“Well done!” Ro’Jadre boomed out from where he stood at the rail, Atrus beside him. “You have a real talent for it, Marrim!”
Marrim inclined her head, accepting the governor’s praise, but she was more concerned with Eedrah.
“Eedrah?” she asked quietly. But Eedrah simply walked away, hurrying across the bridge.
§
“There, Atrus,” Ro’Jadre said, handing Atrus the head-and-shoulders portrait. “That is Ro’Eh Ro’Dan, king of Terahnee.”
Atrus studied the painting, conscious of Catherine standing at his shoulder, then nodded.
Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was a young, immensely handsome man with refined facial features and pleasant, intelligent eyes. Looking at that face, staring into those clear, trustworthy eyes, Atrus found himself convinced that he should link his own people’s fate with the fate of these people.
He looked up, his eyes taking in the luxuriousness of his surroundings. Beside this, D’ni was as nothing. All of his schemes to rebuild D’ni seemed futile now that he had seen Terahnee.
Yet as he handed back the portrait, Atrus kept his thoughts much to himself. “He looks a fine man,” he said.
“And young,” Ro’Jadre said, taking his turn to stare at the painting. “He is not yet one hundred, but strong, and a good writer, so it is said.”
“A writer?” Yet that fact did not surprise Atrus. He looked to Catherine and saw at once that she was watching him, an understanding in her eyes. “Then we shall have much to talk about.”
Ro’Jadre smiled, then set the portrait down. “Oh, of that I have no doubt. No doubt at all.”
PART FIVE
DISCORDANT TIME. THE SMALLEST OF
ENEMIES UN-MANS THEM ALL.
HIDDEN WITHIN THE HIDDEN.
A BREATH AND THEN DARKNESS.
--FROM THE KOROKH JIMAH
VV. 4302-3
From where he sat in the stern of the Governor’s boat, Atrus looked out across a land of unending luxury; of glades and winding streams, of magical conceits and beautiful falls of floral color. And greenness. Everywhere one looked, a lush green perfection of growing things.
The silken awning above him rustled gently in the breeze, and for a moment he found himself almost dozing in the warm, late afternoon air. A bird called across the meadows, a piping call, while the boat glided on as in a dream.
It was the end of their third day in Terahnee, and the city now dominated the skyline ahead of them, the sun slowly setting behind its towering walls. In an hour or less they would stop for the night, at the house of another landowner—this one a friend of Ro’Jethhe’s named Tanaren Ro’Tanaren.
For this once there would be no feast, no entertainment, and Atrus for one was pleased at that. They had stopped earlier, in a glade, to eat and drink—a pleasant wine that even Atrus had sampled. Which was why now he felt so relaxed.
And happy.
The thought made him stir and wake. He looked about him at the little group in the boat and realized that each of them, like he, was smiling, each one in his or her own little reverie, relaxed after being tense for so long.
And with that thought came another. That they had worked so hard, so long that they deserved this tiny break from their labors; deserved this drifting, effortless journey with its unceasing delights. Things had been hard back in D’ni, there was no mistaking that. But this…
He had not even dared to dream that anything like this existed.
Catherine, sensing his sudden wakefulness, turned her head to him and quietly spoke. “Atrus?”
But there was nothing that he wished to say. Not now. Last night he had slept the sleep of children—that deep, untroubled sleep that rarely comes when one is older. And this morning he had awakened refreshed in spirit and confirmed in what he had decided the night before—to petition the king of Terahnee and bring his people through, to settle here in this wonderful place.
This place of eternal summers.
Catherine reached out and took his hand, holding it lightly as she looked out across the beauty of the surrounding land.
No, he did not even have to ask her. He could see it in her face. In all their faces. Why have D’ni when they could have this? And surely there must be space for them here in this endless, rolling landscape?
He sighed, content to let the thought drift from him, like a leaf on a stream.
