"May the Lady watch over the souls of those that didn't," she said, appalled by how pious she sounded.

"We're a long way from the Lady," Ethan said.

"Not for much longer."

"Araminta is disgusted with them," Neskia declared as the gifted vision swirled around her, partially blocking her view of the ship the ship's cabin. "It didn't leak into the gaiafield, but I could tell how horrified she was when Ethan told her the moronic faithful didn't even have memorycells because of their belief."

"That's reasonable enough," Ilanthe said. "I'm equally disgusted. They chose to remain animal when they could elevate themselves. They certainly don't deserve pity."

Neskia's head swept from side to side as her long neck undulated sinuously. "If she's truly taken up the cause of Living Dream and become their Dreamer as she claims, then she would exhibit sympathy. This is simply evidence she is attempting some kind of subterfuge."

"I fail to see what she can do. She is committed now, as few have ever been. She has claimed her position as the head of Living Dream on the promise of delivering Pilgrimage. To go back on her word now would bring dire personal consequences. At the least, Ethan would break into her mind and compel her to communicate with the Skylord. In that he would have the tacit support of most followers. Either way I gain entry to the Void."

Exovision images showed Neskia the inversion core resting cleanly in the ship the ship's one and only cargo hold. There was no gaiafield connection, so she couldn't determine the timbre of Ilanthe's thoughts, if that was what they could still be called. "Her conversion was too swift, too complete. I do not believe in her."

"Nor do I," Ilanthe agreed. "But in gaining political power, choice has been taken from her. You heard her. She trusts the Void will defeat me."

"And how did she find out about you? She was all alone and running from everyone."

"I suspect the Silfen."

"Or she has allies among the remnants of the factions. Gore is still at large, the Third Dreamer. That could indicate a connection."

"Gore told Justine to travel to Makkathran. Whatever he's planning, it involves a connection between him and his daughter, not Araminta. None of us knew her ident.i.ty until a few days ago; she was never part of any of Gore's schemes."

"He's going to go postphysical, isn't he? That's what he's doing on the Anomine homeworld. It has to be; the Anomine elevation mechanism must still be there. Such an advance will grant him the power to ruin everything."

"If that is his goal, he will fail."

"How do you know?"

"I researched the Anomine elevation mechanism a century ago. It won't elevate Gore."

"Why not?" Neskia asked.

"He is not an Anomine."

Neskia's long throat trilled with delight. "I had no idea."

"The process I am committing to is not one I undertook lightly. Every option was reviewed."

"Of course, my apologies. But you really should get Marius to eliminate him."

"Marius may or may not succeed in such an endeavor. Gore's ship is undoubtedly the equal to the one Marius is flying, and the borderguards will intervene."

"You can't risk him interfering with Fusion," Neskia insisted.

"You say that because you do not understand what I will initiate when we enter the Void. Gore and all the others are a complete irrelevance. Araminta is all that matters now."

"We will initiate Fusion. I understand and approve."

"No. Fusion was a misdirection The inversion core is destined to seed a far greater revolution."

Neskia became still, perturbed by this change of direction. Everything she had become was dedicated to the Accelerator goal of Fusion. "What?" she asked, mildly surprised that she was questioning Ilanthe's purpose. But still ...

"The Void is rightly feared because it requires energy from an external source in order to function. It is the epitome of entropy, the final enemy of all things. But the Void is a beautiful concept; mind over matter is the ultimate evolutionary trait. I propose to achieve the full function of the Void without the failing of its energy demands. That will be the Accelerator gift to existence itself."

"In what way?"

"I was inspired by Ozzie. His minds.p.a.ce works by altering the fundamental nature of s.p.a.cetime to accommodate the telepathic function. I don't know how he worked out the specific alteration to make such a thing viable, but its implementation was a phenomenal achievement, sadly underappreciated thanks to his sulky withdrawal from the Commonwealth. But to change the very nature of s.p.a.cetime across hundreds of light-years is remarkable. It opened vistas of possibilities I had never conceived of before. I realized I should be aiming so much higher than simply wedding the Accelerator Faction to the Void. The potential of the Void is far greater. That it is locked away behind the boundary, dependent on a dwindling source of power, is a disaster for the evolution of sentience everywhere. It needs to be liberated for the boundary to be thrown down."

"You mean you want to bring all sentient species into the Void?"

