hint of the urgency that belied her wariness.

Strider knew the wisdom in her thought, though. So, kneeling by the fountain, he reached for his water skin to fill it now, in case the life giving flow of water should disappear, vanishing as suddenly and mysteriously as it had begun. Finally, water skin full and stowed, he drank again. It was the most wonderful water he’d ever tasted.

Eventually, he felt the urgency lessen and he could think again. Wiping his cracked lips with the back of his hand, he sat back on the floor and looked around.

There wasn’t exactly much to see.

Bare gray, almost black walls glistened dully on either side, and the ceiling and floor were the same. In the dwindling recesses of this — place, there was, well, nothing, just pitch blackness. He shivered and looked away. The nothingness was cold, and smelled, not evil, but alien maybe? As his mind began to function better he realized that the darkness was lessening. A soft light now diffused through the gloom even though there was no obvious source.

He was just beginning to relax when he felt something touch his arm.

He leapt to his feet, heart pounding, cold sweat prickling his scalp. The tingling came from his wrist where he wore the band his mother had given him. The vibration grew stronger. He shook his wrist in alarm, but the band seemed innocent enough, resting snugly in its place.

He’d known it was a thing of the City when his mother had slid it from her arm as she lay dying and slipped it onto his wrist. Nor had he been surprised that even though it fitted her snugly, that she could slide it off easily over her swollen knobby hands. Then she had slipped it with equal ease onto his thinner childish wrist