Simply to be here was enough. And, yawning, Atrus stretched, his body totally relaxed for the first time in so long he could not recall when he had last felt like this.
§
Tanaren Ro’Tanaren turned out to be a genial, pleasant man. As they stepped down from the boat he greeted them warmly, embracing each of them in turn before leading them inside.
Imposing as it was, Ro’Tanaren’s house had a totally different feel to it than those they had previously visited. It was somehow brighter, airier, such that even as the evening descended, the soft lighting in the house made it seem that day lingered slightly longer there.
As ever, Ro’Tanaren was the very model of a host, and after a brief exchange about their journey, they were ushered to their rooms to rest.
“We can talk later,” Ro’Tanaren said, smiling. “Now rest. You have traveled far today.”
Alone in their rooms, Atrus wondered if he should broach the subject of bringing the survivors over from D’ni with Catherine, but it was she who spoke first. She was standing by the open window, looking out across the stepped lawns.
“Have you noticed,” she said, “how in all our time here we have never seen a kitchen? Never seen a single plate brought or cleared away. It’s as if the stewards supervise the air.”
Atrus laughed quietly. “To be perfectly honest, Catherine, I hadn’t really thought about it. But no. I guess it is their way.”
“Etiquette, you mean?”
He nodded, then went across to her. “I wanted to ask you something.”
She turned, meeting his eyes, then smiled. “You want to bring the D’ni here, right?”
“And those from Averone.”
That surprised her. She thought for a moment, then gave a little nod. “I see. You want to close the link.”
“Exactly.”
Catherine took a long, slow breath. “I agree.”
“We cannot let what happened to D’ni happen here,” he went on. “You’ve seen this place. To think of it suffering the same fate. No. We must throw in our lot with these people. I will petition Ro’Eh Ro’Dan when I see him.”
“And if the Averonese do not wish to come?”
“Then they can stay. But the Book must be destroyed, the Temple sealed.”
§
They journeyed on into the heart of Terahnee, and everyday the city grew, the sheer scale of that gargantuan edifice finally imposing itself upon Atrus’s imagination, making him understand that what he had glimpsed from the plateau was not, after all, the capital, but merely one of its outlying districts, for beyond that great wall of buildings another larger wall seemed to climb to the heavens, such that the whole of D’ni could have been placed in a tiny hole in its side. It was like a mountain, only this mountain had been built, stone upon stone, so Eedrah said. And the histories, which gave clue to little else, at least confirmed that much. A thousand years of building had produced that magnificent pile.
The nearer they came to it, the grander everything seemed to be. The locks that raised them up or lowered them down were bigger, the canal itself much broader. Fields gave way to parks. Great houses lay on every side of them now, some so impressive that they seemed the palaces of kings. Yet these were ordinary citizens. Boats were moored alongside the canal now, and sometimes partying groups of people would hail them and call out greetings.
Finally, in the midst of that great sprawl of wondrous buildings, they came to a junction of several waterways and entered a massive curving channel—the King’s Cut, they were told it was called—which carved its deep blue furrow through broad avenues of beautiful mansions lined with
the most extraordinary trees they had yet seen in all of Terahnee, the night-black scented leaves drifting down on them as they passed, while ahead of them the city climbed to the sky.
Atrus stared wide-eyed, his neck craned back, and still it seemed he could not see the top. He turned, looking to Eedrah and asked, “How do we get up there? Or is that the way we are going?”
“That is indeed our way,” Eedrah said, “and the boat will take us there.” he grinned. “Have patience, Atrus, and you will see.”
The walls of the channel grew slowly higher and higher on both sides, with here and there a massive wooden gate set deep into the smooth-carved stone.
Coming around the next turn, Atrus noticed a faint rippling up ahead, a sharp line of turbulence drawn straight across the placid water-course, like a weir. As they passed over it, Atrus turned to look, even as a wall pushed up out of the water behind them, closing off the channel.
