The Pearl of the Soul of the World

by Pierce, Meredith Ann

  It was hours, many hours after, that she awakened. Here her memory was very dim, for the pin in her head had stolen her name, working its terrible spell to keep her from knowing herself. The black bird lay dead on the sand beside her. She rose and stood a moment, gazing at it, before wandering away. It had nothing to do with her. She did not remember it. The pearl on her breast glowed faintly, forgotten. She strayed deeper into the desert, forgetting the camp—for that, too, had nothing to do with her now. She had become nobody. A pale, nameless girl.

  "And so you wandered, stumbling down into the duaroughs' caves at last, where you felt the pilgrims'

  Call still broadcasting after all these years, and found your way to me."

  Aeriel stirred, hearing the Ancient's voice again. The fiery images had faded from the great glass globe. It hung before her in the air, weightless as gossamer, now showing only a faint azure glow. The room was twilit once more, no longer wholly dark. She gazed at its deep blue walls and hanging gauze.

  The pallet on which she lay was low and comfortable. Someone held a cool compress to her brow. A strange stiffness prevented her from turning her head. The Ancientlady spoke again.

  "Do you know the place to which you and your companions have come?"

  Aeriel shifted, trying to sit up. Of course she knew. "The City of Crystalglass."

  "Do you know yourself?" the Ancient asked.

  That was easy. "Aeriel."

  "And do you know who I am?"

  Aeriel drew in her breath, realizing for the first time. "Ravenna," she breathed. "The last Ancient of the world."

  The one beside her laughed, gently, quietly. "Ravenna is not my name," she replied, "but the name of this city that you call Crystalglass. Its real name is NuRavenna, after a very old city on my own world."

  She laughed again, and the airy globe trembled slightly as her words eddied the atmosphere.

  "My own name is nearly unpronounceable. That is why, for so long, I was simply called 'the Lady of Ravenna." Somewhere it was shortened to 'the Lady Ravenna' and sometimes even 'the Ravenna'—which the duaroughs still use—and finally, now, by the upperlanders, simply 'Ravenna." You had better go on calling me that. Do you feel well enough to rise?"

  Aeriel managed a nod. Her body felt odd—stiff, yet at the same time, strangely supple—almost as though she had awakened into new flesh never before inhabited or used. The sensation troubled her. For a moment, as she struggled to sit up, the blood ran from her head, and she felt dizzy. Then she steadied.

  Her hand went to her breastbone, the space there empty now.

  "Ravenna," she whispered, "what have you done with my pearl?"

  "Hold out your hand," the other answered gently.

  As Aeriel did so, the great delicate globe drifted nearer, as if beckoned. Descending, it contracted, solidifying, its blue light deepening, until by the time it touched her palm, it was hard and dense, no bigger than the end of her thumb. Aeriel stared.

  "My pearl," she breathed.

  "Yes, child," the Ancientlady said. "Though I have made it much more now than a kindled lampwing's egg."

  As Aeriel brought it closer to gaze at it, Ravenna's great dusky hand reached past her to touch the glowing jewel. Aeriel felt a little thrill of energy, utterly cool, like a feather's touch, and the light in the tiny corundum globe changed from cerulean to white.

  7

  Ravenna's Daughter

  Aeriel rose from the couch. She wore a long, pale, sleeveless gown. Close-woven and weighty, it was no fabric she recognized. Her yellow wedding sari lay at the foot of the pallet, folded in a tiny square. Impulsively, she reached for it and tucked it away in the bodice of her new gown.

  The sudden motion of her arm felt novel, unpracticed. The eerie feeling of newness pervaded her still.

  Aeriel shook herself. Gazing again at the glowing white bead in her hand, she realized now that a tiny chain had been attached to it, a filament of silver so fine she could scarcely see it. It teased across her palm like spider silk.

  "What have you done to my pearl?" she asked. "It burns now with a different light."

  The Ancient Ravenna stood beside the pallet. She looked drawn, infinitely more weary than she had when Aeriel had last seen her. Her eyes were troubled.

  "I have made it a vessel, child, into which I mean to put a treasure of inestimable value. This treasure you must guard for me."

