Queen Of Air & Darkness

by Anderson, Poul

  of the woods came a band of the Old Folk.,

  Some of them stood forth more clearly than moons and stars and

  northlights should have caused. He in the van rode a white crownbuck whose

  horns were garlanded. His form was manlike but unearthly beautiful, silver-

  blond hair falling from beneath the antlered helmet, around the proud cold

  face. The cloak fluttered off his back like living wings. His frost-colored

  mail rang as he fared.

  Behind him, to right and left, rode two who bore swords whereon small

  flames gleamed and flickered. Above, a flying flock laughed and trilled and

  tumbled in the breezes. Near then drifted a half-transparent mistiness.

  Those others who passed among trees after their chieftain were harder to

  make out. But thev moved in quicksilver grace and as it were to a sound of

  harps and trumpets.

  "Lord Luighaid." Glory overflowed in Mistherd's tone. "Her master Knower-

  himself."

  Sherrinford had never done a harder thing than to sit at the

  main control panel, finger near the button of the shield generator, and not

  touch it. He rolled down a section of canopy to let voices travel. A gust of

  wind struck him in the face, bearing odors of the roses'in his mother's

  garden. At his back, in the main body of the vehicle, Mistherd strained

  against his bonds till he could see the oncoming troop. ,

  "Call to them," Sherrinford said. "Ask if they will talk with me."

  Unknown, flutingly sweet words flew back and forth. "Yes," the boy

  interpreted. "fie will, the Lord Luighaid. But I can tell you, you'll never

  be

  let go. Don't fight them. Yield. Come away. You don't know what 'tis to be

  alive till you've dwelt in Carheddin under the mountain."

  The Outlings drew nigh.

  Jimmy glimmered and was gone. Barbro lay in strong arms, against a broad

  breast, and felt the horse move beneath her. It had to be a horse, though

  only a few were kept any longer on the steadings and they only for special

  uses or love. She could feel the rippling beneath its hide, hear a rush of

  parted leafage and the thud when a hoof struck stone; warmth and living

  scent welled up around her through the darkness.

  He who carried her said mildly, "Don't be afraid, darling. It was a vision.

  But he's waiting for us and we're bound for him."

  She was aware in a vague way that she ought to feel terror or despair or

  something. But her memories lay behind her-she wasn't sure just how she

  had come to be here-she was borne along in a knowledge of being loved. At

  peace, at peace; rest in the calm expectation of joy . . .

  After a while the forest opened. They crossed a lea where boulders stood

  gray-white under the moons, their shadows shifting in the dim hues which

  the aurora threw across them. Flitteries danced, tiny comets, above the

  flowers between. Ahead gleamed a peak whose top was crowned in clouds.

  Barbro's eyes happened to be turned forward. She saw the horse's head and

  thought, with quiet surprise: Why, this is Sambo,

  who was mine when I was a girl. She looked upward at the man. He wore a

  black tunic and a cowled cape, which made his face hard to see. She could

  not cry aloud, here. "Tim," she whispered.

  "Yes, Barbro."

  "I buried you-"

  His smile was endlessly tender. "Did you think we're no more than what's

  laid back into the ground? Poor torn sweetheart. She who's called us is the

  All Healer. Now rest and dream."

  --- "Dream," she said, and for a space she struggled to rouse herself.

  But the effort was weak. Why should she believe ashen tales about

  . . . atoms and energies, nothing else to fill a gape of emptiness

  . . . tales she could not bring to mind . . . when Tim and the horse

  her father gave her carried her on to Jimmy? Had the other thing

  not been the evil dream, and this her first drowsy awakening from

  it?

  As if he heard her thoughts, he murmured, "They have a song in Outling

  lands. The Song of the Men:

  "The world sails to an unseen wind. Light swirls by the bows. The wake is

  night.

  But the Dwellers have no such sadness."

  "I don't understand," she said.

  He nodded. "There's much you'll have to understand, darling, and I can't see

  you again until you've learned those truths. But meanwhile you'll be with

  our son."

  She tried to lift her head and kiss him. He held her down. "Not yet," he

  said. "You've not been received among the Queen's people. I shouldn't have

  come for you, except that she was too merciful to forbid. Lie back, lie

  back."

  Time blew past. The horse galloped tireless, never stumbling, up the

  mountain. Once she glimpsed a troop riding down it and thought they

  were bound for a last weird battle in the west against . . . who? . . . one

  who

  lay cased in iron and sorrow. Later she would

  ask herself the name of him who had brought her into the land of the

  Old Truth.

  Finally spires lifted splendid among the stars, which are small and

  magical and whose whisperings comfort us after we are dead. They

  rode into a courtyard where candles burned unwavering, fountains

  splashed and birds sang. The air bore fragrance of brok and pericoup,

  of rue and roses, for not everything that man brought was horrible.

