by Gene Wolfe
“It’s the sea!” I called to the others. Then, as I tried to adjust my mind with what must surely have occurred, “Nessus must be under water.”
Valeria gasped, “Nessus drowned two days ago.”
As she spoke, I snatched her up; her frail body seemed lighter than a child’s.
The waves came then, the uncountable white-maned destriers of Ocean, foaming across the undine’s shoulders so that for a breath I saw her as though I saw two worlds together, at once a woman and a rock. She lifted her heavy head higher at their coming and cried out in triumph and despair. It was the wail a storm gives as it sweeps over the sea, and a cry I hope never to hear again.
The Praetorians were clattering up the steps of the dais to escape the water, the young officer who had seemed so frightened and feeble before taking Jader’s sister (a prophetess no longer, for she had no more to prophesy) by the hand and drawing her up with him.
“I will not drown,” Baldanders rumbled. “And the rest do not matter. Save yourself if you can.”
I nodded without thinking and with my free arm jerked aside the arras. The Praetorians crowded forward, so that the bells that had pealed three times for me jangled madly and broke their cracked, dry straps, falling clangorously.
Not whispering but shouting, for the word would never be of use again, I commanded the sealed door through which I had come. It flew open, and through it came the assassin, mute still, half-unknowing, numbed by the memory of the ashen plains of death. I called to him to halt, but he had caught sight of the crown and Valeria’s poor, ravaged face beneath it.
He must have been a swordsman of renown; no master-at-arms could have struck more quickly. I saw the flash of the poisoned blade, then felt the fiery pain of its thrust through my wife’s poor, raddled body into my own, where it reopened the wound that Agilus’s avern leaf had made so many years before.
Chapter XLIV — The Morning Tide
THERE WAS a shimmering azure light. The Claw had returned — not the Claw destroyed by Ascian artillery, nor even the Claw I had given the chiliarch of Typhon’s Praetorians, but the Claw of the Conciliator, the gem I had found in my sabretache as Dorcas and I walked down a dark road beside the Wall of Nessus. I tried to tell someone; but my mouth was sealed, and I could not find the word. Perhaps I was too distant from myself, from the Severian of bone and flesh borne by Catherine in a cell of the oubliette under the Matachin Tower . The Claw endured, shining and swaying against the dark void.
No, it was not the Claw that swayed but I, swaying gently, gently while the sun caressed my back.
The sunlight must have brought me to myself, as it would have raised me from my deathbed. The New Sun must come; and I was the New Sun. I lifted my head, opened my eyes, and spat a stream of crystal fluid like no water of Urth’s; it seemed not water at all, but a richer atmosphere, corroborant as the winds of Yesod.
Then I laughed with joy to find myself in paradise, and in laughing felt that I had never laughed before, that all the joy I had ever known had been but a vague intuition of this, sickly and misguided. More than life, I had wished a New Sun for Urth; and Urth’s New Sun was here, dancing about me like ten thousand sparkling spirits and tipping each wave with purest gold. Not even on Yesod had I seen such a sun! Its glory eclipsed every star and was like the eye of the Increate, not to be looked upon lest the pyrolater go blind.
Turning from that glory, I cried out as the undine had, in triumph and despair. Around me floated the wrack of Urth: trees uprooted, loose shingles, broken beams, and the bloated corpses of beasts and men. Here spread what the sailors who had fought against me on Yesod must have seen; and I, seeing it now as they had, no longer hated them for drawing work-worn knives against the coming of the New Sun, but felt a fresh surprise that Gunnie had defended me. (Not for the first time, I wondered too if she had tipped the balance; had she fought against me, she would have fought me, and not the eidolons. Such was her nature; and if I had died, Urth would have perished with me.)
Far off I heard, or thought I heard, an answering cry over the murmur of the many-tongued waves. I started toward it but soon halted, hampered by my cloak and boots; I kicked off the boots (though they were good ones and nearly new) and let them sink. The junior officer’s cloak soon followed, something I was later to regret. Swimming, running, and walking great distances have always made me conscious of my body, and it felt strong and well; the assassin’s poisoned wound had healed like the poisoned wound Agilus had made.