  As Ravenna bent near, Aeriel became aware once more of the fragrance of strange, otherworldly flowers that pervaded the lady's robe and hair. The other's dusky, long-fingered hands lifted the pearl from her palm. A moment later, Aeriel felt the fine chain fastened behind the crown of her head, the pearl resting incandescent on her brow.

  Its white light suffused her vision like a vapor. Aeriel was conscious all at once of things she had not been able to see before, minute cracks in the glass of the wall across the room, every thread in the lady's garment, a mote of dust upon the other's slipper. And the myriad of tiny lines etching the Ancientlady's face.

  With a start, Aeriel perceived for the first time how old Ravenna was. Far from obscuring, the misty light of the pearl seemed to sharpen her view. She felt a subtle welling of new strength. That, too, came from the pearl, she realized.

  Softly, Ravenna sighed, and Aeriel was aware of the myriad little air currents which that sigh had set in motion. They went spinning away across the room in eddies faint as featherdown.

  "You are to be my envoy, child," the Ancient said and reached as though to pluck something from the air. "This, too, you must bear."

  Suddenly in her hands, she clasped a naked sword. Silvery, over three feet in length, it lit the room: a ghostly fire wreathed its blade, stopping just short of the broad crossbar. Aeriel stared. The Ancientlady gestured again, and in her other hand a scabbard appeared, scrolled with interlocking etchings. She sheathed the burning glaive, dousing its flame, and as she did so, Aeriel recognized all at once what it was she held.

  "That is the silver pin!" she cried, recoiling, cold horror sweeping over her. Ravenna had changed it somehow—increased its size, made it into a sword. Nevertheless, it could only be the pin, that same sliver of silver with which the Witch's black bird had once pinned Aeriel. Somehow, the pearl imparted this knowledge to her. Ravenna nodded.

  "Take it, child. It cannot harm you now."

  Aeriel stared at the scabbarded blade in the Ancient's hands. She wanted no part of it. But the other did not withdraw the gift, stood holding it out to her still, patiently, waiting. At last, Aeriel reached and ran her hand along the incised scabbard. She had thought at first it was metal, but touching it, she realized that it was wood. The scrollwork running its length seemed to form a pattern, a figure that she could not quite puzzle out, even with the aid of the pearl.

  "Is this weapon for Irrylath?" she whispered. "Am I to take it to him?"

  The Ancientlady shook her head. "He has the Edge Adamantine. He does not need another blade."

  Through the scabbard, the glaive felt faintly warm. It trembled slightly, like the tremor of a moth's wing, like something alive.

  "Is the sword for me, then?" breathed Aeriel.

  The Ancient shook her head. "You are but the bearer. No, child. In the end, neither of these gifts is for you."

  Reluctantly, Aeriel took hold of the sword's grip. Her hand shook. The blade felt oddly light, seemed to have no weight at all. It balanced in her hand easily as she drew it from the sheath, hummed softly as it pivoted, burning, on the air. She sheathed it, and the sword sang and whispered, ever so softly, a troubling song.

  Aeriel set the sword down on the pallet beside her. "To whom am I to give this?"

  "Give it to your shadow," Ravenna replied.

  Aeriel gazed at her, perplexed. She had no shadow. The temple fire in Orm had burned her shade away. "Lady, I don't understand."

  The other smiled ruefully. "Forgive me," she said, "if I speak in rimes, but all will become apparent to you. I promise."

  Ae
riel fingered the pearl upon her brow. It gleamed, enriching her sight. "Am I to give this up as well?" she asked. "To whom?"

  "It is a gift for the world's heir, for my successor—the daughter who must come after me and reign in my stead."

  Aeriel stood baffled, helpless to unriddle the other's words. Who was this daughter of whom she spoke? Lightly, Ravenna touched the pearl, and Aeriel felt the touch, strangely magnified, glancing through her like a dart. The pale girl shivered.

  "You said you had made my pearl a vessel," she began. "What do you mean for it to hold?"

  "Everything," the Ancient said. "All the knowledge of what runs the world, that which I have been gathering these countless years, searching the City's vast libraries and stores before they rot rusting away and spoil into dust."

  Her weary features grew serene then, and for a long moment, utterly untroubled.

