“But you are not to blame.”
“No? I wish I could believe that. At he end there, watching him—even after all that was said and shown—do you know what I thought? I thought he was innocent. That is what I thought. And yet I said ‘Aye’ with all the rest. And sent him to his rock.”
“Do you want to do something? To say something, perhaps, to the Five?”
He laughed bitterly. “What could I say? No. I must live with this, Ti’ana. Knowing I might have been wrong. Yes, and knowing that I was the one who set the wheels in motion. Those great wheels of the D’ni state that can crush a man as easily as our great hammers pound the rock.”
They stood there a moment, silent, staring at each other, and then Anna took his arm and led him out. Yet even as they stepped out beneath the massive arch at the front of the Guild House, the great bell on Ae’Gura began to sound, sending its sonorous tones across the cavern.
Lord Rakeri was dead.
PART SIX: THE INK IN THE WELL
It was the fourth anniversary of Gehn’s naming day and a solemn ceremony was taking place in the family mansion in D’ni. Until today, Gehn had been a child, free to play as a child played, but from this hour onward he would take the first steps toward becoming a guildsman.
Looking on, Anna felt deeply for her son. Standing amid the guild officials, little Gehn looked terrified. His hair had been cut and he was wearing guild clothes—duplicates of those his father, Aitrus, and his grandfather Kahlis wore as they stood on either side of him. In front of them, behind a special trestle table that had been set up in the room, stood Yteru, the Grand Master of the Guild of Books. It was to his guild that Gehn was to be apprenticed, and the boy would join them in their halls two weeks from now.
Two days ago, knowing how much her son was dreading the occasion, Anna had gone to Aitrus in his study and asked him if Gehn really did need to join the guild just then. He was sure to miss home dreadfully, but Aitrus was adamant. It was the D’ni way, and if Gehn was to be considered D’ni and make his eventual way in the world, then he must conform to the ways of the guilds.
And so she was to relinquish him, long before he was ready to be taken from her. It would break his heart and hers, but maybe Aitrus was right. Maybe, in the long run, it would be best for him. Yet she had her doubts.
As the Grand Master called the boy forward, she found herself praying silently that he would remember the words she had taught him—the words of the guild oath.
Slowly, stumblingly, Gehn forced them out. As he finished, Master Yteru smiled benevolently down at the child, then, in a slow, sonorous drawl, uttered the words of acceptance.
And so it was done Her son was now a guildsman.
Afterward, she held him, telling him how proud she was, but she could see the fear of separation in his eyes.
Aitrus had been saying his farewells to the guildsmen; now he came back. He stood in the doorway, looking in at her and Gehn. “Are you angry with me?”
She nodded.
He sighed, exasperated. “I am sorry, Ti’ana, but you know how things stand. It is the D’ni way, and we cannot afford to act differently. That would be self-indulgent. You knew that when you became D’ni.”
“I know,” she said, as angry at herself as at him, “but I did not think it would be so hard.”
“No. But there is one thing we can do. Before Gehn goes, that is.”
“You want to go to Gemedet?”
Aitrus shook his head. “I promised you once. Remember?”
At first she did not understand; then her eyes widened.
He nodded.
“Yes, Ti’ana. It’s time our son saw where his mother came from.”
§
The journey through the tunnels took two days. On the morning of the third they came to the cavern where the two great digging machines stood silently. As Anna and Gehn came up beside him, Aitrus turned to them and smiled.
“We are almost there.” He pointed across at the great red wedge of rock facing them. “There is this seal. The surface must be just above.”
Anna nodded. “This is where I came in. I remember it vividly. The machines…” She stared at them fondly, then smiled. “Do you know what I thought, Aitrus?”
“No, tell me.”
“I thought I had discovered the tomb of a great king. And these… I thought these were the remains of some great civilization, a long-lost race of giants, perhaps, or…” She laughed. “Little did I know.”
Aitrus looked at her fondly. “I am glad you chose to look, Ti’ana. But for that curiosity of yours, I would have been lost.”
Anna looked away, a smile on her lips. “Oh, I am sure some young D’ni maiden would have found you.”
He laughed. “Maybe. But let us press on now. I am impatient to see the surface.”
Gehn, who had been silent until that moment, now spoke up. “Daddy? Why did we not link to the surface?”
Aitrus came back and, crouching before his son, began to explain. “If this were a different Age, then we might have linked to it, but the surface is in the same Age as D’ni and one cannot link to a place in the same Age.”
“What, never?” the boy asked, wide-eyed.
“Never,” Aitrus said, smiling patiently.
Gehn frowned, considering that, then looked back up at his father. “But how will we find our way back to D’ni?”
Aitrus took his notebook from his pocket and opened it. Inside, between the tanned leather covers, were page after page of maps and diagrams. Aitrus flicked through it for a while, then, coming to the page, turned the notebook so that Gehn could see.
“ Look, Gehn. Here is it a map of the tunnels. I have been making notes as we went along. We only need trace our way back.”
It seemed to satisfy the boy. He grinned, then went across to his mother, who stood beneath one of the great machines. She put her arm about him, then looked back at Aitrus.
