by Gene Wolfe
NOD: I am no man, but less and more — being born of the clay, of Mother Gea, whose pets are the beasts. If your dominion is over men, then you must let me go.
JAHI: We’re not men either. Let us go too!
FIRST SOLDIER: (Laughing.) We can see you’re not. I wasn’t in doubt for a moment.
MESCHIANE: She’s no woman. Don’t let her trick you.
FAMILIAR: (Snapping the last fetter on NOD.) She won’t. Believe me, the time of tricks is over.
FIRST SOLDIER: You’ll have some fun, won’t you, when I’m gone.
He reaches for JAHI, who spits like a cat.
FIRST SOLDIER: I don’t suppose you’d be a good fellow and turn your back for a moment?
FAMILIAR: (Preparing to torture MESCHIANE.) If I were such a good fellow as that, I’d find myself broken on my own wheel soon enough. But if you wait here until my master the Inquisitor returns, you may find yourself lying beside her as you wish.
FIRST SOLDIER hesitates, then realizes what is meant, and hurries out.
NOD: That woman will be the mother of my son-in-law. Do not harm her. (He strains at his chains.)
JAHI: (Stifling a yawn.) I’ve been up all night, and though the spirit is as willing as ever, this flesh is ready for rest. Can’t you hurry with her and get to me?
FAMILIAR: (Not looking.) There is no rest here.
JAHI: So? Well, it’s not quite as homelike as I would expect.
JAHI yawns again, and when she moves a hand to cover her mouth, the shackle falls away.
MESCHIANE: You have to hold her — don’t you understand? The soil has no part in her, so iron has no power over her.
FAMILIAR: (Still looking at MESCHIANE, whom he is to flaring.) She is held, never fear.
MESCHIANE: Giant! Can you free yourself? The world depends on it!
NOD: strains at his bonds, but cannot break them.
JAHI: (Walking out of her shackles.) Yes! It is I who answer, because in the world of reality I am far larger than any of you. (She walks around the desk and leans over the FAMILIAR’S shoulder.) How interesting! Crude, but interesting.
The FAMILIAR turns and gapes at her, and she flees, laughing. He runs clumsily after her, and a moment later returns crestfallen.
FAMILIAR: (Panting.) She’s gone.
NOD: Yes. Free.
MESCHIANE: Free to pursue Meschia and ruin everything, as she did before.
FAMILIAR: You don’t realize what this means. My master will return soon, and I am a dead man.
NOD: The world is dead. So she has told you.
MESCHIANE: Torturer, you have one chance yet — listen to me. You must free the giant as well.
FAMILIAR: And he will kill me and release you. I will consider it. At least it will be a quick death.
MESCHIANE: He hates Jahi, and though he isn’t clever he knows her ways, and he is very strong. What’s more, I can tell you an oath that he will never break. Give him the key to his shackles, then stand by me with your sword at my neck. Make him swear to find Jahi, return her; and bind himself again.
The FAMILIAR hesitates.
MESCHIANE: You’ve nothing to lose. Your master doesn’t even know he’s supposed to be here. But if she’s gone when he returns…
FAMILIAR: I’ll do it! (He detaches a key from the ring at his belt.)
NOD: I swear as I hope to be linked by marriage to the family of Man, so that we giants may be called the Sons of the Father, that I will capture the succubus for you, and return her here, and hold her so that she shall not escape again, and bind myself as I am bound now.
FAMILIAR: Is that the oath?
MESCHIANE: Yes!
The FAMILIAR throws the key to NOD, then draws his sword and holds it ready to strike MESCHIANE.
FAMILIAR: Can he find her?
MESCHIANE: He must find her!
NOD: (Unlocking himself.) I will catch her. That body weakens as she said. She may whip it far, but she will never learn that whipping will not do everything.
(Exits.)
FAMILIAR: I must continue with you. I hope you understand…
The FAMILIAR tortures MESCHIANE, who screams.
FAMILIAR: (Sotto voce.) How fair she is! I wish that we were met when better things might be.
The stage darkens; JAHI’S running feet are heard. After a time, a faint light shows NOD loping through the corridors of the House Absolute. Moving images of urns, pictures, and furniture behind him show his progress. JAHI appears among them, and he exits stage right in pursuit. JAHI enters stage left, with SECOND DEMON walking in lockstep behind her.
