The Seeker

by Simon Hawke

  “Perhaps only a part of it,” she replied. She held up her hand, thumb, and forefinger about an inch apart.

  “A small part.”

  “You are almost as bad as Lyric.”

  “Well, if you are going to be insulting, then you can just duck under and let Eyron or the Guardian come out. Either one could certainly provide more stimulating conversation.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Sorak replied, suddenly speaking in an entirely different tone of voice, one that was more clipped, insouciant, and a touch wry. It was no longer Sorak, Ryana realized, but Eyron. Sorak had taken her literally. He had apparently decided that she was annoyed with him, so he had ducked under and allowed Eyron to come forth.

  His bearing had undergone a subtle change, as well. His posture went from erect and square-shouldered to slightly slumped and round-shouldered. He altered his pace slightly, taking shorter steps and coming down a bit harder on his heels, the way an older, middle-aged person might walk. A casual observer might not have noticed any difference, but Ryana was villichi, and she had long since become alert to the slightest change in Sorak’s bearing and demeanor. She would have recognized Eyron even if he hadn’t spoken.

  “I was only teasing Sorak a little,” she explained. “I was not really insulted.”

  “I know that,” Eyron replied.

  “I know you know that,” said Ryana. “I meant for you to let Sorak know it. I did not mean for him to go away. I just wish he wouldn’t be so somber and serious all the time.”

  “He will always be somber and serious,” said Eyron. He is somber and serious to the point of pain. You are not going to change him, Ryana. Leave him alone.”

  “You’d like for me to do that, wouldn’t you?” she said irately. “It would make the rest of you feel more secure.”

  “Secure?” Eyron repeated. “You think you present any sort of threat to us?”

  “I did not mean it quite that way,” said Ryana.

  “Oh? How did you mean it, then?”

  “Why must you always be so disputatious?” she countered.

  “Because I enjoy a good argument occasionally, just as you enjoy teasing Sorak from time to time. However, the difference between us is that I enjoy the stimulation of a lively debate, while you tease Sorak because you know that he is hopelessly ill equipped to deal with it.”

  “That is not true!” she protested.

  “Isn’t it? I notice that you never try it with me. Why is that, I wonder?”

  “Because teasing is a playful pastime, and your humor is all caustic and bitter.”

  “Ah, so you want playful humor? In that case, I will summon Lyric forth.”

  “No, wait!”

  “Why? I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “Stop trying to twist my words!”

  “I am merely trying to make you see their import,” Eyron replied dryly. “You never try to bait me with your wit, not because you fear I am your match, but because you bear me no resentment, as you do Sorak.”

  She stopped in her tracks suddenly, absolutely astonished at his words. “What?”

  Eyron glanced back at her. “You are surprised? Truly, it seems you know yourself even less well than Sorak does.”

  “What are you talking about? I love Sorak! I bear no resentment toward him! He knows that! You all know that!”

  “Do we, indeed?” Eyron replied, with a wry grimace. “In point of fact, Lyric knows you love Sorak merely because he has heard you say so. But he comprehends nothing of the emotion himself. The Ranger may or may not know it. Either way, it would make no difference to him. Screech? Screech could comprehend the act of mating, certainly, but not the more complex state of love. The Watcher knows and understands, but she is uneasy with the concept of a woman’s love. Kivara is rather titillated by the notion, but for reasons having to do with the senses, not the heart. And the Shade is as far removed from love as the night is from the day. Now the Guardian knows you love Sorak, but I doubt she would disagree with me that you also feel resentment toward him. As for Kether… well, I would not presume to speak for Kether, as Kether does not condescend to speak with me. Nevertheless, the fact remains that beneath your love for Sorak smolders a resentment that you lack the courage or honesty to acknowledge to yourself.”

  “That is absurd!” Ryana said, angrily. “If I were to resent anyone, it would be you, for being so contentious all the time!”

  “On the contrary, that is precisely why you do not resent me,” Eyron said. “I allow you an outlet for your anger. Deep down, you are angry at Sorak, but you cannot express it. You cannot even admit it to yourself, but it is there, nevertheless.”

  “I thought the Guardian was the telepath among you,” said Ryana sourly. “Or have you developed the gift as well?”

  “It does not require a telepath to see where your feelings lie,” said Eyron. “The Guardian once called you selfish. Well, you are. I am not saying that is a bad thing, you understand, but by not admitting to yourself that your feelings of anger and resentment stem from your own selfish desires, you are only making matters worse. Perhaps you would prefer to discuss this with the Guardian. You might take it better if you heard it from another female.”

  “No, you started this, you finish it,” Ryana said. “Go on. Explain to me how my own selfish desires led me to break my vows and abandon everything I knew and cherished for Sorak’s sake.”

  “Oh, please,” said Eyron. “You did absolutely nothing for Sorak’s sake. What you did you did for your own sake, because you wanted to do it. You may have been born villichi, Ryana, but you always chafed at the restrictive life in the convent. You were always dreaming of adventures in the outside world.”