“When I first saw these, I was convinced that whoever had made them must be long dead, for what kind of race would make such wonderful machines then leave them in the Rock?”
Aitrus smiled then walked across to her. “Was it this one that you climbed?”
She nodded.
“You climbed it, mama?” Gehn asked, looking up at his mother and wide-eyed wonder.
“I did. And then I walked down into D’ni. Only I did not know it was D’ni. Not until long after.”
They went through the gap, Anna leading the way, Gehn close behind. Reaching the pocket, Aitrus lit the lantern again. He knew what lay ahead—Anna had already told him—but now they were so close, he felt a strange excitement. How many years now had he waited for this?
Fifty years, at least.
Anna was first to climb down. At the bottom she turned, reaching up to take Gehn as Aitrus let him down. Then they were in the cavern, where it had first began for Anna, all those years ago. She looked to him.
“It hasn’t changed.”
They went on, climbing up into the tunnel and along, until the three of them stood before the rock fall.
Aitrus set the timer, then took them back to a safe distance. There was a huge bang. The whole tunnel shuttered. As the smoke cleared, Anna picked Gehn up and, following Aitrus, walked through, stepping over the rubble.
It was night. A full moon rested with a shining disk of silver in the center of the blue-black velvet sky. Surrounding it, a billion flickering stars shown down.
Aitrus stood there at the entrance to the tunnel, steering up at the moon. Beside him, Anna held Gehn against her side, her face close to his, and pointed.
“Look, Gehn. That’s the moon.”
“Moon,” he said, snuggling in to her, tired now.
Anna smiled then turned her head, looking to Aitrus. He met her eyes and smiled.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand, “let’s find the Lodge.”
§
They sat on the ledge of the open window, looking out across the narrow bridge toward the dese
rt. Gehn was asleep in the room behind them.
Anna listened on moment, then smiled. Aitrus sat just behind her, his arms about her, his chin resting on the top of her head. It had been her secret dream to bring him here and sit with him like this, yet now that it was real it seemed more dreamlike than the dream—a moment wholly out of time. She pressed back against him and felt his arms tighten about her.
"Do you still miss him?” he asked softly.
“Sometimes.”
She half-turned her head, looking back at him. “He speaks to me sometimes. In my head.”
Aitrus smiled, but she could see he only half-believed her, or maybe thought she meant that she thought of her father and remembered his words. But it was true what she said.
She felt Aitrus sigh, a sigh of pure contentment, and turned back, letting her eyes go to the descending moon once more, the smile lingering at the corners of her mouth.
“Ti’ana?”
“Hmm?” she answered lazily.
“I know how much you love to your father, and know how much you owed to him, but… well, what of your mother? You never speak of her.”
“No.”
Even thought of it brought back the pain.
“Ti’ana?” Aitrus sat forward.
“It’s all right,” she said.
She began again, hunching forward as she spoke, letting the words come haltingly. “It was an accident. We were climbing. In the mountains to the south of here. my father had gone up the cliff face first, and I had followed. Mother was last, all three of us tied on the same rope. Father had walked on a little way, to inspect the cliffs we had glimpsed from below. That was why we were there, you see. We were always exploring.”
Anna stopped, catching her breath. Again she saw it, vividly, as if it had happened not 35 years ago by yesterday—the staring eyes, the mouth open in surprise.
Anna collected herself, then carried on. “The difficult part of the climb was behind her and she was only six or eight from the edge. I could almost have put out a hand and hauled her up. She was smiling. And then her foot slipped. It ought not to have mattered. The rope ought to have held her. I felt a momentary tension on it, then it went, like a rotten vine. And next thing she was falling. And not a sound—just her eyes looking back at me, her mouth open in surprise.
"Father blamed himself, of course. He should have checked the rope, he kept saying, but I could see that he was devastated.”
Aitrus was silent a while. “I am sorry, Ti’ana. I did not know. I should not have asked.”
She turned to face him, kneeling on the ledge. Her face was streaked with tears, but she was smiling tenderly now. She reached out, her hands gently holding his cheeks. “No, Aitrus. You of all people should have known. We should have no secrets, you and I.”
She kissed him then; softly, tenderly, her eyes shining in the moonlight. And as they broke from the kiss, his eyes were wide with wonder.
§
Gehn woke him, shaking him awake. Sunlight blazed in from the room at the front of the lodge, so strong it stabbed into his pupils, making him shielding his eyes then feel about him for his glasses.
“Mama’s gone!” Gehn was saying. “Mama’s gone!”
Aitrus pulled on the glasses, then sat up, putting out his arms to hold the frightened boy. “No, Gehn. She will be back. I promise you.”
But Gehn was sobbing uncontrollably at the thought that he had lost his mother, Aitrus held Gehn tightly until the crying subsided, then, picking him up, he carried him out, through the room at the front until they stood in the doorway, looking out over the valley.
The heat surprised him. It could not be more than an hour since dawn, yet already it was far hotter than the hottest day on Gemedet or Ko’ah. He recalled what Anna had said about the heat; how it was the single factor that determined life here. It was not something he would have written into an Age, but someone, the Grand Master who had written the Book of Earth, had thought of it, and created the conditions for such extremes of cold and heat.
