Word Puppets Read online

  He knelt next to her, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “I know why you can’t kill me.”

  “Good.” She turned back to her sword. “When you fulfill your destiny let me know, so I can.”

  “I’m supposed to return your daughter to you.”

  Reiko’s heart flooded with pain and hope. She fought for breath. “Do not toy with me, bound man.”

  “I’m not. After you went into the Hall, I began thinking about the sagas. It says ‘and the gods smote Li Aya with their fiery hand.’ I can bring Li Aya here.”

  Reiko sunk her fingers into the moss, clutching the earth. “You want to rip Aya out of time as well. If Nawi had not won, then the Collapse would not have happened.”

  “But.” His voice was gentle. “It already did.”

  Reiko lifted her head, looking at the women, and the barren landscape beyond them. Everything she saw was result of her son’s actions. Or were her son’s actions the result of choices made here? She did not know if it mattered.

  “Are there any prophecies about Aya?”

  Halldór nodded. “She’s destined to—”

  Reiko put her hand on his mouth. “Don’t. When she comes here, don’t let her know she’s bound to the will of the gods.”

  Chrysalis

  Dear Grandma,

  Your letters beat me to Husa and I’ve told the computer to dole them out at the intervals that you sent them. I got no idea why I’m telling you that, since there’s zero chance you’ll read this. Helps me focus, I guess.

  I’m so wound up and . . . lonely. There. I admitted it. Just like you were worried I’d be. You don’t even get the satisfaction of saying I told you so, do you?

  Call me a fool, but I’m going to pretend I’m a knee-high girl again and tell you what’s bothering me. For the last fourteen months I’ve been working on this documentary for one of the Husith’s. It’s supposed to help him after Chrysalis scrambles his memories, like it does for all Husiths.

  Geroth’s a good enough guy. Mind you, he looks like a mealworm on steroids, but that’s not unusual around these parts. Humans are the minority here.

  I wonder what you’d think of the Husiths. You’d probably think they were ugly creatures with hundreds of tiny fingers bristling from their underbellies. It’s how they express their moods and provides traction as they inch through these massive underground cities. God, I wish you could hear them. They’re real soft most of the time, but when they fight, they bray like sea-lions mating.

  And Geroth’s fighting all the time with his betrothed. I mean all the time. And here’s the thing. I’m supposed to be recording this so he can remember it afterwards. But I mean, Geroth loves Iliath so I can’t figure why he’d want to remember these knock-down drag-out fights they have. I know I’d like to forget mine.

  The deal is that Iliath wants him to undergo Chrysalis and he doesn’t want to even though he’s way, way overdue. Totally unhealthy, even to my eye. Claims that no one besides him can understand this theory he’s working on. I can’t pretend to follow the equations but apparently his treatise has the potential to unlock the space between stars. I might even see the practical application of it within my lifetime. Heck, I could travel back to Earth without the hassle of cryosleep.

  Although that seems pretty pointless. Even if Geroth could open a gateway between planets at this moment, you’d be dead—are in fact, already dead, despite your letters . . .

  Right. Well, that morbid thought isn’t helping at all.

  So, today, in the middle of one of their spats, the door opens. I turn the camera to frame Qyo, this post-Chrysalis Husith.

  He still shocks me. I mean, three months ago he was a grub like the others, but now Qyo has limbs like a praying mantis and these colors swirl under his exoskeleton like the rainbows in an oil slick. All those tiny fingers transformed during Chrysalis into a fringe like spun silk. Beautiful every time, as if he were made for the camera.

  Hang on, let me paste in my notes:

  Geroth turned to the door and barked, “What!”

  Qyo stiffened his filaments in shock. His golden eyes passed over Van and me, ignoring us as if we were pieces of furniture. When he saw Iliath, his filaments fell gracefully. “Greetings, Iliath.”

  (Oh, Grandma, I wish you could hear him. It’s like listening to a living flute.)

  Iliath’s thousand fingers drooped in greeting. “Greetings, Artist Qyo.”