  The Dwellers waited in beauty to welcome her. Beyond their

  stateliness, pooks cavorted through the gloaming; among the trees

  darted children; merriment caroled across music more solemn.

  "We have come-" Tim's voice was suddenly, inexplicably a croak.

  Barbro was not sure how he dismounted, bearing her. She stood before

  him and saw him sway on his feet.

  Fear caught her. "Are you well?" She seized both his hands. They felt

  cold and rough. Where had Sambo gone? Her eyes searched beneath

  the cowl. In this brighter illumination, she ought to have seen her

  man's face clearly. But it was blurred, it kept changing. "What's wrong,

  oh, what's happened?"

  He smiled. Was that the smile she had cherished? She couldn't

  completely remember. "I-I must go," he stammered, so low she could

  scarcely hear. "Our time is not ready." Ile drew free of her grasp and

  leaned on a robed form which had appeared at his side. A haziness

  swirled over both their heads. "Don't watch me go . . . back into the

  earth," he pleaded. "That's death for you. Till our time returns- There,

  our son!"

  She had to fling her gaze around. Kneeling, she spread wide her arms.

  Jimmy struck her like a warm, solid cannonball. She rumpled his hair;

  she kissed the hollow of his neck; she laughed and wept and babbled

  foolishness; and this was no ghost, no memory that had stolen off

  when she wasn't looking. Now and again, as she turned her attention to

  yet another hurt which might have come upon him-hunger, sickness,

  fear-and found none, she would glimpse their surroundings. The

  gardens were gone. It didn't matter.

  "I missed you so, Mother. Stay?"

  "I'll take you home, dearest."

  "Stay. Here's fun. I'll show. But you stay."

  A sighing went through the twilight. Barbro rose. Jimmy
clung to her

  hand. They confronted the Queen.

  Very tall she was in her robes woven of northlights, and her starry

  crown and her garlands of kiss-me-never. Her countenance recalled

  Aphrodite of Milos, whose picture Barbro had often seen in the realms

  of men, save that the Queen's was more fair and more majesty dwelt

  upon it and in the night-blue eyes. Around her the gardens woke to

  new reality, the court of the Dwellers and the heaven-climbing spires.

  "Be welcome," she spoke, her speaking a song, "forever."

  Against the awe of her, Barbro said, "Moonmother, let us go home."

  "That may not be."

  "To our world, little and beloved," Barbro dreamed she begged, "which

  we build for ourselves and cherish for our children."

  "To prison days, angry nights, works that crumble in the fingers, loves

  that turn to rot or stone or driftweed, loss, grief, and the only sureness

  that of the final nothingness. No. You too, Wanderfoot who is to be,

  will jubilate when the banners of the Outworld come flying into the

  last of the cities and man is made wholly alive. Now go with those who

  will teach you."

  The Queen of Air and Darkness lifted an arm in summons. It halted,

  and none came to answer.

  For over the fountains and melodies lifted a gruesome growling. Fires

  leaped, thunders crashed. Her hosts scattered screaming before the

  steel thing which boomed up the mountainside. The pooks were gone

  in a whirl of frightened wings. The nicors flung their bodies against the

  unalive invader and were consumed, until their Mother cried to them

  to retreat.

  Barbro cast Jimmy down and herself over him. Towers wavered and

  smoked away. The mountain stood bare under icy moons, save for

  rocks, crags,. and farther off a glacier in whose depths the

  auroral light pulsed blue. A cave mouth darkened a cliff. Thither folk

  streamed, seeking refuge underground. Some were human of blood, some

  grotesques like the pooks and nicors and wraiths; but most were lean, scaly,

  long-tailed, long-beaked, not remotely men or Outlings.

  For an instant, even as Jimmy wailed at her breast-perhaps as much because

  the enchantment had been wrecked as because he was afraid-Barbro pitied

  the Queen who stood alone in her nakedness. Then that one also had fled,

  and Barbro's world shiver ered apart.

  The guns fell silent; the vehicle whirred to a halt. From it sprang a boy

  who called wildly, "Shadow-of-a-Dream, where are you? It's me, Mistherd.

  Oh, come, come!"-before he remembered that the language they had been

  raised in was not man's. He shouted in that until a girl crept out of a

  thicket where she had hidden. They stared at each other through dust,

  smoke and moonglow. She ran to him.

  A new voice barked from the car, "Barbro, hurry!"

  Christmas Landing knew day: short at this time of year, but sunlight, blue

  skies, white clouds, glittering water, salt breezes in busy streets, and the

  sane disorder of Eric Sherrinford's living room.

  He crossed and uncrossed his legs where he sat, puffed on his pipe as if to

  make a veil, and said, "Are you certain you're recovered? You mustn't risk

  overstrain."