JAHI: Where can he have gone? The gardens are burned black. You have no flesh beyond a seeming — cannot you make yourself an owl and seek him out for me?
SECOND DEMON: (Mocking.) Who-o-o?
JAHI: Meschia! Wait until the Father hears how you have treated me, and betrayed all our efforts.
SECOND DEMON: From you? It was you who left Meschia, lured away by the woman. What will you say? “The woman tempted me?” We have done with that so long ago that no one remembers it save you and I, and now you have spoiled the lie by making it come true.
JAHI: (Turning on him.) You little foul sniveler! You scrabbler at windows!
SECOND DEMON: (Jumping back.) And now you are exiled to the land of Nod, east of Paradise.
NOD’S footfalls are heard offstage. JAHI hides behind a clepsydra, and SECOND DEMON produces a pike and stands with it in the attitude of a soldier as NOD enters.
NOD: How long have you been standing there?
SECOND DEMON: (Saluting.) As long as you want, sieur.
NOD: What news is there?
SECOND DEMON: All you want, sieur. A giant as high as a steeple has killed the throne-guards, and the Autarch’s missing. We’ve searched the gardens so often that if only we’d been carrying dung instead of spears, the daisies’d be as big as umbrellas. Ducks’ clothes is down and hopes is up — so’s the turnips. Tomorrow should be fair, warm, and bright… (looks significantly toward the clepsydra) and a woman with no clothes on has been running through the halls.
NOD: What is that thing?
SECOND DEMON: A water clock, sieur. See, you, knowing what time it is, can tell by that how much water’s flowed.
NOD: (Examining the clepsydra.) There is nothing like this in my land. Do these puppets move by water?
SECOND DEMON: Not the big one, sieur.
JAHI bolts offstage, pursued by NOD, but before he is fully out of sight of the audience, she dives between his legs, reentering. He continues off, giving her time to hide in a chest. Meanwhile, SECOND DEMON has disappeared.
NOD: (Reentering.) Ho! Stop! (Runs to opposite side of stage and returns.) My fault! My fault! In the garden there — she passed close by me once. I could have reached out and crushed her like a cat — a worm — a mouse — a snake. (Turns on audience.) Don’t laugh at me! I could kill you all! The whole poisoned race of you! Oh, to strew the valleys with your white bones! But I am done — I am done! And Meschiane, who trusted in me, is undone!
NOD strikes the clepsydra, sending brass pans and water flying across the stage.
NOD: What good is this gift of speech, except that I can curse myself. Good mother of all the beasts, take it from me. I would be as I was, and shout wordless among the hills. Reason shows reason can only bring pain — how wise to forget and be happy again!
NOD seats himself on the chest in which JAHI hides, and buries his face in his hands. As the lights dim, the chest begins to splinter beneath his weight.
When the lights come up again, the scene is once more the INQUISITOR’S chamber.
MESCHIANE is on the rack. The FAMILIAR is turning the wheel. She screams.
FAMILIAR: That made you feel better, didn’t it? I told you it would. Besides, it lets the neighbors know we’re awake in here. You wouldn’t believe it, but this whole wing is full of empty rooms and sinecures. Here the master and I do our business still. We do it still, and that’s why the Commonwealth stand
s. And we want them to know it.
Enter the AUTARCH. His robes are torn and stained with blood.
AUTARCH: What place is this? (He sits on the floor, his head in his hands in an attitude reminiscent of NOD’S.)
FAMILIAR: What place? Why, the Chambers of Mercy, you jackass. Can you come here without knowing where you are?
AUTARCH: I have been so hunted through my house this night that I might be anywhere. Bring me some wine — or water, if you’ve no wine here — and bar the door.
FAMILIAR: We have claret, but no wine. And I can hardly bar the door, since I expect my master back.
AUTARCH: (More forcefully.) Do as I tell you.
FAMILIAR: (Very softly.) You are drunk, friend. Go out.
AUTARCH: I am — What does it matter? The end is here. I am a man neither worse nor better than you.
NOD’S heavy tread is heard in the distance.
FAMILIAR: He has failed — I know it!
MESCHIANE: He has succeeded! He would not come back so soon with empty hands. The world may yet be saved!
AUTARCH: What do you mean?
Enter NOD. The madness he prayed for is upon him, but he drags JAHI behind him.
