Rewriting Radiance - I have taken off my robe

In the process of rewriting Radiance, I realised that I needed some extra chapters in the early part of the book, to fill in more of the back stories of the characters. This is the new chapter 4, that comes after we meet Asher and Virgo but before they meet each other. I love this chapter and hope you do too.

    Asher pulled the coat closer around him, feeling the light fall of rain begin to seep through to his skin despite his best efforts, and the large umbrella being held over him by Uncle Melvin (not really one of his uncles at all, but an old family friend). After seven years in America, he had almost forgotten how much he hated English summers.
    Drum beat rain beat down on the hollow pine as the coffin was lowered gently into the black earth. It was quite unreal.
    Someone nearby burst into tears and had to be gently consoled - it would not do to have to great a display of emotion. His mother seemed to tut in disapproval under her breath, her face an empty mask as cold as the wind roaring over the hilltop cemetery, and whistling between the low forest of tombstones and memorials.
    No, ‘Emma Grunfeld does not cry’, he heard her mother’s austere voice saying in his mind. And neither did he.
    Someone handed him a shovel.

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 20

    And there it was: a mountain in the heart of London, a snow-capped needle of glass and steel piercing the night sky. The Cathedral of the Steel God watched the world the way an earthly lord might survey his domain. Soaring amongst the clouds, it claimed a place in heaven. The icons of the Steel God were crusted in ice and snow, white on grey metal. The everlasting torch flicked from the top of the glass pyramid, a beacon for the lost.
    But the sight brought no cheer to Josiah as he trudged along the twenty-eighth skyway. He did not feel that stirring of heart that true believers felt on approaching the cathedral, nor did he feel the thrill he had once felt on nearing his place of work, looking forward to seeing Elijah. It was bitterly cold up here. He could have taken a lower skyway but this was the most direct route - Josiah begrudged any waste of time.
    Visions of Amber filled his mind. Tortured, caged, beaten. What were they doing to her? Anxiety gnawed at his gut and ate away at his stomach. If only the skycars had been running. This damn snow. The skyways were covered in a layer of black ice, slippery and treacherous. If he had had a car, Josiah might have taken the risk, but like everything else in his life, the Circle had taken it from him. He had known nothing else, and they had thrown him to the dogs. And now they had Amber. What more did they want from him? The machine - his last act of heresy, the last corner of himself. All he had left was his life, and what was that worth?
    When he had last rode the skyways he had been with Amber, driving till dawn. Now it was 3am Central Europe Time, and dawn was out of reach. Shivering violently, Josiah gritted his teeth, pulled his cloak around him, and marched on. Not far to go now, it was almost over.
    Josiah had not thought he would look upon this place again - he had thought that he had escaped the past but he was finding that he could not. He had spent fifteen years of his life in this place, his first memories were of steel fists and full moons. The Circle had been his family, Elijah his father and teacher.
    The Cathedral loomed ever larger as he approached, filling his vision, making him feel small and insignificant - as it was intended. For the last five years he had made this journey every day, and it seemed that each day his excitement had dwindled. Now there was simply a hole inside him.
    What would he find? And more importantly, who? If he got his hands on Lovecraft... She would be alright, they would both be alright.