  “Is my brother ignoring you again?”

  Iliath shook her heavy head, spreading her fingers wide. “No. Not at all.”

  “Ha.” Geroth snorted at Iliath. “I let distraction enter the room when there is no time.” He turned his back on her. “I shall make note of this in my journals. You may be certain of that.”

  Iliath’s fingers curled in as if Geroth had struck her. “What good will it do you, if you have no mind after?”

  He hissed at Iliath. “I make note of your concern.”

  Qyo: “I have come with wonderful news.”

  Iliath: “What is it, Artist?”

  “The council has purchased my latest composition.”

  Iliath: “Wonderful!”

  “Please, join me for dinner.” Qyo folded his arms across his body and inclined his head.

  Geroth snorted. “I have much work to do.”

  “I am certain you do, but your journal entries need not be solely about work. I reread my larval notes and am saddened by how little pleasure I sought.”

  “You loved your work.”

  “Did I?” Qyo spread his arms. “It seems loathsome now.”

  It shocks me, sometimes, how different Qyo is now than before Chrysalis. Not just the physical changes, but his attitude. He and Geroth had been closer than any brothers I had known, even if they are giant larvae. Now it seems as if Qyo was only being dutiful to a memory.

  Geroth crept closer to him. “You were a brilliant mathematician.” He tossed a pad on the ground at Qyo’s feet. “Look at what I’ve done with our work.”

  Qyo took a step back. “I have no interest. I have come with an invitation for dinner, that is all.”

  “Look at it, and I will join you. It will save me the effort of proofreading.”

  “No.” Qyo retreated to the door. “I have no time for such larval things.”

  “You no longer understand such things.” Geroth glared at Qyo. “Is this what you want for me?”

  “I am simply asking you to dinner.”

  “Take Iliath then; she is practically an adult in her thoughts. I have work to do.”

  “Please come, Geroth.” Iliath placed her tail over his, pleading with him.

  Geroth looked at the floor. “The larva works so the adult can play.”

  Iliath pulled her tail away. “Will you ever grow up?” She crept to the door where Qyo stood. Then she stared into the camera. “Vanessa, will you join us?”

  I jerked away from the eyepiece and gaped over the barrel of the camera. Iliath held my gaze, against the conventions of etiquette towards documentarians. A flush rushed up my neck, like my menopause had come early. Russ’s mouth hung open. A documentarian was supposed to record, not participate in the action.

  “No. Thank you.” I looked at the floor, mimicking their gesture for apology. How dare she try to bring me into this! But I was a professional; you would have been proud. I kept my voice calm. “I, too, have work to do.”

  “I doubt you understand the damage your work does.” Iliath slid out the door, her marble body undulating down the hall.

  Great exit, if Iliath had not breached the fourth wall by talking to the camera. By talking to me.

  Qyo spread his limbs in surrender and exited with a graceful flourish. When the door closed behind Qyo, Geroth’s cracked hide shivered like somebody was walking on his grave. He turned to me. “You may stop recording. I will work on my treatise this evening. There is no need for more footage of that. Go home. Rest.”

  Russ, my sound guy, started stowing his gear.

/>   I had this momentary leap of excitement like a child promised a day off from school, but reality snared me. What would I do with an evening off? “Are you sure?”

  “I promise, I will do nothing memorable.” Geroth twitched. “Besides, you have stationary cameras throughout my home.”

  “I don’t mind staying.”

  “I make note of your concern.” Geroth turned his back on us. “If I want to forget this evening, it is my prerogative.”

  So, that was that. I came back to my apartment. Each of the four rooms would house a family of five back on crowded Earth. It may not have the history of our family home, but at least I don’t have to rent the other rooms out to anyone.

  Speaking of . . . have you found a new boarder yet? I guess you’ll tell me when you do, or—well, you know what I mean.

  At times, the emptiness of these rooms overwhelms me. Lately, I’ve been opening the channels to Geroth’s home and letting his activity fill the space while I work.

