“God spoke to me. This is the way to do His will. You have a brilliant mind. You are interested in the sciences, but you’ve learned all you can here. You are meant to go on this journey into the unholy land, and bring glory to us. I am not sure exactly how, but He has told me you will find your way. You have my full support, and my faith in you.”
Ensi moves his pawn forward. Mana-ma captures it.
I have a feeling Ensi programmed this world, a personal Vervescape separate from where he torments his victims. A place to categorize his memories, but now they’re bleeding into each other, his past and his present colliding.
As Ensi’s memories merge, Nazarin and I are thrown into slivers of his life. After coming to San Francisco, he looks into a mirror after shaving. He isn’t as beautiful then. His nose is bigger, his hair not as full, his chin a little weaker. He is Veli Carrera, the man I saw projected on the wall in Mantel’s Vervescape. He doesn’t like this world, how loud and strange and Impure it is. He presses the razor against his wrist. He wants to go back to the redwoods, and back to Mana-ma. At the same time, the lure of knowledge calls him, and he knows he can continue God’s work here, and make his Mana-ma proud. Reluctantly, he takes the razor away.
I want to know how he went from under her thumb to being the true, unseen hand that rules San Francisco.
With another shuddering lurch, the boat sails through the next memory.
Mana-ma is in Ensi’s apartment. I startle to see her not in the Hearth. They move toward each other, resting foreheads close. Ensi looks as he does now, and Mana-ma looks a little older than I remember. It is a more recent memory.
She has brought him more mushrooms from the Hearth. He takes them, handling the bag as though it’s precious.
“We’ll need more, if we’re to do what we desire,” Ensi says.
“We’re growing greenhouses full. You’ll have as much as you need.”
“And the government does not suspect?”
“No. They take their regular shipments for Zeal. We are but one of many suppliers. They respect our privacy, finally. They have stopped sending in their observers once a year to make sure we are toeing the line. They do not look too closely.”
“Are you ready?” Ensi asks.
Mana-ma looks up at him, and in that moment, I know their relationship has shifted over the years. Mana-ma was once stronger than him, leading him, but now they are equals in their twisted journey, whatever it may be.
He brings her through to the next room. His apartment is humble, despite the masses of wealth he must hold. Simple wooden furniture, woven rugs that look like the ones we made in the Hearth. No technology, except for two Chairs. One is empty and the other one holds Malka.
“This is her?”
“Yes. It took a lot of doing, but we managed to steal her from stasis. She’s not been woken. She is Godless, she has no soul, and thus she can be your avatar.”
“My avatar,” she echoes.
“Yes. Whenever you wish to be by my side, I can bring you forth, in this body, projected through Verve. When we are finished, you will return to your body.”
“And this girl?”
“She remains in stasis, her consciousness never woken.”
She hesitates, her hand rising to her collarbone. I can’t remember ever seeing her look uncertain.
“I know it pains you to do this,” Ensi says. “But it means we can be close together, in a way.”
“You know I never wish to be apart. How did you think of this idea?”
“I dreamed it. Perhaps God chose to whisper to me, just this once.” He smiles, and does not notice the way Mana-ma’s eyes flash. “I believe the initial idea stemmed from the twins, Taema and Tila.”
Mana-ma’s mouth curls. “So they survived? They are in this city?”
“Yes. I lost track of them for a time, but with my resources, I was able to find them again.”
“What will you do with them?”
“Nothing, for now. At the right time, we will know what to do. Come now, my love.”
Mana-ma plugs into the Chair. Ensi runs a program, and connects Mana-ma to Malka. I watch through Ensi’s eyes as his fingers tap the code, as he watches their responses, the way their eyes twitch beneath their lids.
Mana-ma’s eyes still. Malka’s eyes open.
“How do you feel?” Ensi asks.
“Reborn,” Malka says, and her face twists into that chill smile I saw just before she killed a girl with a sword.
They rest foreheads together again.
I come out of the memory like I’m coming up for air. Nazarin and I gape at each other, but there’s no time to speak before we collide with other memories. I experience more of the fractured life of Ensi. From the shards, I piece together more of the picture. Ensi is almost sixty, which must be Mana-ma’s age as well. She looks younger, but it could be genetics rather than a hypocritical visit to a flesh parlor in the city.