"Quite the opposite. As Ozzie's minds.p.a.ce is only a localized alteration powered, presumably, by the Spike's anchor mechanism, so the Void can only function as long as it has ma.s.s to feed on, and that is finite. What the inversion core will do is instigate a permanent change. It will grasp the fundamental nature of the Void and impress s.p.a.cetime to that pattern, forcing reality itself to transform. The Void's final magnificent reset of everything will begin. Change will shine out from the center of this galaxy-in time, a very short time, illuminating the entire universe. Entropy will no longer exist because its principles will simply not be a part of the new cosmos. With the laws of s.p.a.cetime itself rewritten, the true controller of reality will become the sentient mind, allowing evolution to reach a height impossible even for the postphysicals which this limited, flawed universe can gestate."

"You're going to change the fundamental laws of the universe?" a shocked Neskia murmured.

"Such a goal is the pinnacle of evolution, elevating an entire universe. We will be the instigators of a genesis from which our mythical G.o.ds would cower in awe. Now do you see why I don't concern myself with the antics of Gore and his kind? I will simply wish them out of existence. And it shall be so."

Inigo's Forty-seventh Dream: The Waterwalker's Triumph IT WAS MATTUEL who had the privilege of helping Edeard up the long winding steps to the top of the tower. Edeard wouldn't put up with it from any of his other children, or grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, or even the great-great-grandchildren and certainly not the great-great-great-grandchildren, most of whom who were just children. And Grolral, the first of his fifth-generation offspring and one whom he adored, was only seven weeks old and really not interested in much apart from feeding and sleeping. But Mattuel was the favored son, mainly because he'd been born so much later than the others, four and a half years after Finitan's guidance. That shouldn't have made him any more special-and by that time none of the first seven cared about such things-but Edeard always regarded him as proof of success in living this life as he'd sworn to do. By the time the four Skylords appeared in Querencia's skies, events across the planet weren't going too badly this time around. Each town and most larger villages had a big park designated for the gathering of those who sought guidance. The open areas were based on the Waterwalker's solemn advice that the Skylords didn't really like the towers of Eyrie and used them only out of respect for the bygone race that had sculpted them in the first place. Simple and cheap, the parks prevented any economic problems and petty rivalries. That also meant n.o.body trekked across half the continent to the towers of Eyrie, with all the problems that entailed.

Except that today Makkathran was once again host to crowds not seen in a hundred years. The last time so many had thronged its streets was when the eight huge galleons of the flotilla had returned from their exploratory voyage circ.u.mnavigating the world. Edeard had sailed with them, enjoying the occasional bout of nostalgic sadness as they discovered the coastlines and seas he recalled from over a century before on his own private time line. This time he'd made sure the problems afflicting Querencia in the wake of the Skylords were well and truly eliminated before setting out. There were no more attempts to dominate and bind people to a cause or family or individual. The newer generations of stronger psychics were welcomed and integrated into a society whose prosperity was on a steady climb thanks to the expansion of the Eggshaper Guild and an abundance of genistars. New lands were being opened in what once had been the western wilds. Even the youngsters of Makkathran's Grand Families were encouraged to seek their fortune amid the fresh opportunities to extend the old estates and businesses, though that process was clearly going to outlast him by some considerable period.

This day was the day when Querencia paid tribute to the Waterwalker for transforming their world to one of enlightenment and potential. Already his era was being proclaimed the planet's golden age.

"I hope to the Lady they're right," he'd muttered to Kristabel as they woke together that last morning.

She'd given him a warning stare as one of their great-great-granddaughters helped comb her thin strands of white hair. "Don't give me the Ashwell optimism now. Not today."

Amus.e.m.e.nt and appreciation made him smile, which triggered a nasty bout of coughing deep in his chest. Two of the Novices attending him eased him forward on the bed. One proffered a steaming potion for him to inhale. He almost refused out of pure age-driven obstinacy but relented when he recalled Finitan's last days. The sweet girls were only trying to help. He breathed the vapor down and was relieved to find the muscle quakes subsiding. "Yes, dear."

"Ha!"

He smiled again. One of the Novices started unb.u.t.toning his bed shirt. "I can still manage that, thank you," he told her smartly. Of course he couldn't, not with his hands, horrible swollen, gnarled things that they were now. The potions the doctors made him drink did nothing for his terribly arthritic joints anymore. But thankfully, his third hand remained more than capable. Finitan had remarked on something similar, he recalled.

When he blinked and looked around, everyone in the big room was staring anxiously at him. "What?" he asked.

"You drifted off there again," Kristabel said.

"Honious! Let's hope I last till they arrive."

That earned him another disapproving stare from Kristabel while the Novices drew sharp nervous breaths and a.s.sured him he would. "Actually, I was thinking of Finitan, if you must know," he told a bedroom full of too many people.

"Goodness, I can't even remember what he looks like anymore," Kristabel said regretfully.

"It was nearly two hundred years ago," Edeard reminded her. "But we'll be seeing him again soon enough."

"Aye, that we will."