Yet it was merely well and strong. The inhuman power that it had drawn from my star was gone, though it must surely have healed me while it remained. When I tried to reach the part of myself that had once been there, it was as though one who had lost a leg sought to move it.
The cry came again. I answered, and dissatisfied with my progress (as well as I could judge, each wave I breasted drove me back as far as I had swum forward), I took a deep breath and swam some distance underwater.
I opened my eyes almost at once, for it seemed to me that the water held no sting of salt; and as a boy I had swum with open eyes in the wide cistern beneath the Bell Keep, and even in the stagnant shallows of Gyoll. This water appeared as clear as air, though blue-green at its depths. Vaguely, as we may see a tree above us mirrored in some quiet pool, I beheld the bottom, where something white moved in so slow and errant a fashion that I could not be sure whether it swam or merely drifted. The very purity and warmth of the water alarmed me; I grew fearful that I might somehow forget it was not air in fact and lose myself as I had once been lost among the dark and twining roots of the pale blue nenuphars.
I breached then, shooting free of the waves by two cubits, and saw, still some way off, a ragged raft to which two women clung, and on which a man stood shading his eyes with his hand while he scanned the tossing surface.
A dozen strokes carried me to them. The raft had been built of whatever floating stuff they could find, and bound together in any way that would serve. Its core was a large table such as an exultant might have spread for an intimate supper in his suite; and the table’s eight sturdy legs, now pawing the air by pairs, seemed parodies of masts.
When I had clambered onto the back of a cabinet (somewhat cumbered by the well-meant help I got), I saw that the survivors comprised a fat, bald man and the two women, both fairly young, one short and blessed with the merry, round face of a cheerful doll, the other tall, dark, and hollow-cheeked.
“You see,” the fat man said, “not all’s lost. There’ll be more, mark my word.”
The dark woman muttered, “And no water.”
“We’ll get something, never fear. Meantime, none to share amongst four’s but a bit worse than none to share amongst three, provided it’s doled out fairly.”
I said, “This must be fresh water all around us.”
The fat man shook his head. “I fear it’s the sea, sieur. High tides because of the Day Star, sieur, and they’ve swallowed up the countryside at present. Gyoll’s mixed in with them, to be sure, so the water’s not quite so salt as they say old Ocean is, sieur.”
“Don’t I know you? You seem familiar.”
He bowed as skillfully as any legate, all the while keeping a hand braced on one of the table legs. “Odilo, sieur. Master steward, sieur, and charged by our benign Autarch, whose smiles are the hopes of her humble servants, sieur, with the regulation of the whole of the Hypogeum Apotropaic in its entirety, sieur. Doubtless you saw me there, sieur, upon some visit you made to our House Absolute, though I did not have occasion to wait upon you there, sieur, I’m sure, as I would have recollected such an honor to the very day of my demise, sieur.”
The dark woman said, “Which may be this.”
I hesitated. I did not want to feign to be the exultant Odilo plainly took me for; but to announce myself the Autarch Severian would be awkward even if I were believed.
The doll-faced woman rescued me. “I’m Pega, and I was the armagette Pelagia’s soubrette.”
Odilo frowned. �
��Hardly well mannered for you to introduce yourself in such a way, Pega. You were her ancilla.”
And then to me. “She was a good servant, sieur, I have no question. A trifle giddy, perhaps.”
The doll-faced woman looked chastened, though I suspected the expression was entirely assumed. “I did madame’s hair and took care of her things, but she really kept me to tell her all the latest jokes and gossip, and to train Picopicaro. That was what she said, and she always called me her soubrette.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek, gleaming in the sun; but whether it was for her dead mistress or the dead bird, I could not be sure.
“And this, ah, female will not introduce herself to Pega and me. That is, beyond her name, which is—”
“Thais.”
“I am enriched by this introduction,” I said. By then I had remembered that I held honorary commissions in half a dozen legions and epitagms, all of which I could employ as incognitos without a lie. “Hipparch Severian, of the Black Tarentines.”