The FAMILIAR runs forward with shackles.
MESCHIANE: Someone must hold her, or she will escape as she did before.
The FAMILIAR drapes chains on NOD and snaps closed the locks, then chains one of NOD’S arms across his body in such a way that he holds JAHI.
NOD tightens the grip.
FAMILIAR: He’s killing her! Let go, you great booby!
The FAMILIAR snatches up the bar with which he has been tightening the rack and belabors NOD with it. NOD roars, tries to grasp him, and lets the unconscious JAHI slip down. The FAMILIAR seizes her by the foot and pulls her to where the AUTARCH sits.
FAMILIAR: Here, you, you’ll do.
He jerks the AUTARCH erect and swiftly imprisons him in such a way that one hand is clamped about JAHI’S wrist, then returns to torture MESCHIANE. Unseen behind him, NOD is freeing himself of his chains.
Chapter 25
THE ATTACK ON THE HIERODULES
Though we were outdoors, where sounds are so easily lost against the immensity of the sky, I could hear the clatter Baldanders made as he feigned to struggle with his bonds. There were conversations in the audience, and I could hear those as well — one about the play, which discovered in it significances I had never guessed and which Dr. Talos, I would say, had never intended; and another about some legal case that a speaker with the drawling intonation of an exultant seemed certain the Autarch was about to judge wrongly. As I turned the windlass of the rack, letting the pawl drop with a satisfying clack, I risked a sidelong look at those who watched us.
No more than ten chairs were in use, but lofty figures stood at the sides of the seating area, and behind it. There were a few women in court dresses much like the ones I had once seen in the House Azure, dresses with very low décolletages and full skirts that were often slit, or relieved with panels of lace. Their hair was simply dressed, but it was set off with flowers, jewels, or brilliantly luminous larvae.
Most of those in our audience seemed men, and more arrived momentarily. Many were as tall as or taller than Vodalus. They stood wrapped in their cloaks as though they were chilled by the soft spring air. Their faces were shadowed beneath broad-brimmed, low-crowned petasoses.
Baldanders’s chains fell with a crash, and Dorcas shrieked to let me know he was free. I turned toward him, then cowered away, wrenching the nearest flambeau from its socket to fend him off. It guttered as the oil in its bowl nearly drowned the flame, sputtering to renewed life when the brimstone and mineral salts Dr. Talos had gummed around the rim took fire.
The giant was feigning madness, as his role required. His coarse hair hung about his eyes; and they, behind its screen, blazed so wildly I could see them despite it. His mouth hung slack, drooling spittle and showing his yellowed teeth. Arms twice the length of my own groped toward me.
What frightened me — and I was frightened, I admit, and wished heartily I had Terminus Est in my hands instead of the iron flambeau — was what I can only call the expression beneath the lack of expression on his face. It was there like the black water we sometimes glimpse moving beneath the ice when the river freezes. Baldanders had found a terrible joy now in being as he was; and when I faced him I realized for the first time that he was not so much feigning madness on the stage as feigning sanity and his dim humility off it. I wondered then how much he had influenced the writing of the play, though it may be only that Dr. Talos had (as he surely had) understood his patient better than I.
We were not, of course, to terrify the Autarch’s courtiers as we had the country people. Baldanders would wrest the flambeau from me, pretend to break my back, and end the scene. He did not. Whether he was as mad as he pretended or was genuinely enraged at our growing audience, I cannot say. Perhaps both those explanations are correct.
However that might be, he jerked the flambeau from me and turned on them, flourishing it so the burning oil flew about him in a shower of fire. My sword, with which I had threatened Dorcas’s head a few moments before, lay near my feet, and I stooped for it instinctively. By the time I had straightened up again, Baldanders was in the midst of the audience. The flambeau had gone out, and he swung it like a mace.
Someone fired a pistol. The bolt set his costume afire, but must have missed his body. Several exultants had drawn their swords, and someone — I could not see who — possessed that rarest of all weapons, a dream. It moved like tyrian smoke, but very much faster, and in an instant it had enveloped the giant. It seemed then that he stood wrapped in all that was past and much that had never been: a gray-haired woman sprouted from his side, a fishing boat hovered just over his head, and a cold wind whipped the flames that wreathed him.
