didn’t need to wait for the plague because they hadn’t deserved the New Creation anyhow.
“Have they hurt you?” Elder Brother asked, suddenly aware of the flame burning at the back of Shoethai’s one good eye.
Shoethai frowned and picked at a scab on his cheek, licking the blood from his finger with every evidence of relish. “Oh, no, Elder Brother. It’s just that they’re always bragging about who they’ll do in next.” He said nothing more about the aircar. Maybe it would be better not to let Elder Brother know he was going to fix it. That way, when Bones and the others didn’t come back, nobody would know it was Shoethai’s doing.
Yavi Foosh had left Elder Brother Fuasoi’s office only to report directly to that of Elder Brother Jhamlees Zoe, where he waited for half an hour to see his superior.
“What’s Fuasoi up to now?” Jhamlees wanted to know.
“Shoethai found a book Brother Mainoa had been writing, and he brought it back to Fuasoi. And now Fuasoi’s all in a uproar about it.”
“What’s in the book?”
“I don’t know, Elder Brother. Shoethai found it, and he wouldn’t let me see it.”
“He should have brought it to me!”
“Sure he should, Elder Brother, but he didn’t. I even told him he should bring it to you. But Elder Fuasoi’s his bosom friend, so that’s where he took it.”
“I think I’ll walk on down there and see what’s going on.” Elder Brother Jhamlees rose from his chair and strode down the hall. Yavi Foosh stayed a sensible distance behind. He didn’t want to be identified as Jhamlees’ man, the way Shoethai was identified as Fuasoi’s man. Once that happened, people didn’t let you alone.
The door to the office was open. The room itself was empty. Jhamlees stared at the emptiness a moment, then went in and pulled out the drawer in the desk. “This it?” he asked, waving the book as he beckoned Yavi closer.
Yavi nodded. “That looks like it.”
“You won’t say anything about this?”
Yavi shook his head. Of course he wouldn’t say anything about it. Jhamlees Zoe could take all the books in the world, and Yavi wouldn’t say a word.
Rillibee moved upward along the trunk of a giant tree, his feet finding a path in the twine of a woody vine, in the ascent of a forking branch. Branch led to branch, vine to vine, a barkway opened before him. He fumbled with the light, trading it from hand to hand as he climbed, once or twice holding it in his mouth when he needed both hands for holding on. As he came up into the first levels of foliage, however, he began to see the forest around him. The leaves glowed, some of them, or creatures upon them glowed in soft fluorescence: green puddles swam at the base of branches, yellow lines delineated twigs, blue dots gleamed from indigo masses. Branches cut darkly across these shining nebulae, these glowing galaxies, and he climbed on structures of solid shadow among moving effulgences.
A small wind came through the trees, bearing a cloud of winged pink blossoms. When the wind died, they perched all together, turning a sapling into flame. Larger wings the color and scent of melons beat slowly from trunk to trunk, the creatures at rest assuming the shape of cups in which golden light pulsed to attract other fliers, darts of violet and a blue so pale it was almost white.
“Joshua,” Rillibee whispered. “You’d have loved this. Miriam, you… you’d have loved this.”
“Heaven,” said the parrot from the top of a tree “Died and gone to heaven.”
Leaves brushed his face, exuding resinous sweetness. A hard knob of fruit knocked against his arm. He picked it, smelled of it, bit into it. Crisp, sweet-sour, the juice ran into his mouth and was followed by a tingling, almost as though the fruits themselves were effervescent.
The sounds he had heard on the ground were all around him in the trees. Voices. One laughing. One speaking, as though telling a long story to an eager audience, interrupting itself with little side chains of sound. “You’re not going to believe this, but…”
“So then, what do you think happened?” If Rillibee closed his eyes, he could see the speaker, cheerfully telling a tale, leaning across a tavern table.
He moved slowly through the branches. The sound faded behind him. He turned and moved toward it once more, caressing the branches with his fingers, loving them with his feet. The voices were off there somewhere among the glowing trees. He would find them eventually.
There was something else to find as well. The girl. Stella. He had set her name beside the other names in his litany. She was to belong to him, to Rillibee Chime. Though her family was wealthy and important, still she would belong to him. Though she herself would disdain him, still…
“Heaven,” whispered the parrot above him.
So he climbed in the night hours. At dawn he found the voices when the sun slanted into their city through leaves of heartbreak gold.
Marjorie woke to birdsong and the music of water. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and a little longer to remember the interruption in the night. When she did, she looked about for Brother Lourai. not finding him but meeting Mainoa’s eyes.
“He hasn’t come back,” the old man said.
“You knew he’d gone off…”
“I knew he woke you and you both went off. But you came back.”
“He went up there.” She gestured at the high spangle of sun among the boughs. “He told me they call him Willy Climb and that he’d be all right.”
Mainoa nodded. “Yes. He
She flushed, wondering how he knew so much about her. It was true. She was curious about what would happen next. As though something awaited her, personally. Some opportunity…
Father James returned from the nearest pool with a full bucket of water, looking alert and rested. “I haven’t slept that well in weeks,” he said. “I had the oddest dreams.”
“Yes,” said Brother Mainoa again. “I think we all did. Something here invaded our dreams.”
Marjorie stood up and looked about her, suddenly concerned.
“No, no.” The old man rose in slow motion, grasping knobby ex-cresences on the nearest tree to lift himself up. “Nothing inimical, Marjorie. They, too, are curious.”
“They?”
“Those I think we will meet today, later. After Brother Lourai returns.”
“Hasn’t he some other name?” Tony asked.
“Brother Lourai? Oh, yes. As a boy he was Rillibee. Rillibee Chime. You think he doesn’t look like a brother?”
“Tony is thinking that he doesn’t look like the Sanctified we know,” Marjorie offered. “His eyes are too big. His face too lean and intelligent. His mouth too sensitive. I always think of the Sanctified as thick, enthusiastic people with simple thoughts and a great need for answers. Old Catholics are supposed to be slender and ascetic-looking, with huge, philosophical eyes. These are stereotypes, and I’m sometimes ashamed of my thoughts, but they persist, even when I look into a mirror. You don’t look like a Sanctified either, Brother. But I suppose you’ve used the name Mainoa for too long to give it up.” She turned away in order not to see Father James’ amused and evaluating gaze.
“Far too long,” Mainoa said in agreement, laughing. “But do use Rillibee’s own name, it means much to him. He will appreciate that.”
“We’ll go out and try to pick up the trail today,” Marjorie said. Mainoa amended her statement. “It may not be possible to do so for a day or two.”
She turned on him, exasperated and frustrated, ready to scream at the delay. Father James laid a hand on her arm.
“Patience, Marjorie. Don’t be obsessive. Let it go a little.”
“I know, Father But I keep thinking what may be happening to her.”