  The evening routine is pretty much the same every night. I’ll fast-forward through the day from one relevant point to the next and write a summary of each. The hours flow by like minutes as I lose myself in the process of logging the day’s footage.

  Intercut with these, in my mind, are the live images from Geroth’s home. It’s usually just Geroth scribbling on his treatise, but not tonight. Which is why I started writing this letter.

  Geroth set down his treatise. He stopped in front of his medicine and stared at it for a few minutes, then turned and went to bed without taking his hormone treatment.

  I had a crazy moment where I wanted to call him, to be certain he meant to do that, and only stopped myself by focusing on my job—to record, not to participate.

  Briefly, I considered following his lead and going to bed, but I liked the idea of actually getting caught up on the backlog of footage.

  When I finally finished logging everything, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. Geroth’s home, dark and quiet, lulled me into drowsiness. My eyes glazed over as I stared at the screens and sleep seemed moments away.

  And then, on the monitor, the outer door of Geroth’s apartment opened. Iliath entered the apartment and crept from room to room.

  I sat forward in my chair as she picked up Geroth’s treatise. My heart raced as I tracked Iliath through the apartment to the kitchen. She glanced furtively around her and buried Geroth’s treatise in the compost bin.

  I stared at the screen, mouth open in a silent cry, as Iliath snuck out.

  In my years as a documentarian, I have kept the sacred distance from my subjects even when I long to become part of the action. Geroth’s work means everything to him.

  But nothing I do will change Iliath’s action, right? Geroth will discover it himself when he gets up. It’s just because I’m lonely that I’m thinking about interfering. I’ve got the monitors turned off now, but the temptation is hanging right above me.

  I’ve been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, as my memory replayed Iliath’s actions in a montage. Finally, gave up on sleep and thought I’d write to you, see if I could sort my brain out. Maybe I’ll treat myself and open one of your letters early.

  Love,

  Vanessa

  Dear Van,

  I finally found a boarder who fits into the household. Her name is Kim Perkins and she’s an archaeologist. She’s delighted to live in a house with history.

  You should have seen her eyes widen when I told her how long the house had been in the family. And the stove! Lands, you would have thought she had died and gone to heaven.

  How is your work going? (I know it’s foolish asking you questions, but I do that with your grandfather too. Bear with an old woman’s fantasies.)

  Now don’t you worry about me, you’re a good girl but you’re a worrier so cut it out. Be well and do good work.

  Love,

  Grandma Tucker

  Dear Grandma,

  I’ve lost my mind.

  This morning, Russ was leaning outside Geroth’s door when I arrived. I stepped on the door chime to let Geroth know we were there.

  And we waited.

  And waited.

  Russ stretched and grinned. “Nothing like a night off, huh?”

  “Yeah, I managed to log everything.” By this point I’m already starting to worry, but I kept telling myself that I had done what I was supposed to do. Worked. I had not interfered.

  “Crazy woman.” He shook his head.

  Maybe I was. “He didn’t have a meeting this morning did he?” Geroth still had not come to the door. Which was freaking me out, ’cause he is Mr. Punctuality. I should have checked his cameras again before I left the house.

  “Nah.” Russ ran his hand through his hair and reseated his cap. “It’s business as usual today. Lots of audio of writing and one or two arguments. Dang, I never thought I’d miss the days when he was singing love songs to her. Have I played you my rave mix of those?”

  Why did he have to babble like that? I silently begged Geroth to come to the door.

  “It was slick!” Russ chuckled. “Might do one from the fights too.”

  I stepped on the chime again. The door opened but Iliath blocked the entrance with her body. “Your services will not be required today.”

  Craning my neck, I tried to see past her. “Sorry, Iliath. Geroth hired us, not you.”

  Iliath lowered her head as if she was going to ram me, which is really extreme behavior from a Husith. “No. You’re tricking him and I won’t let you do it anymore.”

  “Look. I’m recording things. I don’t talk, I don’t judge, I just document.” I tightened my grip on the camera and pushed forward. I had worked in tougher situations than this and was not about to be stared down by a giant maggot. “Let me past.”