Edeard smiled at her again, blocking out the awful indignity of their well-meaning attendants bustling around. His farsight found the rest of his family a.s.sembling in the lounges on the upper floors of the ziggurat, all of them abuzz with conflicting emotion. Contrary to expectation, their presence actually comforted him. There were so many, and all had done well-or at least hadn't turned to the bad. That was his true measure.

Eventually he and Kristabel were dressed in their finest robes without too much a.s.sistance. He'd decided against the Waterwalker's black cloak; at his age it would have made him look ridiculous. Besides, after eleven tenures as Mayor, he felt the robes of office were more appropriate.

Edeard managed to walk out of the bedroom to the first big lounge, but that was about as far as his muscles could manage without a decent rest. Mattuel's third hand steadied him as he sank down into a tall straight-backed chair. He was about to throw the youngster an angry look but relented. In truth, he'd needed the support. Landing on his a.s.s at the start of this ceremony would hardly be dignified.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Not that Mattuel could ever be considered a youngster anymore; his own two hundredth birthday had been celebrated a few years back. Edeard couldn't quite remember when.

One by one, the family came up to him and Kristabel for one last embrace and a few words of comfort. The tradition had grown up in the last century and a half. It was a good one, he decided. Clears the air, allows reconciliation for any too-hasty words and stupid feuds. Not that I have any Clears the air, allows reconciliation for any too-hasty words and stupid feuds. Not that I have any. That particular harsh lesson had been learned two hundred years ago and learned well.

So now he could greet them all gladly and receive their wishes for a safe journey without any regrets. If there was sorrow, it was from seeing how his children had aged. Rolar and Wenalee, who surely would be seeking guidance themselves the next time a Skylord visited. Jiska and Natran and their huge brood of eleven children, fifty-seven grandchildren, and he didn't know how many after that except this morning they had to be accommodated on the eighth floor and longtalk their farewells-there was simply no room on the tenth. Marilee, a.n.a.lee, and Marvane, still together, and with eighteen children between them. Edeard clutched the merchant captain warmly when it was his turn. "You can still come with us if you like," he offered with a chuckle. "I expect you could do with the respite."

"Daddy, that's horrible."

"He doesn't want a respite."

"We treat him nicely."

"When he's good."

"And better when he's bad."

Marvane spread his hands wide. "You see?"

"I've always seen," Edeard told him fondly.

Marakas and Jalwina were next. Happily married these last forty years. But then, Marakas had plenty of practice; she was his seventh wife, after all. Even then, he was still way behind Dinlay's count.

Taralee in her own grand mistress robes, even though she had resigned from the Doctor's Guild Council thirty years before. "Are you all right?" she asked in concern. "I have some sedatives, ones from the folox leaf."

"No," he said firmly.

"You'll do all right," she said with a grin. "Goodbye, Daddy."

"See you soon."

See you soon. It was a murmur that swept around the lounge, followed by a chorus of well-wishing that was taken up by those on the ninth floor and farther, all the way to the third. And nowhere in the ziggurat was Burlal. He at least was spared the indignity of age; his brief years were always those of happiness.

Edeard was doing his best not to cry as his dynasty said its final formal farewell. He and Kristabel were lifted gently by third hands and carried down the central stairs with hundreds of their family leaning over the railings and now cheering them raucously.

"You know, we really did b.u.mp your dear old Uncle Lorin out of here in the end, didn't we?" he said as he waved at the blur of faces.

"Thank the Lady for that," she said.

The largest family gondola was waiting for them at the ziggurat's mooring platform on Great Major Ca.n.a.l. They sat on the center bench and looked around. The entire ca.n.a.l was lined with people who had come to wish the Waterwalker well on his way. They waved and clapped and cheered as he and Kristabel set off on the very short journey down to Eyrie's central mooring platform. All were dressed in their best clothes, transforming the route to a splendid color-washed avenue.

"Remember the flower boats from the Festival of Guidance?" he asked his wife. "They were as colorful as this. That used to be such a lovely day. It's a pity they had to end it."

"Not a lot of point to it after the Skylords started arriving," Kristabel said. "And I'm hardly likely to forget. That's the day we met, remember?"

"Mirnatha's kidnapping," he said, remembering a few details of the day. He hadn't thought of it in decades, probably longer. "Bise was holding her in the House of Blue Petals."

"We never found out exactly who took her, and they held her in Fiacre."

Owain, he knew. Owain and his clique ordered her kidnapping, but I could never tell Kristabel that. I would have needed to explain what had ultimately become of Owain, and Bise, and-Lady forgive me-Mistress Florrel. And why it was essential they were eliminated. What would she say if she knew the secret of this universe? What would she do? What would any of them do? Owain and his clique ordered her kidnapping, but I could never tell Kristabel that. I would have needed to explain what had ultimately become of Owain, and Bise, and-Lady forgive me-Mistress Florrel. And why it was essential they were eliminated. What would she say if she knew the secret of this universe? What would she do? What would any of them do?