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 17

    Darkness dissolved into light.
    From nothingness all he could see was fire, fire burning hot and bright. And yet he was cold. And could not move.
    The light was fleeting, the warmth fading - the darkness more than real.
    Steel chains bound his arms and legs, rusted links wore at his wrists and ankles. The constant sound of dripping water played out a never-ending riff. Water swirled and danced around the stone cobbles and pooled around his feet, covered with the filth of eternity. And yet his mouth was dry beyond enduring. And the water was out of reach.
    If he felt anything, it was abject terror.
    He knew he was alone despite the darkness. No, it wasn’t dark. Fire burned in braziers, fixed at equal intervals along the wall, flickering like ghosts, more dead than alive. And the walls stretched beyond the end of the world, beyond the brink of forever.
    And then he was in the jungle, running, running. The unbearable green burnt his eyes, the cascading water plunged his hair to rivers, the undergrowth tore at his tattered clothes. But he was running, and nothing else mattered.
    He was a jaguar, fleet of foot, king of the jungle, deadly hunter. His claws were like steel vices, his teeth like industrial diamonds. And his prey was close. The infuriating stench of its sweat filled his mind with visions of death and blood, of red and green.
    The water did not matter, the thickness of the air he fought was irrelevant - the only thing in the world was his prey. He had to run.
    And then he was the prey and was still running, running, fighting the pain of a broken arm - he knew that a piece of metal was stuck in his flesh. Cold sweat mingled with the gushing water but there was no oblivion.
    His antlers caught a branch and he was slowed for an instant - the pause was deadly - the hunter was upon him.
    This is a dream, he thought, and smiled to himself. There is no pain and no water. With a leap he sailed high into the air and left the hunter far behind. This is a dream, and here I can fly.
    But he could not fly, and so he fell down with the rain, faster than teardrops, plummeting to the green earth and the dark ribbon of silver. The ribbon rushed to meet him, its waters closed over his head.
    This is a dream, he thought, and I can swim. And so he did. But he saw that fish too can swim, and they gathered around him, sunlight flashed off bared fangs. Then all around him, the water turned from green to red.
    He was the hunter, laughing at his folly.
    He was the hunted, crying into blood.
    He was the fish, extracting his pound of flesh.
    He is you, and you are me, and I am everyone.
    “You are not My people. And you are not forgiven.”

*  *  *

    “Well Mr Smith, this is a pleasant surprise.”

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 12 - JOE

 

Chapter 12 marks the half-way point for the Book of Josiah. We've heard a lot from Josiah and Jos, but what about Joe? We last saw him in chapter 6 when an old friend asked him to help terraform the moon.

    Joe had already been awake for nearly an hour when his alarm went off. He had barely been able to sleep at all, his mind full of niggling doubts and vague worries. Today was the day.
    He had gone to bed early, to be at his best, but sleep had deserted him. For hours he had tossed and turned, unable to hide from his memories, unable to slip into darkness, away from thought and fear. When he had finally drifted off, sleep had been capricious. He had woken more times during the night than he cared to remember. No, it wasn’t his sleep, it was his dreams that had betrayed him, over and over again. And then, at 6:34 he had woken and that was it. Since then he had done nothing but stare at the clock and replay his thoughts.
    It was 7:30 am. There was no real need for Joe to get up quite this early, but he had been anxious that he might not have enough time. He didn’t want to be late, nor have to rush. But now, in the harsh light of day, Joe couldn’t bring himself to stir. It had been too long and he wasn’t sure he could trust himself. What if he failed? This was a big chance, an opportunity to do something and leave a mark on the world. What if he said something stupid or irrelevant? How long had it been? He watched the seconds and the minutes ticking away and couldn’t muster the will to move his legs. Today was the day.

