@ -2789,190 +2789,190 @@ A sudden beeping from my KI interrupted my revelries. Hastily, I bought my arm u
I suddenly felt an acute sense of embarrassment, realising that I had been watching the artist unannounced for at least five minutes. The notion of me striking up a conversation with her had not even crossed my mind. Now that politeness required it of me I had no idea what to say. Speak, man. You know how. For goodness sake, you won’t shut up when it’s the right subject.
“A fascinating interpretation,” I settled on, nodding towards the easel. Instantly, I cringed internally. The urge to throw myself into the lake was felt again, this time for entirely different reasons than before.
"A fascinating interpretation," I settled on, nodding towards the easel. Instantly, I cringed internally. The urge to throw myself into the lake was felt again, this time for entirely different reasons than before.
The painter smiled slightly, clearly unaware of what to make of my sudden appearance and struggling to bring herself back from whatever mental plane she had been previously occupying. She didn’t seem to be bothered by my sudden intrusion, so for the moment I felt safe to press on.
‘Oh no, please,” I added hurriedly, “don’t let me stop you”. I was attempting to break any lingering tension my arrival may have caused. “I’ve always been fascinated by artists. Well, enviable, I should really say.”
‘Oh no, please," I added hurriedly, "don’t let me stop you". I was attempting to break any lingering tension my arrival may have caused. "I’ve always been fascinated by artists. Well, enviable, I should really say."
When she spoke, her voice was gentle, almost serene. It put me immediately at ease.
“Do you paint?”
"Do you paint?"
“Oh good lord no,” I said, relieved for a chance of self-depreciation. “How does that old saying go? Art is a series of accidents-“
"Oh good lord no," I said, relieved for a chance of self-depreciation. "How does that old saying go? Art is a series of accidents-"
“- artists know which ones to keep,” said the painter, finishing the quotation almost instinctively.
"- artists know which ones to keep," said the painter, finishing the quotation almost instinctively.
I grinned, the beginnings of common ground established. “That’s the one! No, no, I leave all that to the people with talent. And basic hand-eye co-ordination. And who actually know what to do with things like beige. Is it actually a colour? I’ve always thought was just a brown that never really had its’ heart in it.”
I grinned, the beginnings of common ground established. "That’s the one! No, no, I leave all that to the people with talent. And basic hand-eye co-ordination. And who actually know what to do with things like beige. Is it actually a colour? I’ve always thought was just a brown that never really had its’ heart in it."
I realised I was blithering. Trying to stall to make less awkward of a departure. But to my surprise, the painter broke into a laugh. It was a gentle laugh, one without scorn or malice.
“I suppose I’ll keep this one,” said the painter, beckoning to her easel, “although I don’t think I’m much of an artist. It’s just…. a reminder.”
"I suppose I’ll keep this one," said the painter, beckoning to her easel, "although I don’t think I’m much of an artist. It’s just…. a reminder."
There was something about the tone of that last word that piqued my interest. “It’s the bridge, isn’t it?’ I asked. I instantly regretted the redundancy of the observation. Of course it’s the bridge. Damn foolish thing to say.
“Yes. It’s what the bridge was.”
There was something about the tone of that last word that piqued my interest. "It’s the bridge, isn’t it?’ I asked. I instantly regretted the redundancy of the observation. Of course it’s the bridge. Damn foolish thing to say.
"Yes. It’s what the bridge was."
“You mean, when it was still in one piece?’ I asked.
"You mean, when it was still in one piece?’ I asked.
This innocent question provoked an unexpected response from the artist. She seemed to stare straight ahead at her collection of painted strokes, as though she were looking beyond the canvas and into the very depths of the picture. “No”, she said, and this time her voice was as soft as a leaf falling to rest upon grass.
This innocent question provoked an unexpected response from the artist. She seemed to stare straight ahead at her collection of painted strokes, as though she were looking beyond the canvas and into the very depths of the picture. "No", she said, and this time her voice was as soft as a leaf falling to rest upon grass.
