Free Muezzinland by Stephen Palmer

it was an attacker so she tried to mentally swat it, as she might a mosquito. Yet the presence continued to buzz her, and she began to notice that its voice was familiar; and its smell. It smelled like home.
    She stopped, letting Msavitar and Gmoulaye go on. They paused a hundred metres on, watching her, Gmoulaye with a suspicious frown, Msavitar nonchalant.
    Nshalla tried communication. "Hello?"
    Ruari Ó Bráonain. It was her father.
    "Is it you?"
    "It is three quarters of me," he replied. The fiery, bearded contours of his face floated in front of her, translucent, ejecting symbols like a fire spits sparks.
    He had died in mysterious circumstances a few months after Nshalla's conception. Nshalla knew nothing of what had happened. Nonplussed, she asked, "But how can it be you?"
    "I am a metaframe," he replied, "a self-perpetuating vortex of the aether. You have heard the term, I believe."
    Vaguely, Nshalla recalled her education in Accra. "I think so," she said, nervously swallowing.
    "I am an electromagnetic fossil of your father's public memories. I am not all of Ruari Ó Bráonain. But he was so intense a character that he left permanent traces in the Accra aether, and when he died various transputers around the globe automatically began to coalesce all those public memories, so creating a personality—me. Of course, no metaframe can access private memories. They are dead and gone. But I am, by my very nature, a symbolic imprint with much of Ruari Ó Bráonain's character." The image paused in its declaration. "How can I help you, dearest daughter?"
    Nshalla felt like crying, but shock held back her tears. She understood that this aether creation could assist her, just as a father would a daughter. What interfaces would such an entity have with the global optical network?
    She replied, "Mnada's vanished. I'm trying to find her. Any clues you could find, any sightings of her… And there's Msavitar. I'm sure he's an agent of mother's. Could you find out? He had an enemy on a riverboat, an enemy from Accra."
    "Wait, wait," Ruari interrupted. "Who is Mnada?"
    Shocked, Nshalla hesitated before replying, "My sister. Your first daughter."
    "But you are my only daughter."
    "No, no. Mnada is mother's heir. I'm just the younger daughter."
    "There is a mystery here," Ruari replied. "But I will find out what I can. When you leave Ouagadougou, I shall reappear. I only manifest at the edges of the forest, where it is quieter."
    "And try to find out where Muezzinland is. I don't think you'll have much luck, but please try. It's where Mnada said she was going. It's supposed to be to the north. There's some sort of connection with singers."
    "If the name is recorded anywhere I may be able to help."
    Nshalla sighed, remembering the Golden Library. "I've a feeling it's a modern name, a local name communicated orally. But try anyway."
    Ruari nodded. "The dawn of the optical age and the demise of radiated electromagnetic waves used for communication fragmented the world. That's what you think, isn't it? But I know different. You would be surprised what information still exists from earlier centuries—albeit disjointed. Particularly in the remains of the West, there are ancient devices hooked up to shattered optical webs. Have hope in such places."
    "All right."
    "One final piece of advice. Learn the language of the spirits."
    Nshalla shivered. Ruari disappeared like smoke up a chimney. She stood alone.
    Rejoining the others, she said little about her encounter, describing it as a dream. They proceeded down the Chemin du Gourounsi, making for the centre of town, the forest thinning to a few jujube and whitewood trees. They passed the Kamsokko quarter on their left, with its vibrant market, the Pallemtenga to their right, this the abode of craftsmen, until they were in central Na-iri at the crossroads of four roads. With thumping heart Nshalla saw an old rusty sign pointing north, upon which was pictsymed 'Tombouctou.' Nobody had bothered to