  "The soul of the world must go into that pearl," she continued. "All my sorcery, with which my daughter must heal this sorely beleaguered land, that all will not fall into ruin when I am gone."

  "But the Witch," Aeriel protested. "The Witch would undo everything you say! The lorelei is robbing the very life from our land with every drop of water that she steals. A perishing drought rages. She has captured the duaroughs, who work the world's engines belowground, and she has loosed her darkangels upon the kingdoms above…"

  Gently, the Ancientlady took her hand and drew her back to sit upon the pallet. "Peace. I know it well. Was it not I that foretold the coming of the Witch?"

  Aeriel subsided, sat gazing at the other. Slowly she nodded and felt the dusky lady press her hand.

  With infinite sadness, Ravenna told her.

  " She is my daughter, Aeriel. It is to her that you must give the pearl."

  "She… the White Witch is an Ancient?" Aeriel stumbled, utterly dismayed. All the world had thought Ravenna the last of the race of Oceanus. The Ancientlady shook her head.

  "No, child. She was born here, on your world." Abruptly, Ravenna rose. "What do you know of my people?"

  "Little, nothing," Aeriel managed. "In Terrain, where I was raised, we called you the Unknown-Nameless Ones."

  The Ancientlady gave a short, painful laugh. "Truly, has our memory crumbled so far?" she said. Then softly, "Well, perhaps it is a good thing."

  Silence then. The misty light of the pearl made Aeriel aware of every wrinkle in the coverlet, every mote in the air, every score upon the scabbard of the burning sword, but nothing the other said was clear.

  Reeling, she struggled to collect herself.

  "I know your people came into the world long ago, from Oceanus. That the land was dead, and you gave it life. That you made us and all the herbs and living creatures. That you were like mothers and fathers to us, and shared your great wisdom with us, as much as we could understand, and showed us how to live well and justly, caring for us always…"

  Again Ravenna's bitter laugh. "Child, child," she said. "It is not so. We did come from Oceanus long ago, and we did create the living things upon this world. But hardly out of love—for luxury. For our own dalliance. We never shared our knowledge with you. We hoarded it and kept you as ignorant as we could."

  The Ancientlady turned suddenly and shook her head, pacing.

  "This world was our pleasure garden," the dark lady continued, "and we thought of you, the inhabitants we had fashioned for it, not as our children, but as decorations. Chattels. Slaves."

  Coming nearer, she knelt again before Aeriel, speaking urgently. At a sweep of Ravenna's hand, the light in the chamber dimmed. The sword whispered. The pearllight glowed. Once more the colored beads of fire darted, but not upon the surface of the pearl this time. They were within her own mind now, swirling and shimmering, put there by the pearl. With a gasp, Aeriel touched the jewel on her brow and watched the images dancing before her inner eye.

  "We are a very old race, Aeriel," the Ancient said, "immensely learned, but far from wise. Once our chariots traveled to the last reaches of heaven. But that was long ago. This moon, your world, was deserted then, dead—until we took it upon ourselves to make it habitable. We created vapors for us to breathe, peoples, animals, plants. Members of our race could spend dozens of hours abroad before needing to return to the Domes. And so from across the heavens we came, to trifle in our garden."

  The pearl showed Aeriel everything Ravenna described: the great machinery manufacturing air, the world seeded, the first small creatures released.

  "Eventually, the ecology of this world began to evolve on its own. Scientists came then, walking among you and studying your kind. I was such a one. But I dallied, too—to my bitter regret. We all dallied. Coundess of your people are our descendants, many generations removed. In my folly, I bore a daughter and raised her here, in NuRavenna, as one of my own race."

  A sigh of despair. Aeriel studied the pearl-made image of Ravenna, centuries younger, cradling a fair-skinned infant in her arms. The Ancientlady groaned.

  "I should have done what my fellows did with their own halfüng progeny: sent her out into the world to become some great heroine or queen. Instead, selfishly, I kept her, promising that one day she would return home with me. A lie— though one I hoped, desperately, to somehow make true. But that goal proved unattainable. No creature born here can survive on Oceanus. The pull of our world would crush you to bits. Yet I allowed my daughter to believe herself wholly of my Ancient race and that Oceanus was her birthright. Again and again I delayed my return, postponing the inevitable moment when I must reveal to her the truth."