There was a moment’s silence, and I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. Had I said something wrong? Was there something obvious I had missed? Or was this the painter’s way of wishing to be left alone? That was most likely it. I idly brushed my hands to the Relto book at my waist and prepared to make a quiet exit.
“Does D’ni seem empty to you?”
"Does D’ni seem empty to you?"
The question was sudden, almost hurried, as though the painter had been keeping it within her for some time and could hold it no longer. My hand moved away from my Relto just as she turned once again to face me.
“Empty? I suppose you could say that. Apart from us nosy lot, of course. Not that there’s many of us about at the moment…”
"Empty? I suppose you could say that. Apart from us nosy lot, of course. Not that there’s many of us about at the moment…"
It was true. Aside from the group of half a dozen or so explorers sitting on the top steps of the Great Stairs, and the tiny clustering of the more braver of the marker hunters congregating on one side of the bridge in the distance, the city was quiet. The Deep City was breathing more steadily than it had been in recent months, but it still remained a far cry from what it had once been barely two centuries ago.
As if my thoughts were being read, she continued. “People don’t see what it used to be, how it ended. I thought maybe if I painted it... it would be easier to see. For me, at least.”
As if my thoughts were being read, she continued. "People don’t see what it used to be, how it ended. I thought maybe if I painted it... it would be easier to see. For me, at least."
At that moment the distant chattering from the direction of the bridge ceased. As we both watched, another explorer (this one clad in goggles and a pith helmet several sizes too big for him) took a flying leap from the edge of the bridge and plummeted downwards. But before his body could be dashed by the rocks below, he had vanished into the welcoming pages of his Relto, joining the ranks of the hundreds of other explorers who had succeeded in this more daring element of the calibration procedure.
I shook my head in disbelief, amazed at the lengths some of my fellow explorers would go to just to make Laxman sleep a little easier at night. But I was surprised by the response of the painter. She seemed to visibly sigh, and suddenly found the urge to add a dab of dark paint underneath the bridge.
“And has it?” I asked. “Made it easier to see, I mean.”
"And has it?" I asked. "Made it easier to see, I mean."
“It makes it easier for me to look at somewhat,” she replied cryptically. She turned away from the bridge and brought her gaze to mine. “Tell me, Mr…?”
"It makes it easier for me to look at somewhat," she replied cryptically. She turned away from the bridge and brought her gaze to mine. "Tell me, Mr…?"
“Lavisham. Professor Julian Lavisham,” I smiled, glad to be on more familiar ground.
"Lavisham. Professor Julian Lavisham," I smiled, glad to be on more familiar ground.
“A Professor? How interesting.” There was no trace of insincerity in her tone, at least none that I could detect. “Pleased to meet you, Professor Lavisham.”
"A Professor? How interesting." There was no trace of insincerity in her tone, at least none that I could detect. "Pleased to meet you, Professor Lavisham."
“And likewise, Ms…?”
"And likewise, Ms…?"
“Echo,” the painter said with a smile. “Echo McKenzie. Tell me, Julian…”
"Echo," the painter said with a smile. "Echo McKenzie. Tell me, Julian…"
She gestured with her brush over the canyon.
“When you look out there, what do you see?”
"When you look out there, what do you see?"
I adjusted my glasses and looked out over the balcony. Not for the first time, I put myself in the shoes of Atrus, answering the familiar question his grandmother Ti’ana often posed him.
“I see a bridge,” I finally settled on. “Connecting the Hall of Kings with the pathway leading around to the Concert Hall. Broken in the middle, either due to decay or more likelier as a result of the tremors that occurred during the Fall. Structural stability is questionable, although the lash-up the DRC have going on seems to have held out so far. And I see people around on top,” I added, eager to not miss any of the more obvious details. “Psyching up the next adrenaline junkie who fancies himself a lemming, more likely.”
