Chapter 22 #3
“Continue exercises, wash gently with water, keep a list of any issues. If there is sudden pain or Lyric cannot sleep for bruising or throbbing, send word immediately. Will return in four days, and then will discuss the cancer, too, boy,” Biel says, and at Lyric’s jagged nod, she nudges her assistant and they go.
River takes a long and very focused breath to hide ans absolute shock before inquiring. “Cancer?”
Lyric nods, rather carelessly, and his voice is gentle when he explains, “Detected by the emergency diagnostic mesh. Biel believes it is an invasive mutation but needs to perform a more intricate exam when this eye is fully integrated.”
River does not feel so careless. “When Eliri returns from the Moon-Eater’s fortress, perhaps Lyric would allow Eliri to examine. Though no doctor, human redesign is Eliri’s special genius, and several iterations of diagnostic meshes are kept here.”
Lyric smiles softly. “It is not a priority.”
“Just because no one has died of this kind of design mutation in generations, does not mean healing should be delayed.”
“Lyric understands.”
With a small sigh, River offers, “Does Lyric need help with the bandage?”
“No,” Lyric says immediately. His voice is thick. “No bandage for now.”
“River will wait on the porch,” River says as kindly as River is capable of, then does as an promised.
It takes little time for Lyric to emerge.
Less than River expected. The afternoon is mild, winter not set in.
Unlike some fortresses in the crater city, weather is felt in Rivermouth.
River appreciates the cycles of things, and Roc’s cult preaches that every horizon should be visible—not only the four quarter directions, but every intermediate path.
So it rains when it rains, storms when it storms, frosts and freezes, and once every handful of years, snowflakes fall in hissing, pretty sheets.
Snow never sticks. Water never freezes except when it’s caught in shallow baths and gutters.
When it’s hot, River allots extra gallons to schools and family complexes, and expects people to set domes to keep too much of their water from evaporating—though not all of it. River gives back to the sky.
Lyric sits on the porch steps beside River. The small king offers a cigarette and Lyric hesitates, but declines. River expected as much: Drugs are bad for healing, especially when the brain is involved. Not to mention cancer.
“What does the Cult of Hopeful Design say about human architecture?” Lyric asks.
Surprised, River finds Lyric gazing out at the rock garden, studying it all like he’s never seen it.
River supposes that’s half true. “Human redesign aesthetic,” River corrects, then pauses to smoke.
The herbs are light, delicate in the back of ans mouth, the vapors shape to ans lungs like an inside hug.
An purses ans lips to let the pink smoke trickle out.
“Hope,” an says. “Human redesign is for hope. For making humans better, stronger.”
“Stronger,” Lyric says too softly to be a scoff, but the intention is there.
“Not scales-for-skin or thousand-mile-eyesight stronger. Healthy, long-lived, happy. Human redesign should be for strengthening humanity, not individuals. Relationships, community.” River shrugs.
“River’s rainbow eyes make River better at relationships?”
River grins sharply. “Yes, actually.”
Lyric doesn’t quite smile, but like the scoff, the smile is hidden behind the expression he does make.
River continues, “River’s eyes make River happy, and Eliri happy, and happy people are better lovers, better leaders.”
“Then it’s a good thing pretty eyes are all it takes to make River happy,” Lyric murmurs, and River understands. Some people revel in the pain of others. Some crave money or food or power.
“River knew Lyric found these eyes pretty.” River flirts instead of saying the obvious.
After another drag, River adds, “The Cult of Hopeful Design allows no harm. Hope and consent and change are the principles held to. It is why Roc rebelled so strenuously against what the previous leaders did: fetal meshes, born chimeras, and the like. So much of such invention is drowned in the blood of the dead. Even when fetal design works, there can be no consent for children, certainly not the level for the meshes, or a chimera like Setka—or even Eliri.” River pauses, considering, then chooses to add, “Eliri feels so strongly about consent in design, Eliri is unwilling to carry a child even without external aid, or allow River to.”
“Pregnancy is not design,” Lyric says with a frown.
