After the Last Supper, the world resembled a person who had taken a bad turn and was lying on life support, stable but extremely depressed. The Heartforge's slow rhythm was comparable to a recovery timer, albeit no one was aware of the way. In the absence of the Echo, a different noise emerged: a low, unceasing grumble of need.
Naomi Frost was at the forefront of the distribution of provisions in the line that stretched through the former area of a luxurious pleasure-garden. They tore the glowing moss apart and turned the soil into beds for fungus. The line was an interminable serpent of the tired faces and trembling hands. They were not waiting for a luxurious Ambrosia but Symbiotes' gray-green Root-Bread and bitter lichen tea.
It's not sufficient, a woman murmured while her eyes were all dark as she grabbed her portion. Her child was hanging on her leg, extremely weak. The Withdrawal had stopped being a mind-scream and had become a body thing—they were starving for magical calories while only getting normal ones.
I am aware of that, Naomi said, feeling that it was not enough. She used to describe the taste of sadness and now she was handing out earth and need. The fungus needs time to grow. We are learning.
She was also pretty good at it by the end of the day. Her hands, which were once used for holding cups, were now a bit rough from grinding spores and making dough. The riot got rid of the fancy lady. Now she is the one responsible for sustaining the people, her craft substituted by a list of what they lack.
On the other side of the town, at the Flavor Scriptorium, changes in knowledge were taking place. Lucien Gray didn't become a leader but rather a translator. He along with Leo Vance and few other Symbiotes walked the silent aisles. They looked at the magical things without worshipping or desiring them, rather as scientists.
Lucien, holding a golden Solar Plexus Ambrosia, pointed out that this is not a sacramental thing. It is merely strong hormones. The hormones in the glands that humans don't even have are messed with. Doing it was as... injecting whale hormones. The result was addiction, the person got visions, and a false sense of importance.
Leo put his nose close to the same thing. The network is aware of it. It is a scream, a forced one, that it smells like. He indicated a dark green bottle with his finger. That one, the 'Flavor of Verdant Memory.' What is that?
Lucien looked at the fancy writing. Things from the god's dead smell-bulb. They say it provides you with memories of the ancient forests.
It is only a memory of a smell, Leo corrected. Not the real one. Your entire place is just a bunch of ghosts.
They got the Scriptorium hit with it. They were consuming the ghost of a meal, a memory of food. The real flavors of sun, forest, and ocean died when Aethelrex couldn't dream them up anymore.
Lucien was not sad but rather interested when he said that they need a new place. Not flavors taken, but stuff grown, cycles built. He looked at Leo. Your fungus... it doesn't simply eat the god, it talks, shares stuff. It's a network, like a plan.
Living together is not a plan, Leo said. It's the way things are. Live together or die. Your people decided to die for a while. Now you can decide to live.
They were only doing a little bit of work together, out of necessity, and barely. Old Taste-Guards down below had nothing to do with and so they worked with Heretics to clean damaged ducts, not to get stuff, but to prevent things from totally falling apart. It was difficult to distinguish the eaters from the protectors, who were merely trying to keep things from collapsing.
And Maxine Sharpe, in a quiet spot watching the slow Heartbeat, was looking at the only patient that mattered.
With her carving tools she was watching the Node with wires. The switch's hum was steady. But the switch was being pushed on. The god's body, which was used to eating like crazy, was fighting the beat. It was as if the body was yelling, NO. The slow beat was new, and the god didn't want it.
She could ascertain it from the data: minute reactions around the ducts, little jolts as the body attempted to do what it used to. The switch was like a helper in the heart that wouldn't calm down.
Their connection allowed her to experience these struggles. They were not painful, but rather itchy, a disagreeable sensation. The god was not conscious, but its body was having a nightmare.
She somewhat altered the situation, employing the Lobe's plans to relocate the energy into old, inactive systems—the god's old methods of healing itself and calming down. It was similar to getting a dislocated arm to relax.
She had stopped carving. She was managing a massive garden, nurturing the last bit of hope.
Benny, as usual, came in after the handing out of help stuff. He still looked better, although it was all very quiet. He put a Root-Bread loaf on her desk.
You don't eat, he said.
Maxine looked at it and then at him. She wasn't good with people. Thanks. She bit it. It was chewy, earthy, and dull. It was food. How is your mother?
Same. He went to the window and looked at the slow Heartbeat. The doctors say she is fighting. But I can't hear it. He turned. Can you… feel her? With the connection?
Maxine mused. While she was connected to the divine nervous system, she was not connected to people's minds. However, Joan Rhodes was hit with an enormous magical energy. Some of that might still be in her messed-up cells.
I will try, Maxine said. She could not make a promise, but she said it anyway.
After Benny's departure, she closed her eyes. She blocked out the Heart's song and the itchy yells. She concentrated, trying to locate Joan Rhodes, who was fading fast—looking for the note of Wilder's stolen power. She dispatched her mind as a net throughout the hospital, seeking something.
And she did.
A quiet, loud hum. Not living, not dead, just a note stuck. Joan Rhodes was not in a coma; she was a place where a bad note wouldn't stop playing.
Maxine didn't have an answer for this when she opened her eyes, no plan. She needed to fix the sound, not perform surgery.
She would have to come up with something new.