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 9 - JOSIAH

    The chaos was unbelievable.
    Three times Josiah looked around the room, never quite seeing its full extent. It was as if his eyes refused to take in the information, or that his brain rejected the images as obviously false. Such things did not happen to real people. This simply could not have happened.
    Josiah closed his eyes, half-expecting that everything would return to normality when he reopened them but nothing changed. It was the stuff of fiction but somehow it had invaded his world. His room had been ransacked, his papers and possessions lay strewn everywhere. Why would anyone steal from him? He had nothing. It was incomprehensible.
    It took Josiah a few moments to remember that Amber was beside him, and had an arm around his shoulders. Somehow, he was on the floor amongst the mess, though he had no memory of getting there.
    “I just can’t believe this. I don’t have anything worth taking!”
    “Calm down,” soothed Amber, “it can’t be that bad.”
    Amber was right, of course. It was only stuff, only material things, nothing of any lasting value. His most precious possession he carried with him, anyway. Josiah took a deep breath and fought to still his whirling mind. This was his room, it had been invaded, and he was going to get some answers.
    Amber waded into the mess, found an unbroken glass and filled it with water.
    “Fancy a drink?” she asked with a smile, as she offered the cup to Josiah.
    “Shouldn’t I be offering you?” he retorted, “but thanks, I could do with some water. Then I’d better start tidying up - I always think better when I’m busy.” He smiled devilishly, burying his worry as he downed the water.
    “Can I help?” asked Amber.
    “Sure, I’ll start with the papers.”
    “Then I’ll start with the clothes. Where do the trousers go?”
    “Top drawer,” Josiah answered, picking up the black chest and fitting the shelves back in their proper places. “I appreciate the help.”
    “Don’t mention it, my pleasure.”
    Josiah began to gather the scattered pieces of paper that were lying all over the room. Most of them were filled with strange-looking equations and complicated diagrams of his time machine. The rest were shopping lists, to-do lists, old diaries, odd doodles, vague sketches of designs that had never come to fruition, snatches of sermons and theology, snippets of the Great Machine code and other mundane items. Josiah didn’t like to throw away anything he wrote. Every scrap of paper was saved for possible use in the future. Whoever had taken the room apart seemed to have taken special interest in the papers. Paper clips and staples had been ripped out, as if they had made sure to read every page. Carefully, Josiah piled the papers back inside the wall-safe. One of these days he really ought to sort them out more thoroughly, he thought.
    “What do I do with the shirts?” Amber asked, folding the clothes more neatly than Josiah ever had.
    “Bottom drawer,” replied Josiah distractedly, watching Amber move as she bent down to pick up clothes from the floor.
    Amber suddenly looked up, saw him watching her, and smiled. Embarrassed, Josiah turned away and made a show of gathering up the mattress and sorting out the bedclothes. As he did so, a logic broke into his mind - it was really quite simple.

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 8 - JOS

    Nearly four days since the bombing, and Jos found himself glued to the News once more. They had found someone alive, buried under the remains of Canary Wharf in the London Docklands. After so long, it was something of a miracle. They had detected a faint heartbeat, somehow, and even now the emergency services were gathering to dig them out. An engineer was explaining how a falling girder could have formed a roof, a tiny pocket of air, saving the person’s life. While he spoke, the ruined skeleton of the tower, its steel structure, was bare and black - a stark silhouette against the dawn sky.
    Jos looked at the time. It was five to six in the morning. After that monstrous dream, he had been unable to go back to sleep, and he no longer felt like walking, or sitting in the bar. Snakeskin shoes flashed across his eyes when he least expected them, and Jonah’s words seemed engraved on his brain. Jos was too tired to read, even to think, so he watched the News, and hoped.
    It was difficult work, the engineer was saying, trying to remove the rubble without disrupting the equilibrium that kept the person alive. They couldn’t use heavy machinery and were relying on hand-tools to get the job done. He gave a demonstration, and the reporter nodded earnestly, as if she had never seen a shovel before.
    Suddenly, the projected image disappeared, and Jos was left staring at the wall, in near darkness. He sent a thought command to turn the lights up, but nothing happened. The clock was still working but seemed to have frozen at 5:56. What was going on? Jos reached out an arm for the controls to try to call technical support. He did not succeed. Instead, he found himself floating out of his bed. Artificial gravity had been lost, he thought, shocked and surprised. Jos had always hated weightlessness and he felt vaguely sick. If gravity had been lost, would life-support be next? How much air did they have? This was bad - really bad. He had done this trip countless times and nothing like this had ever happened before. Had they been attacked? He tried to move towards the door but ended up spinning uselessly half a metre above his bed. His breathing was fast, his pulse accelerated - he had to get out of here.
    And then he collapsed into the bed as gravity reasserted itself. He banged his head against the sideboard and was still nursing it when the lights came on to medium, as he had asked. What was going on?

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 7 - JOSIAH

Not sure what this is about? Here's my introduction.

Chapter 5 is the continuation of the story of Josiah begun in chapters 1, 2 and 5. But remember Jos and Joe, as all three stories impact each other.