"I see a bridge," I finally settled on. "Connecting the Hall of Kings with the pathway leading around to the Concert Hall. Broken in the middle, either due to decay or more likelier as a result of the tremors that occurred during the Fall. Structural stability is questionable, although the lash-up the DRC have going on seems to have held out so far. And I see people around on top," I added, eager to not miss any of the more obvious details. "Psyching up the next adrenaline junkie who fancies himself a lemming, more likely."
Echo leaned against the railing, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they had taken on an unfocused, almost dreamlike quality.
“The bridge, it's a grand construction, the only path to the Great Library. Thousands of people crossing it every day. They think nothing of it. It, like D'ni, is set in stone. When the earthquakes start, it is only natural that people flee for the Library, to the safety of the ages.”
"The bridge, it's a grand construction, the only path to the Great Library. Thousands of people crossing it every day. They think nothing of it. It, like D'ni, is set in stone. When the earthquakes start, it is only natural that people flee for the Library, to the safety of the ages."
“But the gas… the gas is there too. It is crawling across the lake, a malevolent, seeking death. People are crowded on the bridge, pushing, shoving, the panic in the mob increasing… they can hear the cries of the dying as the poison cloud reaches the ferry terminal. The press of bodies on the bridge as people race for the Library grows.”
"But the gas… the gas is there too. It is crawling across the lake, a malevolent, seeking death. People are crowded on the bridge, pushing, shoving, the panic in the mob increasing… they can hear the cries of the dying as the poison cloud reaches the ferry terminal. The press of bodies on the bridge as people race for the Library grows."
She paused, closing her eyes. An expression of pain crossed her face, and I could tell she was struggling to speak.
“Another tremor comes. The bridge shakes, twists... it's not made to handle weight and torque. It begins to crumble. So, so many fall... and the poison cloud reaches up seeking tendrils to meet them... they die before they even hit the water. Some try to cling to the ruin, the gas reaches up and takes them, too. Others try to flee back, to the Hall of Kings, but it is too crowded…”
"Another tremor comes. The bridge shakes, twists... it's not made to handle weight and torque. It begins to crumble. So, so many fall... and the poison cloud reaches up seeking tendrils to meet them... they die before they even hit the water. Some try to cling to the ruin, the gas reaches up and takes them, too. Others try to flee back, to the Hall of Kings, but it is too crowded…"
Tears began running quietly down her face, despite the tightness of her clenched eyelids. And yet, she continued her story.
“There is a woman... she is just at the edge when the bridge cracks... she starts to fall, and in desperation, throws her little daughter upwards to the crowd. She is caught, held close; people are running for the library holding her... she is reaching back screaming for her mother.”
"There is a woman... she is just at the edge when the bridge cracks... she starts to fall, and in desperation, throws her little daughter upwards to the crowd. She is caught, held close; people are running for the library holding her... she is reaching back screaming for her mother."
Her voice was close to breaking, each word almost a sob that seemed to rise up from the very depths of a soul.
“They don't know... they can't know... that even the Ages won't save them. There's too many... just too many...”
"They don't know... they can't know... that even the Ages won't save them. There's too many... just too many..."
She sunk to her knees, head resting against the railing, face in her hands. She seemed exhausted, as though she had been through the most horrific physical ordeal that could be subjected upon a person. In between her laboured breaths she softly whispered the words:
“Yahvo, rehzuh kehnehn fahsh.”
"Yahvo, rehzuh kehnehn fahsh."
Throughout her story, I had found myself enraptured by the words that this mysterious young woman had conjured up. But now the powerful imagery of her words was gone, and I felt I should say or do something, anything to ease her obvious distress. Not for the first time, I wished I was the sort of person who knew the right thing to say at moments like these.
“This is more than a feeling, isn’t it? You’re actually seeing all of this play out in front of your eyes?”
"This is more than a feeling, isn’t it? You’re actually seeing all of this play out in front of your eyes?"
Wordlessly, her eyes remaining shut, she nodded.
“… I wish I could see the things you do,” I said finally.
"… I wish I could see the things you do," I said finally.