  The door irised farther open at my touch, but Iliath slammed into my midriff with her head. My stomach felt like it was shoved up through my lungs and breath wuffed out of me as I staggered back.

  Russ tried to catch me, but wasn’t fast enough. I hit the ground hard, too busy trying to protect my camera to break my own fall. But I didn’t care. I could see past Iliath into Geroth’s quarters.

  Without thinking, I framed the shot.

  Iliath wove back and forth menacingly in front of the open door. “You’re killing him!” Beyond her, the quarters were a shambled mess. Papers lay over everything. Furniture was upturned, and gossamer webs strung through the room catching the light in their silk.

  I wanted to kiss Russ as he turned his gear on; he was a crazy man, but he understood the importance of doing good work. Charging forward, we bulled past Iliath.

  That’s the first point where I started to cross the line, acting like I was doing an exposé instead of a documentary.

  Wait for it—it gets worse.

  Iliath retreated, hissing and feinting with her head.

  I pointed the camera at her. “Where’s Geroth.”

  “He’s out.”

  Keeping the camera on Iliath, I glanced around the room looking for a clue to Geroth’s whereabouts. At my side, Russ focused in the middle distance as he listened to amplified sound over his headset. He tapped my arm and pointed to the hall.

  I nodded. He must have heard Geroth. Steadying the camera, I led the way down the hall. As we crept forward, I could hear cursing and things breaking. I held the camera in front of me like a shield as we rounded the corner to Geroth’s study.

  He lunged across the room toward us. His skin cracked as if it were about to slough off. “I can’t find my treatise.”

  I racked the focus when he reared in front of me. Geroth coughed and a wad of silk clung to his lips. “I have to find it.”

  “No.” Iliath swarmed between them, pushing Geroth back from the camera. “You have to undergo Chrysalis.”

  He shook his head mulishly. “I need my treatise.”

  “You’ll die!”

  I backed away, so I could frame both Husiths, sliding back into my
role as documentarian. In the corner of my vision, Russ adjusted his boom to stay out of the shot.

  “And what you’re asking me to do is death just as surely.”

  “I’m asking you to grow up, Geroth. That’s all. But you want to commit suicide over a collection of numbers.”

  He turned his back on her. “Chrysalis will end me! I live to do good work.”

  The gears in my brain snagged at Geroth’s words. It was like you were there doing a voice over. Be well and do good work.

  Iliath wrapped her tail around him. “Stop your work. I want you to be able to play like any other adult.” She turned to the camera.

  She turned to me.

  “You think this documentary will help him after Chrysalis? The longer he puts it off, the less he will remember.”

  Geroth pushed the papers aside as another cough racked his body. The heaves rolled up the length of him and glistening silk clogged his mouth. He spit it in a wad on the table. “Please help me find it.”

  Iliath pushed him away from the table. “No.”

  “Then I will look for it.”

  It would kill him. His body was forcing him to go through Chrysalis, and if he continued spitting the silk instead of cocooning himself, the enzymes would dissolve him into a pool of nothing. But my job was to document. Not to act.

  If I did my job right, my inaction would destroy him. Surely, Iliath would give in and tell him where the treatise was. But, what if she didn’t? Lord help me. This isn’t what you meant when you told me to do good work. My silence was killing him.

  Just like that, the sacred distance snapped.

  I lifted my eye from the camera. “I know where it is.”

  Geroth spun. A piece of his skin stayed on the floor. The flesh underneath was red and angry. “Where!”

  I said, “Your compost bin.”

  He grunted and crawled to the kitchen, like an inch-worm measuring out his own life.

  Iliath cried out, “No!” and chased Geroth.

  We hurried after the pair. With any other documentary, I would have been delighted at this confrontation. It would make a brilliant climax, but my stomach turned at the deadly game the two were playing. Geroth could die. This was beyond the mini-death that the scrambling of his memories represents, he could be as irrevocably dead as y—