Pega’s mouth shaped a tiny circle. “Ooh! I must’ve seen you in the procession!” She turned to the woman who had called herself Thais. “His men wore lacquered cuir-bouilli with white plumes, and you never saw such destriers!”
Odilo murmured, “You went with your mistress, I take it?”
Pega made some response, but I gave it no heed. A corpse bobbing a chain from the raft had caught my eye, and I thought how absurd it was that I should squat on a dead man’s furniture and dissemble to servants with Valeria rotting underwater. How she would have mocked me! At a pause in the talk, I asked Odilo whether his father had not been steward before him in the same place.
He beamed with pleasure. “He was indeed, sieur, and gave the most complete satisfaction all his life. That was in the great days of Father Inire, sieur, when, if I may say so, sieur, our Hypogeum Apotropaic was famous all across the Commonwealth. May I ask why you inquire, sieur?”
“I merely wondered. It’s more or less the usual thing, I believe.”
“It is, sieur. The son’s given an opportunity to show his mettle if he can; and if he does, he retains the office. You may not believe it, sieur, but my father once encountered your namesake before he had become Autarch. Do you know of his life and deeds, sieur?”
“Not as much as I’d like to, Odilo.”
“Graciously spoken, sieur. Most graciously spoken indeed.” The fat steward nodded and beamed at the two women to make sure they appreciated the exquisite courtesy of my reply.
Pega was studying the sky. “It’s going to rain, I believe. Maybe we won’t die of thirst after all.”
Thais said, “Another storm. We’ll drown instead.”
I told them I hoped not, and began to examine my emotional state before I remembered it could no longer be the power of my star that had summoned the clouds gathering in the east.
Odilo was not to be deprived of his anecdote. “It was late one night, sieur, and my father was making his final rounds when he saw someone attired in the fuligin habiliments of a carnifex, though without the customary sword of execution. As was to be expected, his first thought was that the man was arrayed for a masque, of which there are always several in one part or another of the House Absolute on any given night. Yet he knew none was to take place in our Hypogeum Apotropaic, neither Father Inire nor the then Autarch having much fondness for those diversions.”
I smiled, recalling the House Azure. The dark woman shot me a significant glance and ostentatiously covered her lips with her hand, but I had no desire to cut Odilo’s recital short; now that I would no longer wander through the Corridors of Time, all that concerned the past or the future seemed infinitely precious to me.
“His next thought — which had better been his first, sieur, as he often owned to my mother and me as we sat by the fireside — was that this carnifex had set out upon some sinister mission, supposing himself apt to pass unobserved. It was vital, sieur, as my father understood at once, to learn if his errand served Father Inire or some other. My father therefore approached him as boldly as if he’d a cohort of hastarii at his back and asked his business straight out.”
Thais murmured, “If he had been set upon some evil errand, he would have owned it, no doubt.”
Odilo said, “My dear lady, I don’t know whom you may be, as you have refrained from informing us even when our exalted guest obligingly made us privy to his own patrician identity. But you obviously know nothing of artifice, nor of the intrigues carried out daily — and nightly! — among the myriad hallways of our House Absolute. My father was well aware that no agent entrusted with an irrevealable commission would disclose it, however abrupt the demand. He hazarded that some involuntary gesture or fleeting expression might betray treachery, were such intended.”
“Wasn’t that Severian masked?” I asked. “You said he was dressed as a torturer.”
“I’m quite certain he wasn’t, sieur, as my father described him often — a most savage countenance, sieur, severely scarred on one cheek.”
“I know!” Pega broke in. “I’ve seen his portrait and his bust. They’re in the Hypogeum Abscititious, where the Autarch put them when she married again. He looked like he’d cut your throat whistling.”
I felt that someone had cut my own.
“Quite apropos!” Odilo approved. “My father said much the same, though he never put it so succinctly that I can recall.”
Pega was examining me. “He never had children, did he?”
Odilo smiled. “One would have heard of that, I imagine.”