Echo opened her eyes and looked up at me. “No. No you don’t, Julian.” She was still clearly distressed, but her breathing had become more even, slowed to a less frantic pace.
Echo opened her eyes and looked up at me. "No. No you don’t, Julian." She was still clearly distressed, but her breathing had become more even, slowed to a less frantic pace.
“But I do!” he insisted. “So many historians look around at this ancient stone and see just that. Buildings, masonry, walkways, everything that time hasn’t managed to tear down. It’s certainly all I was able to see just by looking at that bridge. But you… you can see it all. People, events happening in real time, the ability to see history playing out, right before your eyes. Echo, if what you’re telling me is true, you can see how the D’ni lived!”
"But I do!" he insisted. "So many historians look around at this ancient stone and see just that. Buildings, masonry, walkways, everything that time hasn’t managed to tear down. It’s certainly all I was able to see just by looking at that bridge. But you… you can see it all. People, events happening in real time, the ability to see history playing out, right before your eyes. Echo, if what you’re telling me is true, you can see how the D’ni lived!"
“All I see right now is how they died. It’s like watching a murder, over and over again,” she sighed, forcing herself to stand before her painting again. She brushed her fingers against the now dried canvas. “And when people go jumping after that marker under the bridge… I see new bodies with the old.”
"All I see right now is how they died. It’s like watching a murder, over and over again," she sighed, forcing herself to stand before her painting again. She brushed her fingers against the now dried canvas. "And when people go jumping after that marker under the bridge… I see new bodies with the old."
The full emotional implications of what she was describing came rushing in. I had a hundred questions on my lips, but right then I knew all that mattered was being present in this moment with her.
“I can only begin to imagine what that must be like. To see the death of a society play out before your eyes. We know so much about how D’ni fell, the years of their kings, all of the big events. But there’s more to it than that, more to here than that. History isn’t just dates, or buildings, when eras began or ended. It’s people, it’s their lives, it’s their drives and struggles, their pain, their passions. It’s their dreams. And their stories.”
"I can only begin to imagine what that must be like. To see the death of a society play out before your eyes. We know so much about how D’ni fell, the years of their kings, all of the big events. But there’s more to it than that, more to here than that. History isn’t just dates, or buildings, when eras began or ended. It’s people, it’s their lives, it’s their drives and struggles, their pain, their passions. It’s their dreams. And their stories."
“Take those people you saw. Any one of them. The mother, the daughter, the people in the crowd who caught her… each and every one of them has their own story to tell. It could be something trivial, something grand, something that changes the life of everyone or just something that changed them. But it’s those stories that truly reveal how a person lived. The bad… but also, the good.”
"Take those people you saw. Any one of them. The mother, the daughter, the people in the crowd who caught her… each and every one of them has their own story to tell. It could be something trivial, something grand, something that changes the life of everyone or just something that changed them. But it’s those stories that truly reveal how a person lived. The bad… but also, the good."
Echo stared ahead thoughtfully, absent mindedly rubbing at a speck of dry paint on her face.
“It’s not empty here, you know,” she said finally. “Everything the D’ni ever was is here with us. I have to remember that. I shouldn’t focus on the death, any more than people focusing on the empty. I just have to learn to see past this.”
"It’s not empty here, you know," she said finally. "Everything the D’ni ever was is here with us. I have to remember that. I shouldn’t focus on the death, any more than people focusing on the empty. I just have to learn to see past this."
She swiped her brush beneath the painting as if to likewise underline her words. Leaning back, she considered it for several seconds, then finally nodded.
“Done.”
"Done."
“And nicely so.”
"And nicely so."
“That’s all it needs to be now. A reminder.” She turned and looked at me fully, as if seeing me for the first time.
"That’s all it needs to be now. A reminder." She turned and looked at me fully, as if seeing me for the first time.
“Thank you.”
"Thank you."
I immediately took on an expression of bewilderment. It was one which came naturally to me and found myself using a lot in recent years. “I… did something?”