At once they were lifted up on a great tide of water, the boat’s pace accelerating with the rush of the incoming water, then slowing as the walls began to grow once more to either side.
Time and again this happened. Time and again they were lifted and the boat rushed forward. And then, suddenly, the walls dropped away and they were out in the open, high up on a massive aqueduct, the avenues of the capital spread out below them like a map, while directly ahead, across an artificial chasm at least a mile wide, was the king’s palace, its towering ramparts piercing the blue sky.
Seeing it, Atrus felt in awe of the power that had built this place; in awe of the men who had planned and carried out such a mighty scheme. Nor was it the sheer bulk of the edifice that took the breath, it was the delicate working of the stone, the careful balance between size and elegance. It had a natural, flowing look, yet nothing in nature could have made so beautiful a structure.
Atrus glanced across and saw that Eedrah, too, was awed—saw by his parted lips, his astonished eyes, that this son of Terahnee had never, until that moment, guessed at the splendor at the center of it all.
Slowly they drifted toward that massive work of stone, then passed into its shadow, the towering entrance arch swallowing up their tiny craft.
They passed inside, into a cavernous hall, the floor a single sapphire pool, the ceiling echoing high above them, not a single pillar supporting that huge mass of stone. But Atrus barely had time to consider that a wonder when, coming to the center of that hall, the boat was lifted on a column of water toward the ceiling.
There was a moment’s shock and fear as they sped toward it, and then the stone parted with a silent rush and they were through, into a great vertical shaft, the walls studded with lamps, the great column of water falling away into the dark beneath.
Up and up they went, and then, even as the wonder of it began to fade, they burst through into a chamber even larger than that from which they had come, tier after tier of benches reaching up on every side, those benches filled with thousands of lavishly dressed men and women. And there, facing them, on a massive throne of cut emerald, a flight of fifty golden steps leading up to him, sat the young king, Ro’Eh Ro’Dan.
He stood up and stepped out onto the top step, smiling broadly, his deep, rich voice filling that chamber.
“Welcome, Atrus of D’ni. I hope your journey was a pleasant one.”
§
Catherine watched from the foot of the steps as Atrus climbed to meet the king, greeting Ro’Eh Ro’Dan, who had come precisely halfway down that golden flight, the two men grasping each other’s hands warmly.
The portrait had not lied. Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was a handsome man with sparkling blue eyes and an air of immeasurable authority. Even so, he seemed genuinely pleased to meet with Atrus and greeted him as one might greet a long-lost brother or the son of a favorite uncle. There was no coldness in that greeting, no distance, and that more than anything reassured her.
“Well, Atrus,” the king said, standing back a little, his voice raised so that all in that great chamber might hear, “do you like our land of Terahnee?”
“It is a land of wonders,” Atrus answered, smiling at the other man. “And your people have been most kind. We could not have asked for better treatment.”
Ro’Eh Ro’Dan grinned broadly. “That is good. But we must show you the full richness of Terahnee hospitality. Tonight you will be our special guests at a grand feast, and you will tell me then of D’ni.”
“You have heard of D’ni, then, King Ro’Eh Ro’Dan?”
“Not before four days ago. But now I feel I know it well. Or as well as any scholar in my land.”
“Then it is known to you in your books?”
Ro’Eh Ro’Dan laughed. “Mentions of your land are rare, Atrus. It was some while ago, it seems, since last our lands had congress. But I have had my scholars scour the great libraries of the capital and they have discovered several references to D’ni.”
“Then there is a link?”
“Do you mean, are we cousins?” Ro’Eh Ro’Dan grinned once again. “It would certainly seem so. The language, the fact that we both write Books. Both facts speak eloquently for a distant split between your people and mine, Atrus. For what reason, who knows—we cannot fathom it from the ancient books—but now that breach is healed. Those who were parted now have come together. And I am glad it is so. Most glad indeed.”