Yet the visions, which are said to leave soldiers dazed and helpless, a burden to their cause, did not seem to affect Baldanders. He strode forward still, and the flambeau smashed clear a path for him.
Then, in the moment more that I watched (for I soon recovered enough self-command to flee that mad fight) I saw several figures throw aside their capes and — as it appeared — their faces too. Under those faces, which when they were no longer worn seemed of a tissue as insubstantial as that of the notules, were such monstrosities as I had not thought existence could support: a circular mouth rimmed with needle teeth; eyes that were themselves a thousand eyes, clustered like the scales of a pine cone jaws like tongs. These things have remained in my memory as everything remains, and I have stared again at them in the dark watches of the night. I am very glad, when at last I rouse myself to turn my face toward the stars and moon-drenched clouds instead, that I could see only those nearest our footlights.
I have already said that I fled. But that slight delay, during which I picked up Terminus Est and stood observing Baldanders’s mad attack, almost cost me dearly; by the time I turned to take Dorcas to safety, she was gone.
I ran then not so much from Baldanders’s fury, or from the cacogens in the audience, or from the Autarch’s praetorians (who I felt would surely arrive soon), but in pursuit of Dorcas. Searching for her and calling her name as I went, I found nothing but the groves and fountains and abrupt wells of that endless garden; and at last, winded and with aching legs, I slowed to a walk.
It is impossible for me to set down on paper all the bitterness I felt then. To have found Dorcas and lost her so soon seemed more than I could bear. Women believe — or at least often pretend to believe — that all our tenderness for them springs from desire; that we love them when we have not for a time enjoyed them, and dismiss them when we are sated, or to express it more precisely, exhausted. There is no truth in this idea, though it may be made to appear true.
When we are rigid with desire, we are apt to pretend a great tenderness in the hope of satisfying that desire; but at no other time are we in fact so liable to treat women brutally, and so unlikely to feel any de
ep emotion but one. As I wandered through the lighted gardens, I felt no physical need for Dorcas (though I had not enjoyed her since we had slept in the fortress of the dimarchi, beyond the Sanguinary Fields) because I had poured out my manhood again and again with Jolenta in the nenuphar boat. Yet if I had found Dorcas I would have smothered her with kisses; and for Jolenta, whom I had been prone to dislike, I now had conceived a certain affection.
Neither Dorcas nor Jolenta appeared, nor did I see hastening soldiers or even the revelers we had come to entertain. The thiasus, it seemed clear, had been confined to some certain part of the grounds; and I was now far from that part. Even now, I am unsure how far the House Absolute extends. There are maps, but they are incomplete and contradictory. There are no maps of the Second House, and even Father Inire tells me that he has long ago forgotten many of its mysteries. In wandering its narrow corridors, I have seen no white wolves; but I have found stairs leading to domes beneath the river, and hatches opening into what appears to be untouched forest. (Some of these are marked above ground by ruinous, half-overgrown marble steles; some are not.) When I have closed such hatches and retreated regretfully into an artificial air still laced with the odors of vegetable growth and decay, I have often wondered whether some passage or other does not reach the Citadel. Old Ultan hinted once that his library stacks extended to the House Absolute. What is that but to say that the House Absolute extended to his library stacks? There are parts of the Second House that are not unlike the blind corridors in which I searched for Triskele; perhaps they are the same corridors, though if they are, I ran a greater risk than I then knew.
Whether these speculations of mine are rooted in fact or not, I had no notion of them at the time of which I write now. In my innocence I supposed that the borders of the House Absolute, which extended both in space and in time so much further than the uninformed would guess, could be strictly delimited; and that I was approaching, or would soon approach, or had already passed them. Thus I walked all that night, directing my course northward by the stars. And as I walked, I reviewed my life in just the way I have so often attempted to prevent myself from doing while I waited for sleep. Again Drotte and Roche and I swam in the clammy cistern beneath the Bell Keep; again I replaced Josephina’s toy imp with the stolen frog; again I stretched forth my hand to grasp the haft of the ax that would have slain the great Vodalus and so saved a Thecla not yet imprisoned; again I saw the ribbon of crimson creep from under Thecla’s door, Malrubius bending over me, Jonas vanishing into the infinity between dimensions. I played again with pebbles in the courtyard beside the fallen curtain wall, as Thecla dodged the hooves of my father’s mounted guard.