I immediately took on an expression of bewilderment. It was one which came naturally to me and found myself using a lot in recent years. "I… did something?"
Echo nodded. “You listened. You didn’t laugh.”
Echo nodded. "You listened. You didn’t laugh."
“I’m an academic. You lose the knack after a while,” I said with an ironic smirk. But one that was not shared by Echo.
"I’m an academic. You lose the knack after a while," I said with an ironic smirk. But one that was not shared by Echo.
“I’m not sure what’s happened to me,” was all she could say.
"I’m not sure what’s happened to me," was all she could say.
“Is this the first time something like... this… has happened?”
"Is this the first time something like... this… has happened?"
She nodded, and looked down at the ground. “I've never had anything like this, until I came here.”
She nodded, and looked down at the ground. "I've never had anything like this, until I came here."
“Does it frighten you?”
"Does it frighten you?"
The painter trembled, and softly mouthed one word. “Yes.”
The painter trembled, and softly mouthed one word. "Yes."
I walked towards the wall and leant against it, facing her.
“Don’t let it.”
"Don’t let it."
Her trembling stopped, but there was still a hint of reservation in her next question: “Have I gone mad?”
Her trembling stopped, but there was still a hint of reservation in her next question: "Have I gone mad?"
I blew out my cheeks in mock exasperation. “Ms McKenzie, we are currently conversing many untold miles beneath the surface of the known world. We regularly use magic books as a means of getting around. This morning, I cooked up some mad science in a silo on an entirely different plane of existence to our own which, if all goes to plan, will somehow light up this entire cavern. At this point, your guess as to what passes for sane is as good as anyone’s.”
I blew out my cheeks in mock exasperation. "Ms McKenzie, we are currently conversing many untold miles beneath the surface of the known world. We regularly use magic books as a means of getting around. This morning, I cooked up some mad science in a silo on an entirely different plane of existence to our own which, if all goes to plan, will somehow light up this entire cavern. At this point, your guess as to what passes for sane is as good as anyone’s."
“True. But this… this all feels different. And if it keeps happening, I don’t know what it’s going to do to me.”
"True. But this… this all feels different. And if it keeps happening, I don’t know what it’s going to do to me."
And here I paused. Moments like these rarely fell into place for me, so this one I was determined to savour, regardless of the outcome.
“I guess it’s just going to take a… leap of faith.”
"I guess it’s just going to take a… leap of faith."
Her brow furrowed as what I considered the dramatic weight of my words failed to land in spectacular fashion. “Professor Lavisham, that was either insightfully profound, totally pretentious, or the biggest load of cheese this side of a Hallmark card.”
Her brow furrowed as what I considered the dramatic weight of my words failed to land in spectacular fashion. "Professor Lavisham, that was either insightfully profound, totally pretentious, or the biggest load of cheese this side of a Hallmark card."
I put on a look of mock pride. “I’ll have you know I take pride in walking that very fine line every day of my life.”
I put on a look of mock pride. "I’ll have you know I take pride in walking that very fine line every day of my life."
At this point Echo held her hand to her mouth, suppressing a quiet giggle.
“All right, come on now, that was a chuckle,” I teased.
"All right, come on now, that was a chuckle," I teased.
Echo made a show of looking innocent. “Yes. Yes it was,” she smiled. She blinked, and then seemed to cross her eyes. “I have paint on my nose, don’t I?”
Echo made a show of looking innocent. "Yes. Yes it was," she smiled. She blinked, and then seemed to cross her eyes. "I have paint on my nose, don’t I?"
I was stone-faced. “I… didn’t want to say anything.” I couldn’t help it. The side of my mouth twitched upward.
I was stone-faced. "I… didn’t want to say anything." I couldn’t help it. The side of my mouth twitched upward.
She rolled her eyes and began rubbing the smear with her finger. “Some first impression. “Hi, I’m Echo, and I paint with my nose and hallucinate dead people!”’ At this point I was beyond keeping a straight face, and proceeded to double up in fits of hilarity.
