“I am Heather and this is my friend, Ayra. We were walking, listening to the piping, and we saw your house. It seemed rude to pass without saying hello.”
“The piping is my husband, Ambry,” Lydia explained, “and I’m very glad that you decided to stop. It does get a little lonely here.”
“Here?” Ayradyss managed.
“Yeah, we’re in one of the wild lands of Virtu—one of the places the programmers lost. It’s not too often that someone stumbles in. Don’t worry. Ambry knows how to get back. He’ll show you the way, but don’t go too soon. I’d really love a chance to visit.”
Ayradyss could only nod befuddled acceptance and follow Lydia into the cottage.
“Did you know?” she hissed to the caoineag. “And is your name really Heather?”
“No. And, yes, or close enough. Let’s talk with this girl. I want to know more about how an ancient place can be mistaken for a site in Virtu.”
The inside of the cottage was as pleasant as the outside. The table and chairs in the parlor Lydia led them into rested on oval rag-rugs that protected the bright pine floor. Overall the decor was late eighteenth-century rural New England, but Lydia switched off an electronic scribble board as she walked by it. Ayradyss caught a glimpse of long mathematical formulas that reminded her vaguely of some of John’s work.
Lydia caught her questioning glance. “It’s something to keep me busy—interface theory. Some of my experiences really make me question the conventional wisdom. At first, Ambry argued with me, but I think I’m bringing him around to my point of view.”
“You and your husband are mathematicians?” Heather asked.
“Well, yeah. I guess you could say that. Mostly we’re just taking it easy, but it’s nice to have something to talk about in the evening. Like I said, it gets quiet here.”
“Where are you from originally—if that’s not impolite to ask?” Ayradyss said.
“New Jersey.” Lydia giggled. “How about you?”
“Scotland.”
“Oh, how cool. This locus owes a lot to that part of the world—and not just the terrain features. Ambry likes to say that all the legends have found their way into Virtu.”
“Really?” said the caoineag dryly. “Which, I wonder, came first?”
“Well, in one sense the legends,” Lydia answered, not hearing the other’s sarcasm. “One of the first things people loaded into the data-nets—even way back when they were using terminal interface and telephone connections—was raw information: dictionaries, academic papers, fiction, indexes. When the system did the big crash, all that got scrambled and the AIs had lots of data to cannibalize.”
“So this ‘wild territory’ is just some AFC unauthorized scrambling of data?” Ayradyss said.
“That’s what the theory says.” Lydia’s tone was suddenly guarded. She switched the subject with an awkwardness that made Ayradyss suspect that she was at least as young as her physical appearance. “When’s your baby due?”
“Spring. How about yours?”
“About the same. I’m really pregnant. This isn’t just a virt thing.”
Again, Lydia quickly shifted the subject, as if by admitting that she was really pregnant she had strayed into dangerous territory.
“Are you two ladies here on your own? I spotted you first from an upstairs window and I thought I saw a couple other people.”
“We’re here with two friends,” Ayradyss answered. “They heard the bagpipes and went into the hills to see if they could find the piper.”
Lydia giggled again. “Ambry’s piping is like that. The first time I met him, I wandered all over the hills looking for him. I found him—or really, he found me. I’ll send him a message asking him to join us and to bring your friends along.” She opened a window and leaned out into the yard, making a soft cooing noise. A fat grey pigeon fluttered sleepily from the rafters.
“Find Ambry for me and ask him to come home and to bring the two people…” She glanced questioningly at Ayradyss and Heather.
“Two men,” Heather clarified. “One is dressed in a priest’s cassock and the other in rather ragged clothing.”
“Those two men with him.”
The pigeon yawned, preened, and fluttered off, blending almost immediately into the grey sky.
Lydia deliberately kept the conversation inconsequential after that and her visitors were quite content to cooperate.
Ayradyss could hardly keep up her part in the discussion; her mind kept coming up with unanswerable questions: Was this indeed Virtu? If so, had they really crossed in from the Verite? How could that have been done without the proper equipment? How could the ghosts have crossed at all? Moreover, the caoineag and the cleric had both spoken as if these “eldritch realms” had existed during their mortal existence. If this was the case, the realms predated Virtu—they predated computers. How had Lydia entered them from Verite?
Gratefully, she heard the crunch of feet on the oyster shell path and put her questions away for later—and hopefully more fruitful—meditation.
The door opened, admitting a man wearing wool leggings and an unbleached muslin shirt. He was bearded, his hair and shaggy eyebrows wild as if he had been standing in a high wind. A fine set of bagpipes was slung over his shoulder. Crossing to Lydia, he kissed her on one cheek and nodded to the ladies.
“The pigeon found me and I found the men, but they fled from me as if I were a ghost. I lost them near the standing stones. They were an odd pair—I’m certain that the smaller one was dragging a chain.”
“We were involved in a mystery game,” Ayradyss said quickly. “They may have thought you were one of the villains.”
“Quite possibly.” The man sketched a bow. “I am Wolfer Martin D’Ambry, but I hope you will call me Ambry, as Lydia does. The rest is something of a mouthful.”
“I am Ayradyss and this is Heather. We wandered here and Lydia invited us in.”
“They’re from Scotland,” Lydia said, almost as if she was saying something else.
Ambry nodded.
Ayradyss knew there was a certain etiquette to what one did and did not ask in virt; this made her somewhat hesitant to ask questions that could be taken as a cross-examination. Heather, however, had no such compunctions.
“What is this place? Lydia called it a wild land—seemed to indicate that it wasn’t easily found. What did she mean?”
Lydia hung her head slightly, looked embarrassed. Ayradyss felt for her. Clearly in her excitement at having visitors—and perhaps out of a good-hearted desire that they not become frightened at finding themselves in a strange area—she had said more than she should have. The caoineags green-grey gaze was pitiless and steady, fixed on Wolfer Martin D’Ambry.
“Virtu,” he said, as if they had been talking for hours, “is not nearly as regulated and reliable as the tourist bureaus and rental agencies would have their clients believe. Only a handful of specialists will even admit how far-reaching the effects of the worldwide crash were. There are places in Virtu that cannot be found on any map in Verite. This is one of those places.”
“But this is truly Virtu?” Ayradyss asked, thinking, If this is Virtu, then does the Lord of Deep Fields know I am here?
“It is accessible from Virtu,” Ambry said. “Its genius loci claims that this place is older than Virtu, but that is foolishness, is it not?”
“There have always been legends of places existing side by side with the fields we know,” Ayradyss said, quickly lest the caoineag speak the indignation flaring in her eyes. “The sidhe, so legends say, lived in a shadowland side by side with Verite, crossing over from time to time to steal a bride or a babe or a musician. Rip van Winkle drank and bowled for what he believed was a single night and returned home to find that a hundred years had gone by. Then there are the heavens and hells of almost every religion that has been. All of these are far older than Virtu. Perhaps the genius loci of this setting adopted such a legend and now believes it.”