Gehn had fallen silent, yet he still clung to his father’s neck as if his life depended on it. Aitrus looked at him and smiled.
“You want a drink, Gehn?”
Gehn nodded.
Aitrus took his back inside, setting him gently down on the window ledge while he poured him a goblet of cool, clear water from the jug Anna had filled the night before.
Turning, he saw how Gehn was staring about him. “Where are we?” he asked, taking the water gratefully.
“This is where your mother lived when she was young,” he answered. “This is where she grew up, with her father.”
“Here?” Gehn seemed astonished. “But where are the Books?”
Aitrus laughed. “These people are human. They are not like the D’ni. They do not have Books and Ages. This is all they have.”
Gehn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked up at Aitrus. “But how could they live with just this?”
Aitrus looked about him. To be honest, he had asked himself the very same question. Now that he had seen the Lodge, he wondered how Anna had survived out here.
“They made do,” he answered, finally. Yet even as he said it he heard Anna’s voice. She was singing. A song he had never heard before, in a tongue he did not know.
Quickly he joined Gehn at the window, in time to see Anna come over the crest of the hill, a small cart pushed before her. She was wearing a black cloak trimmed with red, the hood of which was up over her head. Seeing them, she waved, then came on again, finishing her song.
Aitrus went out onto the bridge, Gehn beside him. The heat was fierce but not yet overpowering. As Anna came up onto the bridge, she smiled and held out something for Gehn to take. He ran to her and took the strange box, then scuttled back inside, into the shade. Anna pulled back her hood, then stepped up to Aitrus.
“You should wear something on your head,” she said, touching his brow. “Ten minutes in this and you will get sun-stroke.”
“Sunstroke?” He did not understand her.
“The heat,” she said. “It will affect your brain. You will collapse and be ill.”
“You are jesting with me,” he said, smiling, as if he understood she was joking, but she was not smiling.
“It is very dangerous out here,” she said simply. “Both you and Gehn must keep covered up as much as possible. The desert sun is unforgiving.”
He nodded, then. “Where have you been? And that cart…”
Anna half-turned, looking across at the cart, then she turned back to Aitrus. “I went to get it. It had all my books and journals on it. And other things. Fortunately I hid it well, and the desert did the rest. It was untouched, as if I’d left it yesterday.”
“And that song. What was that?”
Anna smiled. “Did you like it?” She quickly sang a verse. “It’s something my mother taught me. I could not sing it before. But now…” Again she smiled, then took his arm, leading him back into the shadows of the Lodge.
As they came into the main room, Gehn looked up at them, his eyes wide. “What is this game?” he asked, pointing to the checkered board, the black and white pieces that were laid out beside it.
“It is called chess,” she said, squatting beside him. “My father taught me how to play, and I shall teach you.”
Gehn beamed. “So I am not going to go to the Guild Hall after all?”
Anna looked down. “No, Gehn. You must go. But not yet. We will stay here for a few days, yes? Just you and I and Father.”
Gehn looked away a moment, struggling with his disappointment, then he nodded and, turning back to Anna, picked up the white queen. “So what is this piece and what does it do?”
§
“Thinblood…”
“Who-man…”
“No-dunny…”
The whispers surrounded Gehn in the darkness of the dormitory; endless, taunting whispers that filled the lonely nights. Gehn lay there, facing the bare stone wall, the knuckles of his
right hand pressed into his mouth, trying to shut it all out, but still the whispers came.
The mattress was too thin beneath him, the blankets rough and scratchy. But worst of all was the sense of abandonment that came each evening as the great door to the dormitory was closed and absolute darkness fell.
It was awful. More awful than he had ever thought possible. They had heard him crying the first few nights and had laughed at him for it. And then the whispers had begun, playing upon his fears and insecurity, making his life even more of a misery than it already was.
At home he was used to his own room, his own smooth sheets and blankets. There, a night-light rested in the corner, warm and reassuring. And he knew that his mother was always there, next door, in case bad dreams came and disturbed his sleep. But here there was nothing. Nothing but the darkness and the endless hurtful whispers.
Why had they done this to him? Why? Had he been bad? If so, he could not remember what it was that he had done. Or did they no longer love him? For to leave him here, among these awful, spiteful boys, was surely some kind of punishment.
He could remember his father’s face, unnaturally stern, as he spoke to him the night before he had come here.
“You must be brave, Gehn. It is the D’ni way. It might seem hard at first, but you will get used to it, I promise you.”
So much for promises. But the worst had been the parting from his mother. He had kicked and screamed, refusing to go with them, so that eventually they had had to pick him up and carry him to the waiting carriage.
That had been two weeks ago now. Two weeks of endless homesickness, and the torment of the nights.
Yet even as the whispers multiplied, Gehn found himself thinking of the lesson earlier that day. He had begun to think himself a fool; had begun to believe that the boys were right when they called him “No-dunny” and said he had sand in his head instead of brains. But today he had begun to understand what he was doing here, for today he had seen Master Urren.
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