Josiah woke with a start, shaking and trembling. What was going on? It was too dark to see anything. He looked around in panic, eyes wide, breathing quickly. He was drenched in an icy sweat, bed sheets clinging to his body. Then he realised that he was in his room and collapsed back into the bed, shivering with cold and the remains of terror. It had all been so real, Security was everywhere. Duke had been killed, and Amber… crushed beneath falling barrels. Amber was dead.
    Wasn’t she? No, it was just another stupid bad dream, Amber was fine.
    But they had gone to the market, followed the small man, hadn’t they? When did reality end and the dream begin? As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he wasn’t sure. He needed a drink. But first...
    “God of Steel, watch over my soul as it drifts from my body,” he began automatically. What are you doing? There is no God of Steel, no soul to leave my body. You aren’t a Priest and you don’t believe in Steel. Why are you still praying?
    After a few words he gave up. There was no comfort there.
    Josiah clambered from bed, switched on the light that swung just above his head, and poured himself a glass of water. His hands were shaking and he spilt half the glass on the floor. Why was he so clumsy? Fact and fiction continued to intertwine inside his head. The blood exploding from Duke’s body, the barrels falling for eternity. He had been too far away, there was nothing he could have done. Was Amber dead? He knew that he had dreamt it but had the dream reflected reality or was it all in his mind?
    A coffee would help straighten his thoughts. He pressed the button for coffee but nothing happened. A gurgling sound and a smell of burning drifted from the Provider. The steel fist emblazoned on the machine stared at him. He sneered at it and knocked the Provider to the floor. It was some sort of cosmic joke, and he had had enough.
    He turned to the wall and ripped down the fist that hung there. Its sharp edges cut his finger but that only made him angrier. He threw the damned thing with furious strength. Shards of grey plaster scattered as it hit the wall.
    Then the phone rang.
    He switched on the monitor, aware that he was not yet dressed and was still trembling.
    “Merlin!” cried Amber excitedly, “good morning.”
    Confusion and relief intermingled in Josiah’s mind as he struggled to think of an appropriate thing to say.
    “What time is it?” was all he could come up with.
    “It’s 5:56 am precisely,” Amber answered, “I thought you might want to come for a drive.”
    “Do you normally call people at six in the morning?”
    “Well, you’re up aren’t you?”
    Josiah had to smile, all anger evaporating. “I suppose I am,” he answered.
    “Then what’s the problem?” Amber rejoined, “I’m on level 28, see you when you’re dressed.”
    Before Josiah could say anything else, the screen went dark. Embarrassed, he had to laugh.

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 5 - JOSIAH

Not sure what this is about? Here's my introduction.

Chapter 5 is the continuation of the story of Josiah begun in chapters 1 and 2. But you might meet some characters you recognise from Jos' storyline...

What is the Square?
    A geometrical object. Neat and precise, two-dimensional and utterly regular. Existing nowhere, if not in the mind.
    Josiah had come to realise that it was also a place, a group of people, an ideal. And more than that - for many souls who had lost their faith it was home.
    For Josiah however, it was an opportunity, a door opening before him. He could almost taste the success of his time machine, as he sipped on a black coffee and relaxed in a chair of real brown leather. The smell of cured animal skins was a real pleasure, as was the feeling of the chair beneath his fingers. Without a doubt, this was the most comfortable chair in the room - and there had been no shortage of choice.
    Josiah had to admit that the Square was both exactly what he had hoped for and more, but also very, very different. The lounge of the Elegant Head summed it up completely.
    The first thing you noticed upon entering the Elegant Head, as Josiah had noticed not a week earlier, was the sheer number of chairs - chairs of all varieties. There were sofas and armchairs, rocking-chairs and stools, fold-out chairs and inflatable chairs. Chairs made of wood and iron, of green plastic and animal fur, a chair made entirely out of human bones. The only thing there wasn’t, was a chair made of steel.
    And that was the second thing that Josiah had noticed. He had been so accustomed to seeing them, he felt their absence as something palpable - there were no fists of steel on the wall, no boxes for Church offerings. Even the Provider was free from iconography - the sheer blasphemy still thrilled him as he drank his unblessed coffee.
    After that, the details of the room came thick and fast, broke across his mind like waves across a boat, too much for your mind to quite take everything in.
    The sheer vastness of the chamber, open to the sky above, with the bright light of the sun shining down upon you like summer. But between the Square and the sky were many metres of concrete. This was a false sky, reading off the ambient emotion of the room and setting itself accordingly.
    Set into the regular walls, at irregular intervals, were small shaded alcoves, capable of being curtained and soundproofed off for private conferences and meetings. And other forms of experimentation. Sound could not escape but odours lingered in the red, velvet curtains.
    The cooling remnants of coffee, cups of tea and smashed liquor glasses dwelt on some of the tables scattered about the room, alongside well-worn books on higher mathematics, spectral physics and biochemistry. There were books everywhere. They seemed to grow organically from the walls and were spreading towards the rather plain Provider in a menacing fashion.
    And no matter the time of day or night, you would find the scientists. Some sat silently, reading huge volumes, sipping from whiskey glasses. Others smoked long brown sticks and paraded on the chairs, weeping softly. Josiah had even seen a grown woman dance into the room naked, screaming ‘Eureka’. No one batted an eyelid, and Josiah was trying to learn not to respond to anything he saw.