  "I'm fine," Barbro Cullen replied, though her tone was flat. "Still tired,

  yes,

  and showing it, no doubt. One doesn't go through such an experience and

  bounce back in a week. But I'm up and about. And to be frank, I must know

  what's happened, what's going on, before I can settle down to regain my

  full strength. Not a word of news anywhere."

  "Have you spoken to others about the matter?"

  "No. I've simply told visitors I was too exhausted to talk. Not much of a

  lie. I assumed there's a reason for censorship."

  Sherrinford looked relieved. "Good girl. It's at my urging. You can imagine

  the sensation when this is made public. The authorities agreed they need

  time to study the facts, think and debate in a calm atmosphere, have a

  decent policy ready to offer voters who're bound to become rather

  hvsterical at first." His mouth quirked slightly upward. "Furthermore, your

  nerves and Jimmy's get their chance to heal before the journalistic storm

  breaks over you. How is he?"

  - "Quite well. He continues pestering me for leave to go play with

  his friends in the Wonderful Place. But at his age, he'll recover-

  he'll forget."

  "He may meet them later anyhow."

  "What? We didn't-" Barbro shifted in her chair. "I've forgotten too. I

  hardly recall a thing from our last hours. Did you bring back any kidnapped

  humans?"

  "No. The shock was savage as it was, without throwing them straight into

  an . . . an institution. Mistherd, who's basically a sensible young fellow,

  assured me they'd get along, at any rate as regards survival necessities,

  till

  arrangements can be made." Sherrinford hesitated. "I'm not sure what the

  arrangements will be. Nobody is, at our present stage. But obviously they

  include those people-or many of them, especially those who aren't full-

  grown -rejoining the human race. Though they may never feel at home in

  civilization. Perhaps in a way that's best, since we will need some kind of

  mutually acceptable liaison with the Dwellers."

  His impersonality soothed them both. Barbro became able to say, "Was I

  too big a fool? I do remember how I yowled and beat my head on the

  floor."

  "Why, no." He considered the big woman and her pride for a few seconds

  before he rose, walked over and laid a hand on her shoulder. "You'd been

  lured and trapped by a skillful play on your deepest instincts, at a moment

  of sheer nightmare. Afterward, as that wounded monster carried you off,

  evidently another type of being came along, one that could saturate you

  with close-range neuropsychic forces. On top of this, my arrival, the

  sudden brutal

  abolishment of every hallucination, must have been shattering. No

  wonder if you cried out in pain. Before you did, you competently

  got Jimmy and yourself into the bus, and you never interfered

  with me."

  "What did you do?"

  "Why, I drove off as fast as possible. After several hours, the

  atmospherics let up sufficiently for me to call Portolondon and

  insist on an emergency airlift. Not that that was vital. What chance

  had the enemy to stop us? They didn't even try-But quick trans-_

  portation was certainly helpful."

  "I figured that's what must have gone on." Barbro caught his

  glance. "No, what I meant was, how did you find us in the back-

  lands?"

  Sherrinford moved a little off from her. "My prisoner was my

  guide. I don't think I actually killed any of the Dwellers who'd

  come to deal with me. I hope not. The car simply broke through

  them, after a couple of warning shots, and afterward outpaced

  them. Steel and fuel against flesh wasn't really fair. At the cave

  entrance, I did have to shoot down a few of those troll creatures.

  I'm not proud of it."

  He stood silent. Presently: "But you were a captive," he said. "I

  couldn't be sure what they might do to you, who had first claim
/>
  on me." After another pause: "I don't look for any more violence."

  "How did you make . . . the boy . . . cooperate?" ,

  Sherrinford paced from her, to the window, where he stood

  staring out at the Boreal Ocean. "I turned off the mind-shield,"

  he said. "I let their band get close, in full splendor of illusion.

  Then I turned the shield back on, and we both saw them in

  their true shapes. As we went northward, I explained to Mist-

  herd how he and his kind had been hoodwinked, used, made

  to live in a world that was never really there. I asked him if he

  wanted himself and whomever he cared about to go on till

  they died as domestic animals-yes, running in limited freedom

  on solid hills, but always called back to the dream-kennel." His

  pipe fumed furiously. "May I never see such bitterness again.

  He had been taught to believe he was free."

  Quiet returned, above the hectic traffic. Charlemagne drew

  nearer to setting; already the east darkened.

  Finally Barbro asked, "Do you know why?"

  "Why children were taken and raised like that? Partly because

  it was in the pattern the Dwellers were creating; partly in order

  to study and experiment on members of our species-minds, that

  is, not bodies; partly because humans have special strengths which

  are helpful, like being able to endure full daylight."

  "But what was the final purpose of it all?"

  Sherrinford paced the floor. "Well," he said, "of course the ulti-

  mate motives of the aborigines are obscure. We can't do more than

  guess at how they think, let alone how they feel. But our ideas do

  seem to fit the data.