Queen Of Air & Darkness

by Anderson, Poul

  "Why did they hide from man? I suspect they, or rather their

  ancestors-for they aren't glittering elves, you know; they're mor-

  tal and fallible too-I suspect the natives were only being cautious

  at first, more cautious than human primitives, though certain of

  those on Earth were also slow to reveal themselves to strangers

  Spying, mentally eavesdropping, Roland's Dwellers must have

  picked up enough language to get some idea of how different man

  was from them, and how powerful; and they gathered that more

  ships would be arriving, bringing settlers. It didn't occur to them

  that they might be conceded the right to keep their lands. Perhaps

  they're still more fiercely territorial than we. They determined to

  fight, in their own way. I daresay, once we begin to get insight into

  that mentality, our psychological science will go through its

  Copernican revolution."

  Enthusiasm kindled in him. "That's not the sole thing we'll

  learn, either," he went on. "They must have science of their own,

  a nonhuman science born on a -planet that isn't Earth. Because

  they did observe us as profoundly as we've ever observed our-

  selves; they did mount a plan against us, one that would have

  taken another century or more to complete. Well, what else do

  they know? How do they support their civilization without visible

  agriculture or aboveground buildings or mines or anything? How can

  they breed whole new intelligent species to order? A million questions,

  ten million answers!"

  "Can we learn from them?" Barbro asked softly. "Or can we only

  overrun them as you say they fear?"

  Sherrinford halted, leaned elbow on mantel, hugged his pipe and

  replied, "I hope we'll show more charity than that to a defeated

  enemy. It's what they are. They tried to conquer us, and failed, and

  now in a sense we are bound to conquer them since they'll have to

  make their peace with the civilization of the machine rather than see

  it rust away as they strove for. Still, they never did us any harm as

  atrocious as what we've inflicted on our fellow men in the past. And, I

  repeat, they could teach us marvelous things; and we could teach them,

  too, once they've learned to be less intolerant of a different way of

  life."

  "I suppose we can give them a reservation," she said, and didn't know

  why he grimaced and answered so roughly:

  "Let's leave them the honor they've earned! They fought to save the

  world they'd always known from that"-he made a chopping gesture at

  the city-"and just possibly we'd be better off ourselves with less of it."

  He sagged a trifle and sighed, "However, I suppose if Elfland had won,

  man on Roland would at last-peacefully, even happily -have died away.

  We live with our archetypes, but can we live in them?"

  Barbro shook her head. "Sorry, I don't understand."

  "What'?" He looked at her in a surprise that drove out melancholy.

  After a laugh: "Stupid of me. I've explained this to so many politicians

  and scientists and commissioners and Lord knows what, these past

  days, I forgot I'd never explained to you. It was a rather vague idea of

  mine, most of the time we were traveling, and I don't like to discuss

  ideas prematurely. Now that we've met the Outlings and watched how

  they work, I do feel sure."

  He tamped down his tobacco. "In limited measure," he said, "I've used

  an archetype throughout my own working life. The

  rational detective. It hasn't been a conscious pose-much-it's simply

  been an image which fitted my personality and professional style. But

  it draws an appropriate response from most people, whether or not

  they've ever heard of the original. The phenomenon is not

  uncommon. We meet persons who, in varying degrees, suggest Christ

  or Buddha or the Earth Mother, or, say, on a less exalted plane,

  Hamlet or d'Artagnan. Historical, fictional and mythical, such figures

  crystallize basic aspects of the human psyche, and when we meet them

  in our real experience, our reaction goes deeper than consciousness."

  He grew grave again. "Man also creates archetypes that are not

  individuals. The Anima, the Shadow-and, it seems, the Outworld. The

  world of magic, of glamour-which originally meant enchantment-of

  half-human beings, some like Ariel and some like Caliban, but each

  free of mortal frailties and sorrows-therefore, perhaps, a little

  carelessly cruel, more than a little tricksy; dwellers, in dusk and

  moonlight, not truly gods but obedient to rulers who are enigmatic and

  powerful enough to be- Yes, our Queen of Air and Darkness knew well

  what sights to let lonely people see, what illusions to spin around them

  from time to time, what songs and legends to set going among them. I

  wonder how much she and her underlings gleaned from human fairy

  tales, how much they made up themselves, and how much men created

  all over again, all unwittingly, as the sense of living on the edge of the

  world entered them."

  Shadows stole across the room. It grew cooler and the traffic noises

  dwindled. Barbro asked mutedly, "But what could this do?"

  "In many ways," Sherrinford answered, "the outwayer is back in the

  Dark Ages. He has few neighbors, hears scanty news from beyond his

  horizon, toils to survive in a land he only partly understands, that may

  any night raise unforeseeable disasters against him and is bounded by

  enormous wildernesses. The machine civilization which brought his

  ancestors here is frail at best. He could lose it as the Dark Ages nations

  had lost Greece and Rome, as the whole of Earth seems to have lost it.

  Let him be worked on, long,

  strongly, cunningly, by the archetypical Outworld, until he has

  -come to believe in his bones that the magic of the Queen of Air

  and Darkness is greater than the energy of engines; and first his

  faith, finally his deeds will follow her. Oh, it wouldn't happen fast.

  Ideally, it would happen too slowly to be noticed, especially by

  self-satisfied city people. But when in the end a hinterland gone

  back to the ancient way turned from them, how could they keep

  alive?"

  Barbro breathed, "She said to me, when their banners flew in

  the last of our cities, we would rejoice."

  "I think we would have, by then," Sherrinford admitted. "Nev-

  ertheless, I believe in choosing one's destiny."

  He shook himself, as if casting off a burden. He knocked the

  dottle from his pipe and stretched, muscle by muscle. "Well," he

  said, "it isn't going to happen."

  She looked straight at him. "Thanks to you."

  A flush went up his thin cheeks. "In time, I'm sure somebody

  else would have- What matters is what we do next, and that's too

  big a decision for one individual or one generation to make."

  She rose. "Unless the decision is personal, Eric," she suggested,

  feeling heat in her own face.

  It was curious to see him shy. "I was hoping we might meet

  again."

  "We will."

  Ayoch sat on Wolund's Barrow. Aurora shuddered so brilliant,

  G in such vast sheafs of light, as almost to hide the waning moon
s.

  Firethorn blooms had fallen; a few still glowed around the tree

  roots, amidst dry brok which crackled underfoot and smelled like

  woodsmoke. The air remained warm but no gleam was left on the

  "- sunset horizon.

  "Farewell, fare lucky," the pook called. Mistherd and Shadow-

  of-a-Dream never looked back. It was as if they didn't dare. They

  trudged on out of sight, toward the human camp whose lights

  made a harsh new star in the south.

  Ayoch lingered. He felt he should also offer good-bye to her who

  had lately joined him that slept in the dolmen. Likely none would -

  s.-- meet here again for loving or magic. But he could only think of `

  one old verse that might do. He stood and trilled:

  • "Out of her breast

  a blossom ascended.

  The summer burned it.

  The song is ended."

  -•,----..rhea he spread his wings for the long flight away.