“Is it not? What is a womb if not a design apparatus, a mesh of tissue to read the design of seeds and provide safety, fuel, the strength of all forces?”
Lyric Aharté looks at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers as he thinks, as if pondering the articulation of every joint.
River shifts back to consent, suspecting an knows where this is going.
“Sometimes exceptions might be made, if a baby is born with holes in the heart, or a diagnostic web reveals a fetus seems to be developing at an unusual pace, but who are human designers to say what is right and wrong for any individual else? So long as there is no harm, the cult does not care what adults do to themselves, to those who know, who consent, but anything less is complicated, difficult, and dangerous. Even to save a life.”
The silence following River’s short speech sharpens ans bad feeling, proven correct when Lyric says, “Iriset did not ask to do this.”
“Emergency exceptions,” River says right away, though an senses there is more to it. An recalls what was said at that first dinner, that where Lyric and Iriset Sunderer come from human architecture is entirely forbidden.
Lyric is already shaking his head. “Iriset knew—knows—what this one believes, what choice—what choice Lyric would make if asked. If consent crossed Iriset’s mind, Iriset would know the answer to be no.”
“Lyric would be dead.”
“Choices led to that moment, Lyric’s and others’, part of a great design—Aharté’s design.
” Lyric grimaces lightly, blinking his eyes like he must concentrate to do so simultaneously.
“Choices made, whether Aharté knows or exists at all, and consequences cannot be escaped. People must live or die with choices made. Even if some of those choices happened a long time ago.”
“Iriset chose.”
“Iriset defied the Holy Design, defied my will. Chose Iriset’s will, Iriset’s arrogance,” Lyric whispers, so intent River assumes if he had any less self-control he’d be screaming it.
“Iriset has the power to save, so Iriset saved,” River says as gently as possible.
Lyric’s eyes fall closed in obvious despair. “Because Iriset has the power of a god, it is Iriset’s right to act like one?”
River stubs the cigarette out hard against the porch wood. An thinks of the Moon-Eater who does nothing, who cares for nothing, refuses to act, and River says with all ans might, “Yes.”
Startled, Lyric stares wide-eyed at River with one red-god eye, and one golden-god eye. The golden eye is tinged pink at the edges of the sclera, the lids slightly swollen. Lyric stares, lips slowly parting, but says nothing.
River looks away, uncomfortable with ans own display of emotions. “There are worse things than being married to a god,” an says as dismissively as possible.
An can hear Lyric swallow. Then he says, hollowly, “Not married anymore.”
“Because of this?” River asks, appalled.
“No, just before.”
“Why?” River upgrades ans feeling of being appalled to being scandalized.
“To go separate ways. Lyric must find the Moon-Eater’s child Rabbit, then bring Rabbit back to the crater city. Iriset will remain at the Moon-Eater’s side. Gods of apostasy together,” Lyric adds at the end, sounding wounded.
River remembers viscerally how an felt when those fucking college remnants took Eliri from an, when an had to choose between being a leader and being a spouse.
Roc expected River to be torn, ans attendants and commanders and friends all expected it.
But River was not torn. And River proved it by showing the ones who didn’t want to get her back exactly how ruthless an could be on Eliri’s behalf. River chose, Lyric is right about that.
And River remembers, too, Roc saying Lyric is a leader. Was one, at least, where he came from. He should understand choosing leadership or love. But maybe Lyric does not love Iriset like she is a piece of him, like without her there is no point in a better world.
River looks at the light eye in Lyric’s face and thinks that even if Lyric does not feel that way about Iriset, she certainly does about him.
Eliri couldn’t have done this if she wanted to, she confessed.
Lyric wouldn’t even try. But River would.
River would dig out any part of an to keep Eliri alive. Even if she hated an for it.
“Well,” River says. “Will Lyric Aharté go with River to listen to Amado Chimera’s news about what caused the spider mine explosions? Chimera requested Lyric’s presence.”
Lyric frowns, though it’s more of a wince—either at the words or at his eye adjusting. “That must mean Iriset is involved,” he says with what River can only read as rather weary humor.