"Wake up," Kristabel chided. "We're here."

"I wasn't asleep," he complained as the gondola was being tied to the mooring. Up above the ca.n.a.l, the crooked towers of Eyrie were jabbing up into a cloudless summer sky. Those who sought guidance were already being aided to their places on the upper platforms. Mattuel and a few of the third-generation relatives were already on the street above, looking down, readying their third hands to lift Edeard and Kristabel. They'd all hurried over behind the gondola, walking across the surface of the ca.n.a.l; they were all strong enough to do that.

The streets between the towers were packed solid with representatives from across the world who had come to honor the Waterwalker and bid him farewell. They cheered and waved. On the steps of the Lady's church, the Makkathran Novice choir began to sing. The verse and chorus were taken up by the entire city.

Edeard asked Mattuel to pause a moment as the tune rang across Makkathran, allowing him to savor the music one last time. It was Dybal's "Bittersweet Flight," the old musician's last and finest composition. Both simple and haunting, it had become quite the anthem since he was guided by a Skylord some eighty years ago.

"Respectable at last," he murmured as the song ended. All around him, people were bowing their heads, standing still for the customary minute's silence.

"How poor Dybal would hate that," an amused Kristabel replied.

"Yes. I must tell him when we get there."

Friends were well placed amid those circling the tower itself. Edeard managed a weak wave at several familiar faces. There was no Salrana, for which he still felt remorse, though it was dulled now by the centuries; she'd taken guidance over ten years ago. Edeard had observed from the hortus as the Skylord swooped across the city, anxious that her soul be accepted. He was sure it had been, for which he was glad. Even though they had never been reconciled, she had found her own fulfillment in the end.

Ra.n.a.lee, too, had gone, contemptuous and antagonistic to the very end. In her own way she had accomplished much, with a host of descendants whose successful avaricious enterprises extended their influence far and wide.

Edeard closed his eyes as he was gently elevated upward. This is when I must make my choice. It has been a good life; today is proof of that. Not perfect, but it never could be. Do I go back and live it again? And what would be the point of that? I know I can only live those centuries again if I do it differently. Perhaps now would be the time to go back beyond Owain's death. I could go right back to Ashwell and stop my parents being killed. Salrana would never be corrupted ... This is when I must make my choice. It has been a good life; today is proof of that. Not perfect, but it never could be. Do I go back and live it again? And what would be the point of that? I know I can only live those centuries again if I do it differently. Perhaps now would be the time to go back beyond Owain's death. I could go right back to Ashwell and stop my parents being killed. Salrana would never be corrupted ... He shook his head with only the mildest regret. That was not the life for him. Too many bad events would have to be played out again in one form or another so that the final two centuries could be lived in the peace and hope he'd enjoyed this time around. He would have to make things different to make them remotely bearable. The risk was immense. He shook his head with only the mildest regret. That was not the life for him. Too many bad events would have to be played out again in one form or another so that the final two centuries could be lived in the peace and hope he'd enjoyed this time around. He would have to make things different to make them remotely bearable. The risk was immense.

I will take guidance.

The central stairway winding up the tower was too cramped for an entourage, so it was Mattuel who performed the honor of carrying his father to the top, accompanied by the Pythia herself. Honalee carried her grandmother, and the rest of the family surrounded the base of the tower.

"Dear Lady, I haven't been up here since the day Finitan was guided," Edeard said as they neared the top.

"Yes, Father."

"You know, this is the same tower which Owain's thugs pushed me off."

"I know, Father."

Edeard smiled softly to himself as they rounded the last curve and went out into the bright sunshine. Eight tall spires guarded the edges, their tips bent inward slightly. As always, the wind was a lot stronger on the open platform than it was down on the ground. It whistled faintly as it blew around the spires.

A gaggle of Novices and Mothers were cl.u.s.tered around the entrance to the stairs, each of them openly anxious to see the Waterwalker as he was settled onto a pile of comfortable cushions. They had escorted the others who sought guidance, of whom there were fifty on the platform. Most of them were resting on similar cushions, though a few were stubbornly insisting on standing to face the Skylord's arrival.

"About time you turned up," Macsen said.

Edeard tipped two fingers to his old friend. Even as he did, he wondered how on Querencia the Mothers and Novices had ever gotten the enormous master of Sampalok up the tight stairwell. Macsen seemed to be almost globular these days; he hadn't managed to get out of bed unaided for over four years.