§
It was late when they finally retired. Of all the feasts they had attended in Terahnee, this had been the most sumptuous, each course a feast in itself, such that after a time they had not eaten so much as tasted the food before complimenting their host. Not that Ro’Eh Ro’Dan had seemed to mind. He had been far more interested in what Atrus had to say of the D’ni Guilds and the Common Book Rooms and all of those many other things that were, it seemed, quite alien to Terahnee life. In particular, he had been fascinated by the mention of the Maintainers, and had questioned Atrus a full hour and a half about their practices.
“Astonishing!” he had said finally.
“Why so?” Atrus had asked. “If anything, the absence of such a body is what I find most incredible about your land, Ro’Eh Ro’Dan.”
“You think so? Why, I would find it strange indeed if, in a land where everyone has all they wish for, anyone should want what another has enough to take it. And as for quarrels, they happen, yet if a society is civilized enough, and the people distant enough from each other not to let it bother them, then violence cannot take seed. Still, I suppose it is all a question of what one is used to.”
“That is so,” Atrus had agreed. “Yet it is still quite astonishing to find that in an orchard so vast and varied as Terahnee, one does not find a single rotten apple.”
Ro’Eh Ro’Dan had inclined his head at that. “It has all to do with good horticulture, Atrus. True breeding brings the best results, wouldn’t you say?”
But there the conversation had ended, as the great gong sounded and the entertainer—a scholar, versed in the ancient prophesies—had stepped up to begin his recitation.
Now, three hours later, Atrus sat down on the edge of the massive bed and began to pull off his boots.
“I think he will be receptive to the idea, Catherine.”
Catherine was standing before the mirror. Looking up, she met Atrus’s eyes in the glass.
“He seems a kind and cultured man.”
“Indeed. A man after our own minds. Yet having spoken to him one thing troubles me.”
“What thing is that?”
“What he said about his people. About their breeding. It made me consider our own people.”
“They are good people, Atrus.”
“Oh, I know that. Yet can we vouch for every single one of them? D’ni and Averone and all? What if one bad apple among them spreads contagion? This is a land without contention. I would be loath to introduce it to them.”
Catherine smiled and turned to face him. “I think you worry too much, Atrus. You know our people. They are the best. They will fit in easily here. So put your
proposition to him, then burn the Books and seal the Temple up.”
“And Chroma’Agana?”
“Oh, I shall miss it, but it’s a small price to pay.”
“Are you happy here, Catherine?”
She came across and took his hands, smiling down at him. “Very. Now put your doubts aside. This is what you wanted. So reach for it. Heal the breach and bring the D’ni home to Terahnee.”
He smiled and squeezed her hands. “It shall be so.”
§
In the dawn’s first light the pinnacle of the king’s high chamber, a slender tower separate from the rest of that great stone pile, jutted from the great bowl of darkness beneath, its whiteness touched with gold. A narrow bridge of stone linked it to the rest; a curving line of white etched delicately on the black.
Looking across at the king’s tower from the recessed doorway in which he stood, Atrus hesitated, thinking of the meeting to come, then stepped out onto the bridge, his booted footsteps echoing in the silence, his cloak flowing behind him in the cold morning air.
He had woken while it was still dark and, dressing quietly so as not to wake Catherine, had ventured out. It was not that he had expected to see the king so early—indeed, he was surprised to learn from the steward that Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was already in his rooms—merely that he felt he needed to walk and consider precisely what it was he was to say to the king that morning.
Yet here he was, before the sun was fully risen, stepping out across the dark to meet with him.
Halfway across, he stopped and, grasping the balustrade, leaned out, staring down into the shadowed depths. Down there—a mile or more below where he stood on that narrow parapet—the city slept, oblivious of him. He took in the pattern of the parks and buildings, the endless bridges and canals, pleased by what he saw, then raised his eyes, looking to the distance, to rolling hills and wondrous mansions stretching from horizon to horizon.
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