The Book of Josiah - Chapter 1 - JOSIAH

And she conceived again, and bare a daughter.
And God said unto [Hosea], call her name Lo-ruchama, 'not-forgiven':
for I will no more have mercy upon the house of Israel;
but I will utterly take them away.
    -Hosea 1:6

ONE - JOSIAH

    Where was he? With madness glazing his eyes, he stared about himself. In bed but where? And then slowly, as the dream fell away, he recognised the grey sheets that half covered him, the bare white walls, the metal floor, the steel sink in the corner - he was in his chambers. A long sigh fell from Josiah’s mouth and he collapsed back into the pillow. His mouth was so dry, his sheets were soaked with cooling sweat, and yet Josiah forced himself to lie down again and close his eyes; not to sleep but to say the prayer for bad dreams. He clutched his pendant - a metal fist over a full moon - and, too easily, the words came to his lips and he mumbled them to the darkness - he had had too many nightmares of late.
    “God of Steel, watch over my soul as it drifts from my body. Let no truth be found in evil dreams and may no harm come to me through these visions. For you are the One That Dreams Not. And make my flesh as steel. Amen.”

Tales of the Dreamscape - The Dinner Party - Part 2

The Dreamscape - a shared dream, a world of escape from the brutalities of the London of the future. Part 1 is here.
 

   Edward was expounding scripture to the Lady Lucy-Emma, whose sarcastic comments went completely over his head. Lord Charles and Clarice were engaged in a fierce debate over politics and the latest batch of election results. Joseph saw his chance and turned to his right to speak to Anne-Mary, who was moving food around her plate with a fork.
    “My dear, you haven’t spoken to me at all since that night.”
    Anne pretended not to hear him.
    “You were a real asset to the team, Anne - we need people like you.”
    “Mr Worthy,” replied Anne-Mary, still focussed on her near-empty plate, “this is not a subject I choose to discuss.”
    “We struck a decisive blow for animal rights, Anne, a blow they will not soon recover from. You and I made a difference.”
    “I regret few choices I have made in my life, but that night is one of them.” She looked up and faced Joseph. “Mr. Worthy, please do not press the matter further.”
    “But don’t you see? We need you! You and others like you. These bastards need to be stopped, we need to send them a message. There’s another lab. They cut up monkey brains while they’re still alive! Anne, come on another job, I promise it will be different.”
    He reached out and grasped her hand. Firmly, she removed it.
    “Joseph, for two weeks I have seen his face every time I close my eyes. The bulging eyes, the sweat on his brow, the blood erupting from his broken lungs. I see everything, all the time. What he was doing to those creatures was wrong, I know that but... I can’t do it. Now, please drop it.”
    She turned away once more.
    “It all comes down to those dirty under-dwellers,” said Clarice, becoming the centre of attention instantly. “They are a scourge, a blight on our fair city.”
    “There at least, we can both agree,” said Lord Wytherington. “They have no place in London. Quite frankly, the culls are the best thing for them.”
    “I’m so glad to hear you say that, my Lord. I have volunteered to join a cull Sunday next, after tea,” said Joseph. “Would you care to join me?”
    “Perhaps,” answered Charles, “I may be busy”.
    “Are the culls really necessary?” said Lucy-Emma. “They seem a bit, um, harsh.”
    “Reverend, what have you to say on the subject?” asked Charles.
    “Well,” Edward coughed, “scripture is somewhat vague on the subject. There are many interpretations but there are those who say we must purge the unclean from our midst.”
    “Well, that certainly settles it then,” said Lady Wytherington.
    “They are sub-human,” declared Clarice. “All they do is take their drugs and sleep in filth. Without them, London could soar like an eagle.”
    “I couldn’t agree more, my dear,” said Joseph. “And I think there may be at least one other who shares your passion. Lord Wytherington, do you know much about your under butler?”
    “He seems to be adequate at his job.”
    “I saw him at a cull a month ago,” continued Joseph, “he seemed - keen. Anyway, I’m all in favour of it. The only good rat is a dead rat.”
    Emily shuffled out of the dining room to refill the wine. She did not look at anyone.
    “Please excuse me,” said Lord Wytherington, “but nature calls.”

