During the months that followed they visited the isle regularly, watching the black castle in its growth. It seemed impossible to know exactly what it had looked like in an earlier incarnation, so Donnerjack had been free in his designs, incorporating what features he would from existing structures of a similar nature. It grew tall, dark, and more than a little formidable against its bleak backdrop, though it was plumbed and heated to modern rather than medieval standards and contained lines of fiber-optic cable as well as concealed microwave antennas.
And they would walk through it as it grew—he, tapping joints with his stick; she, running her fingertips over surfaces—and they would smile and nod to each other. If it were not raining, they would stand on their hilltop for a time and look down on it. They watched the flyers come and go, bearing materials and labor, and then they would go away themselves to one of their honeymoon apartments in some other country to pass the time.
And when the time was right he worked there himself, building the Great Stage beside his workroom—full-scale, state of the art. And transfer chambers, for full visitation to Virtu. And on his workroom he lavished at least as much attention.
Working late one night after the laborers had departed—for there were some parts of the installation he had intended for no eyes but his own—Donnerjack heard a low moaning sound from somewhere below. He investigated, stick in hand, but discovered nothing untoward. But the winds blew about the incomplete castle, finding entry at every opening. He nodded and went on with his work. The sounds came and went throughout the night.
Over a series of such nights Donnerjack installed everything he would need to conduct his business. Its delicate nature was not the only reason he craved isolation. Ayradyss was. There was no record of her existence in the well-enumerated society of Verite, and the safest way to create her identity, he judged, would be incrementally, over a period of time, a stroke here, a stroke there, a small retroactive datum every now and then. First, of course, his system would have to be in place; it would not be operational until after they had taken up residence.
Strange, he reflected, tonight the moaning seemed to be accompanied by the rattling of chains…
FOUR
Seaga emerged from the cave, stretched, and stared out across the many-chambered world. It was good to have one’s consciousness localized in a single body, in a single place once again, much to recommend a compact feeling of entirety. There was Earthma, for example. Good that she slept for a time now, though, to give him this respite. If indeed she were sleeping… Of course she was sleeping. It would be ridiculous to mix business with pleasure. On the other hand…
A distant movement caught his attention. Tiny dot out of the east, it cut in his direction, running across the sky. He turned his vision inside-out, better to understand the phenomenon, here, above the blue, where daytime stars now recommended themselves to his gaze. Running on nothing it came, as if the trick were not impossible, or at least insuperably difficult, a pale-haired youth clad only in a golden jockstrap and sandals. Soon the figure was treading on nothingness before him, eyes dancing. In his hand he bore a feathered stick, wrapped by a pair of lethargic serpents, also golden. “Hail, Seaga,” he announced. “You linger On High.”
“What of it, Celerity?” the other responded. “And why should I not?”
“To be sure. Deity may do as it chooses. And that is somehow always right, in a sense.”
“Do you come to speak me riddles? To dance on the mountaintop? Or have you a message for me?”
“None of the above. I came to speak with whomever might be here and taking a break from extended awareness, to report an odd sighting.”
“That being?”
“Death, his own, old dark self. Below. I saw him not that long ago. Perhaps you heard his wail and saw the sky split, felt the earth shake, the mountain sway.”
“I did, and it disturbed my—meditations. Though, in truth, I thought it might be a part of them. So I did not know the true source of that great cry, my awareness being unextended. Do you know why Death howled?”
“I cannot say,” Celerity answered, “for who can know the thoughts of Death? I only know that he circled the base of Mount Meru as if searching for something. When he came to a depression in the ground he studied it and took something from it. That was when he gave his cry.”
“Did you see what it was that he’d found?”
“I believe it was a small length of red cable.”
“Hm. The primal mountain is not wired. Did you see what he did with it?”
“He bore it away with him, Seaga, walking amid the worlds.”
“Why do you bring this information On High?”
“I felt it of importance to anyone here, that Death has been sniffing around your mountain.”
“He has never dared to set foot on it. What would be the point? We are undying gods.”
“I like to think so. Hate to get Death pissed off at me, though.”
“You have a point. Do you feel some one of us may have done a thing to offend him?”
“I think it possible. We might check with any of the others who are about, to see whether this could be the case.”
Seaga glanced back toward the cave.
“Unfortunately, Skyga is deep in meditation just now,” he said. “I’m not certain where Earthma has gotten off to.”
The youth smiled, waving his wand downward.
“Probably playing games with the Elishites.”
“I know them not.”
“A new religion.”
“Religions come and go. They all start sounding alike after a time. What should anyone find amusing about this one?”
“It’s still growing, and it contains some unusual features. For one thing, it was founded here in Virtu, and it seems to be spreading across the border to the first world.”
Seaga shrugged.
“Virtu has always existed, in one form or another. The technology of the Verite only provided it a local habitation and a name. It may well be that all religions have taken their origins in Virtu. For what is it but the collective spirit of the race?”
“Be that as it may, another has come along. Maybe you should get involved yourself.”
“Perhaps. Have you?”
“Strictly as an observer—a distant one, so far.”
“What sort of religion is it?”
“They went back to the old Sumerian stuff for it. ‘A return to basics at a new level’—as they were bade. Only none of the founders were sure what that meant, so they guessed. It has standard personifications and the usual theatrics.”
“Who started it?”
“I don’t know the name. I wasn’t watching at the beginning. But rumor has it an arty got the word and started the ball rolling.”
“Do you know whether one of my colleagues had a hand in it?”
Celerity shook his head.
“Hmm,” Seaga mused. “A religion founded by an artificial intelligence…” He moved forward and looked downward. “And what of our lesser brethren? Are they involved?”
“Some are, I think.”
“I would think this just the sort of thing for a minor deity anxious to increase his mana.”
Celerity blushed.
“So would I, actually. It does threaten to become a going concern.”
“I don’t feel like becoming involved. Not without knowing a lot more about it. May I persuade you to show more interest and to report back to me?”
“I suppose. How do you feel I should go about it, though? One hardly files a job application, you know.”
“True. Talk to the lesser ones on the lower slopes who have become involved. Show them your interest and display your greatness.”