She rolled her eyes and began rubbing the smear with her finger. "Some first impression. "Hi, I’m Echo, and I paint with my nose and hallucinate dead people!"’ At this point I was beyond keeping a straight face, and proceeded to double up in fits of hilarity.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing”, I struggled to blurt out with gasping breaths. Echo was trying to look stern, but failed as equally and ended up laughing alongside me. I caught the eye of several explorers who were passing by and gave them a jaunty thumbs up by way of explanation. They nodded in the universal acknowledgement of you do you, you splendid human disasters and continued on their way.
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing", I struggled to blurt out with gasping breaths. Echo was trying to look stern, but failed as equally and ended up laughing alongside me. I caught the eye of several explorers who were passing by and gave them a jaunty thumbs up by way of explanation. They nodded in the universal acknowledgement of you do you, you splendid human disasters and continued on their way.
Finally the two of us had calmed down enough to form complete sentences once. “Ms McKenzie”, I said, “you are by far the most interesting person I’ve met down here in a long while.”
Finally the two of us had calmed down enough to form complete sentences once. "Ms McKenzie", I said, "you are by far the most interesting person I’ve met down here in a long while."
“Why thank you. I think!” she snorted, wrinkling her nose at me. She sighed happily, and as she did so the faintest traces of a shadow returned to her face. “I... should go rest. I always feel a bit off after it happens.”
"Why thank you. I think!" she snorted, wrinkling her nose at me. She sighed happily, and as she did so the faintest traces of a shadow returned to her face. "I... should go rest. I always feel a bit off after it happens."
“No, quite right, I need to be doing the same actually”, I nodded as Echo knelt down to gather up her paints. “I’ve a little project of mine running back in my Relto with a colleague of mine. We’ve scavenged some of the boilers from the desert Eder in an attempt to distil our own wine. We’ve got the principle of the thing sorted, but there’s one or two kinks need looking at.”
"No, quite right, I need to be doing the same actually", I nodded as Echo knelt down to gather up her paints. "I’ve a little project of mine running back in my Relto with a colleague of mine. We’ve scavenged some of the boilers from the desert Eder in an attempt to distil our own wine. We’ve got the principle of the thing sorted, but there’s one or two kinks need looking at."
“Ah. Not tasting quite right yet?”
"Ah. Not tasting quite right yet?"
“Oh the taste is fine, lovely even. It’s the explosions we’re trying to iron out.”
"Oh the taste is fine, lovely even. It’s the explosions we’re trying to iron out."
Echo blinked. “I don’t claim to be a wine critic”, she said, “but I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.”
Echo blinked. "I don’t claim to be a wine critic", she said, "but I don’t think it’s supposed to do that."
“It’s certainly doing a number on our cheese boards, I can tell you.”
"It’s certainly doing a number on our cheese boards, I can tell you."
“I think I’ll wait for the finished product then” she smiled, packing away the last of her paints and collecting her canvas and easel. Finally she stood, and held out her hand. “Until then, Professor Lavisham.”
"I think I’ll wait for the finished product then" she smiled, packing away the last of her paints and collecting her canvas and easel. Finally she stood, and held out her hand. "Until then, Professor Lavisham."
“Ms McKenzie,” I said with as much charm as I could muster as I took her hand in my own. “Perhaps we could-“
"Ms McKenzie," I said with as much charm as I could muster as I took her hand in my own. "Perhaps we could-"
But my question was already cut off by the sound of her linking book. The painter had already gone, leaving me alone in the plaza once more.
“… see each other again?”
"… see each other again?"
The moment missed, at least for now, I turned to walk away. As I did my shoe came into contact with something on the ground causing it to slide away with a clatter. Bending down to retrieve the item, I held it in my gloved hand. It was the mysterious artist’s paintbrush, abandoned where she had left it upon completing her work. I stared at it, then past it, peering into the distance at the bridge where another reckless explorer prepared to leap into the abyss below.