Tales of the Dreamscape - The Dinner Party - Part 1

The Dreamscape - a shared dream, a world of escape from the brutalities of the London of the future. 'The Dinner Party' is the only one of my Dreamscape stories (so far) to be primarily set in the 'real' world, and it also has the largest cast of characters I've ever tried to balance in a work of short fiction.

   “A toast!” cried Lord Charles Emmanuel Wytherington III, rising from his chair.
    “A toast!” cried the company.
    “But who shall make it?” asked the Lady Lucy-Emma.
    “Why I shall make it, of course, in honour of the harvest season,” the Lord answered.
    The other diners nodded their agreement, raising their glasses high.
    “To the bounty that the earth has given us and to the wealth she has provided for her children. To the country that sustains us and the city that enriches us. For summer shall never cease from the shores of England. To Wytherington and London Town!”
    “Wytherington and London Town!”
    Six wine glasses were lifted, and thick red wine poured down six throats.
    “Delicious as always, Lord Wytherington,” said the Reverend Edward Hall. “Is it a ’38?”
    “A ’37,” Lord Wytherington answered.
    “I thought so,” Edward said, “reminds me of my time in the war. We were sitting in the trenches, explosions all around us when out of nowhere, little Jimmy pulls out a bottle of red - a ’22 no less, a very good year.”
    Clarice Spenser sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes.
    “Edward, I think we’ve all heard this story before,” Lady Wytherington cut in.
    “Oh Lucy, do let him go on,” said Anne-Mary, the Lady Wytherington’s younger sister, “I think the Reverend’s stories are simply fascinating.”
    She winked at her sister but the effect was lost on Edward who began the story again.
    “At least let’s wait for the first course,” interrupted Clarice, seeing the staff begin to serve the hors d’oeuvres.
    “Oh yes,” agreed her husband, Joseph Worthy, “I’m half-starved.”
    Six pairs of hungry eyes watched the first course arrive from the kitchen on small silver platters. It was an exquisite array of live oysters, fresh from Colchester. They seemed to almost wriggle in their dishes.
    “Reverend,” said Lord Wytherington, “will you do say the blessing please?”
    Each of the diners bowed their heads and clasped their hands together while Edward intoned the grace.
    “Lord our God, we thank you for this bounty which we are about to enjoy and for the generosity of our hosts the Lord and Lady Wytherington. May your blessings rain down on them, their house and all the works of their hand. May you make us truly grateful for the bread you bring forth from the ground. In the name of Jesus Christ, may peace be upon him, - amen.”
    “Amen,” answered the other guests.
    Clarice and Joseph quickly helped themselves to oysters and began to tuck in. Lord Wytherington carefully unfolded his napkin over his voluminous chest while he looked at them with thinly veiled disgust. The other diners waited. He reached out a ponderous hand, took an oyster and cracked it open with a sharp knife. Then he gulped it down like a professional. The meal had begun.