  Aeriel saw a young girl barely in womanhood, with the same proud cheeks and high forehead as her mother, her hair the same jet black. Her nose was thinner than Ravenna's, though, the chin more pointed, her complexion paler, the eyes slanted and green.

  "Oriencor," Ravenna breathed. "O my daughter, Oriencor."

  A space of silence. At last Ravenna roused.

  "Then came the news. We had all been recalled. A great disaster upon our home world: war—a thing not known in centuries. Some of my colleagues had prompted wars among you here, upon your world, that they might study them, but that our own world might one day be engulfed in such a conflict, none ever dreamed.

  "Most of us sped home at once. My daughter was eager to be off, to join the fight and unleash against those of our own people who had become our foes the Ancient skills which I had taught her. But I demurred. Nor would I allow her to go without me. No one wanted her, anyway: I was the only one who considered her human. At last, I confessed her ancestry to her."

  Ravenna's words grew low and halting.

  "She went mad. Cursing me, she fled and vanished into the wild marches at desert's edge. When the last chariots departed, I remained behind, searching, but I could find no trace. In the end, in despair, I concluded she must have perished."

  In her mind's eye, Aeriel saw the Ancient chariots leaping away on plumes of fire into the black, starry sky. Ravenna's daughter screaming after them as she fled the City. Her mother searching, combing the planet in vain. Aeriel could have wept for the dark-haired halfling girl. When the Ancient spoke again, her tone had flattened into exhaustion.

  "Those few of us left upon this world had to decide what to do. Messages from our home world had ceased. Only silence answered our hails. All of our chariots were gone. Some urged the building of new chariots, but we had neither time now nor the means. Already this world had begun to die. Artificial from the first, it had never been intended as self-sustaining. A handful of us, cut off from our mother planet, could never hope to maintain this daughter world as before. We resolved to let it decline gradually and see if we could find a balance-point. We decided to try to salvage the world."

  With the aid of the pearl, Aeriel envisioned the world's atmosphere thinning and spinning away into space, whole species of plants and animals dying, people over the generations growing thinner, smaller, hardier.

  "And we succeeded," Ravenna said, a trace of animation returning to her voice. "
Over the years, we bred new species of vegetation that could survive without our care. We trained the duaroughs to maintain the subterranean machinery that manufactures water and air. Now that the atmosphere had thinned, we could no longer pass outside the Domes without masks to help us breathe. Bit by bit, we withdrew from your people, allowing you to evolve as you would."

  The beadwork landscape woven in Aeriel's mind by the pearl became more recognizable, dotted with the herbs and beasts and peoples she knew. Ravenna sighed.

  "A point of stasis was reached at last, the entropy halted—or so we thought. Then the Witch appeared, upsetting our delicate equilibrium only subtly at first: wells tainted, dams undermined, cisterns breached. The scarcity of water was always our weakest point. We repaired the damage as best we could. But soon she grew bolder, flaunting her handiwork, spreading drought. As our numbers dwindled, she seized every scrap of technology she could, ransacking the darkened Cities for tools. In time she learned all our most unspeakable arts, with which she means to ravage this world as surely as my race have ravaged Oceanus."

  Aeriel gazed at nothing, the images in her mind grown dark.

  "And yet," the Ancient whispered, "she is my daughter still."

  Aeriel sat in silence, not knowing what to say. "What happened there," she ventured at last, "on Oceanus?"

  Ravenna started. An explosion of colors leapt suddenly into Aeriel's thoughts. She shrank from the scenes forming there.

  "Plagues," the Ancientlady choked. "Weapons of unimaginable ferocity, horrors unleashed to last a thousand thousand years beyond the lifetimes of their creators and victims alike. Oceanus destroyed itself. That is why it glows in heaven with such a cold and spectral light: quick with the poison that never ends. Nothing is left alive there. This is the only world that remains: this my daughter's only birthright. If Oriencor would but listen! If I could but persuade her to renounce this mad vengeance, repair the world, and come to NuRavenna to reign after me—"