"You wanted me to comfort you," Celestine said. "Let me do that."
Sartori's eyes looked up, but it wasn't his sight alone that fixed on her.
"Keep. Away," he said.
"I want to hold you," Celestine said, and instead of retreating she stepped over the boundary of the circle.
On the landing the gek-a-gek were in terror now, their sly retreat become a dance of panic. They beat their heads against the wall as if to hammer out their brains rather than hear the voice issuing from Sartori; this desperate, monstrous voice that said over and over, "Keep. Away. Keep. Away."
— But Celestine wouldn't be denied. She knelt down again, in front of Sartori. When she spoke, however, it wasn't to the child, it was to the Father, to the God who'd taken her into this city of iniquities.
"Let me touch You, love," she said. "Let me touch You, the way You touched me."
"No!" Hapexamendios howled, but His child's limbs refused to rise and ward off the embrace.
The denial came again and again, but Celestine ignored it, her arms encircling them both, flesh and occupying spirit in one embrace.
This time, when the God unleashed His rejection, it was no longer a word but a sound, as pitiful as it was terrifying.
In the First, Gentle saw the lightning above his Father's head congeal into a single blinding flame and go from Him, like a meteor.
In the Second, Chicka Jackeen saw the blaze brighten the Erasure and fell to his knees on the flinty ground. A signal fire was coming, he thought, to announce the moment of victory.
In Yzordderrex, the Goddesses knew better. As the fire broke from the Erasure and entered the Second Dominion, the waters around the temple grew quiescent, so as not to draw death down upon them. Every child was hushed, every pool and rivulet stilled. But the fire's malice wasn't meant for them, and the meteor passed over the city, leaving it unharmed, outblazing the comet as it went.
With the fire out of sight, Gentle turned back to his Father.
"What have You done?" he demanded.
The God's attention lingered in the Fifth for a little time, but as Gentle's demand came again He withdrew His mind from His target, and His eyes regained their animation.
"I've sent a fire for the whore," He said. It was no longer the lightning that spoke, but His many throats.
"Why?"
"Because she tainted you... she made you want love."
"Is that so bad?"
"You can't build cities with love," the God said. "You can't make great works. It's weakness."
"And what about Nisi Nirvana?" Gentle said. "Is that a weakness too?"
He dropped to his knees and laid his phantom palms on the ground. They had no power here, or else he'd have started digging. Nor could his spirit pierce the ground. The same barrier that sealed him from his Father's belly kept him from looking into His Dominion's underworld. But he could ask the questions.
"Who spoke the words, Father?" he asked. "Who said: Nisi Nirvana?"
"Forget you ever heard those words," Hapexamendios replied. "The whore is dead. It's over."
In his frustration Gentle made fists of his hands and beat on the solid ground.
"There's nothing there but Me," the.many throats went on. "My flesh is everywhere. My flesh is the world, and the world is My flesh."
On the Mount of Lipper Bayak, Tick Raw had given up his triumphal jig and was sitting at the edge of his circle, waiting for the curious to emerge from their houses and come up to question him, when the fire appeared in the Fourth— Like Chicka Jackeen, he assumed it was some star of annunciation, sent to mark the victory, and he rose again to hail it. He wasn't alone. There were several people below who'd spotted the blaze over the Jokalaylau and were applauding the spectacle as it approached. When it passed overhead it brought a brief noon to Vanaeph, before going on its way. It lit Patashoqua just as brightly, then flew out of the Dominion through a fog that had just appeared beyond the city, marking the first passing place between the Dominion of green-gold skies and that of blue.
Two similar fogs had formed in Clerkenwell, one to the southeast of Gamut Street and the other to the northwest, both marking doorways in the newly reconciled Dominion. It was the latter that became blinding now, as the fire sped through it from the Fourth. The sight was not unwitnessed. Several revenants were in the vicinity, and though they had no clue as to what this signified, they sensed some calamity and retreated before the radiance, returning to the house to raise the alarm. But they were too sluggish. Before they were halfway back to Gamut Street the fog divided, and the Unbeheld's fire appeared in the benighted streets of Clerkenwell.
Monday saw it first, as he forsook the little comfort of the candlelight and returned to the step. The remnants of
Sartori's hordes were raising a cacophony in the darkness outside, but even as he crossed the threshold to ward them off, the darkness became light.
From her place on the top stair Jude saw Celestine lay her lips against her son's and then, with astonishing strength, lift his dead weight up and pitch him out of the circle. Either the impact or the coming fire stirred him, and he began to rise, turning back towards his mother as he did so. He was too late to reclaim his place. The fire had come.
The window burst like a glittering cloud and the blaze filled the room. Jude was flung off her feet, but clutched the banister long enough to see Sartori cover his face against the holocaust, as the woman in the circle opened her arms to accept it. Celestine was instantly consumed, but the fire seemed unappeased and would have spread to burn the house to its foundations had its momentum not been so great. It sped on through the room, demolishing the wall as it went. On, on, towards the second fog that Clerkenwell boasted tonight.
"What the fuck was that?" Monday said in the hallway below.
"God," Jude replied. "Coming and going."
In the First, Hapexamendios raised His misbegotten head. Even though He didn't need the assembly of sight that gleamed in His skull to see what was happening in His Dominion—He had eyes everywhere—some memory of the body that had once been His sole residence made Him turn now, as best He could, and look behind Him.
"What is this?" He said.
Gentle couldn't see the fire yet, but he could feel whispers of its approach.
"What is this?" Hapexamendios said again.
Without waiting for a reply, He began feverishly to unknit his semblance, something Gentle had both feared and hoped He'd do. Feared, because the body from which the fire had been issued would doubtless be its destination, and if it was too quickly undone, the fire would have no target. And hoped, because only in that undoing would he have a chance to locate Pie. The barrier around his Father's form softened as the God was distracted by the intricacies of this dismantling, and though Gentle had yet to get a second glimpse of Pie he turned his thought to entering the body; but for all His perplexity Hapexamendios was not about to be breached so readily. As Gentle approached, a will too powerful to be denied seized hold of him.
"What is this?" the God demanded a third time.
Hoping he might yet gain a few precious seconds' reprieve, Gentle answered with the truth.
"The Imajica's a circle," he said.
"A circle?"
"This is Your fire, Father. This is Your fire, coming around again."
Hapexamendios didn't respond with words. He understood instantly the significance of what He'd been told and let His hold on Gentle slip again, in order to turn all His will to the business of unknitting Himself.
The ungainly body began to unravel, and in its midst Gentle once again glimpsed Pie. This time, the mystif saw him. Its frail limbs thrashed to clear a way through the turmoil between them, but before Gentle could finally wrest himself from his Father's custody the ground beneath Pie 'oh' pah grew unsolid. The mystif reached up to take hold of some support in the body above, but it was decaying too fast. The ground gaped like a grave, and, with one last despairing look in Gentle's direction, the mystif sank from sight.