“Legitimate children. But he could have covered any woman in the House Absolute, just by cocking an eyebrow. Exultants, all of them.”
Odilo told her to hold her tongue and said, “I do hope you will forgive Pega, sieur. After all, it’s rather a compliment.”
“To be told I look like a cutthroat? Yes, it’s the kind I’m always getting.” I spoke without reflection and continued in the same way, seeking at once to turn the talk to Valeria’s remarriage and to conceal the grief I felt. “But wouldn’t the cutthroat have to be my grandfather? Severian the Great would be eighty or more if he were alive, surely. Whom should I ask about him, Pega? My mother or my father? And don’t you think there must have been something about him after all, for him to command so many fine chatelaines when he’d been a torturer in his youth, even if the Autarch took a new husband?”
To fill the silence that followed my little speech, Odilo said, “That guild is abolished, sieur, I believe.”
“Of course you do. That’s what people always believe.” The whole of the east was black already, and the motion of our improvised raft had grown perceptibly more lively.
Pega whispered, “I didn’t mean to offend, Hipparch. It’s just that…” Whatever it was, was lost in the breaking of a wave.
“No,” I told her. “You’re right. He was a hard man from all I know of him; and a cruel one too, at least by reputation, though perhaps he wouldn’t have owned to that. Quite possibly Valeria wed him for his throne, though I believe she’s sometimes said otherwise. Her second husband made her happy, at least.”
Odilo chortled. “Well put, sieur. A distinct hit. You must take care, Pega, when you cross swords with a soldier.”
Thais stood, grasping a table leg with one hand and pointing with the other. “Look!”
Chapter XLV — The Boat
IT WAS a sail, lifted at times so high that we could glimpse the dark hull under it — at others nearly lost, dipping and spinning down the trenches of the flood. We shouted till we were hoarse, all of us, and capered and waved our arms, and at last I lifted Pega onto my shoulder, balancing as precariously as I had in the tossing howdah of Vodalus’s baluchither.
The wind spilled from the gaff-rigged sail. Pega groaned. “They’re sinking!”
“No,” I told her, “they’re coming about.”
The little jib emptied and flapped in its turn, then filled again. I cannot say just how many breaths or how many beatings of my heart passed bef
ore we saw the sharp jibboom stabbing the sky like a flagstaff set on a green hill. Time has seldom gone more slowly for me, and I feel they might have numbered several thousands.
A moment more, and the boat lay within long bowshot of us, with a rope trailing in the water. I plunged in, not sure that the others would follow me, but feeling I would be better able to help them on board than on the raft.
At once it seemed I had plunged into another world, more outlandish than the Brook Madregot. The unresting waves and clouded sky vanished as if they had never existed. I sensed a mighty current, yet I could not have said by what means I knew of it; for although the drowned pastures of my drowned nation slipped under me and its trees gestured to me with supplicating limbs, the water itself seemed at rest. It was as if I watched the slow rolling of Urth across the void.
At length I saw a cottage with its walls and stone chimney still standing; its open door appeared to beckon me. I felt a sudden terror and swam upward toward the light as desperately as when I had been drowning in Gyoll.
My head broke the surface; water streamed from my nostrils. For a moment it seemed that both raft and boat were gone, but a wave lifted the boat so that I glimpsed its weather-stained sail. I knew I had been underwater a long time, even though it had not seemed so. I swam as fast as I could, but I was careful to keep my face in air as much as possible, and I closed my eyes when it was not.
Odilo stood in the stern with a hand on the tiller; when he saw me, he waved and shouted some encouragement I could not hear. In a moment or two, Pega’s round face appeared above the gunnel, then another face, one I did not know, brown and wrinkled.
A wave picked me up as a cat does her kittens, and I dove headfirst down its farther side and found the floating rope in the trough. Odilo abandoned the tiller (which was held with a loop of cordage in any case, as I saw when I got on board) and joined in hauling me in. The little boat had only a couple of cubits of freeboard, and it was not difficult to brace my foot on the rudder and vault over the stern.