  “I left the convent because I wanted to be with Sorak!”

  “Precisely,” Eyron said, “because you wanted to be with Sorak. And because with Sorak gone, there was no compelling reason for you to remain. You sacrificed nothing for his sake that you would not have gladly given up, in any case.”

  “Well… if that is true, and I have only done what I wanted to do, then what reason would I possibly have for being angry with him?”

  “Because you want him, and yet you cannot have him,” Eyron said simply.

  Even after knowing him for all those years, and having seen how his personas shifted, it was difficult for her to hear those words coming from his lips. It was Eyron speaking, and not Sorak, but it was Sorak’s face she saw and Sorak’s voice she heard, even though the tone was different.

  “That has already been settled,” she said, looking away. It was difficult to meet his gaze. Eyron’s gaze, she reminded herself, but still Sorak’s eyes.

  “Has it?”

  “You were there when we discussed it, were you not?”

  “Simply because a matter was discussed does not mean it has been settled,” Eyron replied. “You grew up with Sorak, and you came to love him, even knowing that he was a tribe of one. You thought you could accept that, but it was not until you forced the issue that Sorak told you it could never be, because three of us are female. It came as quite a shock to you, and Sorak bears the blame for that because he should have told you. There lies the root of your resentment, Ryana. He should have told you. All those years, and you never even suspected, because he kept it from you.”

  Ryana was forced to admit to herself that it was true. She had thought she understood, and perhaps she did, but despite that, she still felt angry and betrayed.

  “I never kept anything from him,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I would have given anything, done anything. He had but to ask! Yet, he kept from me something that was a vital part of who and what he was. Had I known, perhaps things might have been different. I might not have allowed myself to fall in love with him. I might not have built up my hopes and expectations… Why, Eyron? Why couldn’t he have told me?”

  “Has it not occurred to you that he might have been afraid?” said Eyron.

  She glanced up at him with surprise,
seeing Sorak’s face, his eyes gazing back at her… yet it was not him. “Afraid? Sorak was never afraid of anything. Why would he be afraid of me?”

  “Because he is male, and he is young, and because to be a young male is to be awash in insecurities and feelings one cannot fully understand,” Eyron replied. “I speak from experience, of course. I share his doubts and fears. How could I not?”

  “What doubts? What fears?”

  “Doubts about himself and his identity,” said Eyron. “And a fear that you might think him less of a male for having female aspects.”

  “But that is absurd!”

  “Nevertheless, it is true. Sorak loves you, Ryana. But he can never make love with you because our female aspects could not countenance it. You think that is not a source of torment for him?”

  “No less than it is for me,” she replied. She looked at him, curiously. “What of you, Eyron? You have said nothing of how you feel about me.”

  “I think of you as my friend,” said Eyron. “A very close friend. My only friend, in fact.”

  “What? Do none of the others—?”

  “Oh, no, I did not mean that,” said Eyron, “that is different. I meant my only friend outside the tribe. I do not make friends easily, it seems.”

  “Could you countenance me as Sorak’s lover?”

  “Of course. I am male, and I consider you my friend. I cannot say that I love you, but I do have feelings of affection for you. Were the decision mine alone to make—mine and Sorak’s, that is—I would have no objections. I think the two of you are good for one another. But, unfortunately, there are others to consider.”

  “Yes, I know. But I am grateful for your honesty. And your expression of goodwill.”

  “Oh, it is much more than goodwill, Ryana,” Eyron said. “I am very fond of you. I do not know you as well as Sorak does; none of us do, except perhaps the Guardian. And while I must confess that my nature is not the most amenable to love, I think that I could learn to share the love that Sorak feels for you.”

  “I am glad to hear that,” she said.

  “Well, then, perhaps I am not quite as disputatious as you think,” said Eyron.

  She smiled. “Perhaps not. But there are times…”

  “When you would like to strangle me,” Eyron completed the statement for her.

  “I would not go quite that far,” she said. “Pummel you a bit, perhaps.”

  “I am gratified at your restraint, then. I am not much of a fighter.”

  “Eyron fears a fee-male! Eyron fears a fee-male!”

  “Be quiet, Lyric!” Eyron said, in an annoyed tone.

  “Nyaah-nyaah-nyahh, nyaah-nyaah-nayahh!”

  Ryana had to laugh at the sudden, rapid changes that flickered across Sorak’s features. One moment, he was Eyron, the mature and self-possessed, articulate adult; in the next instant, he was Lyric, the taunting and irrepressible child. His facial expressions, his bearing, his body language, everything changed abruptly back and forth as the two different personas alternately manifested themselves.

  “I am pleased you find it so amusing,” Eyron said to her irritably.

  “Nyaah-nyaah-nyaah, nyaah-nyaah-nyaah!” Lyric taunted in a high-pitched, singsong voice.

  “Lyric, please,” Ryana said. “Eyron and I were having a conversation. It is not polite to interrupt when grown-ups are speaking.”

  “Oh, all-riiight…” Lyric said dejectedly.

  “He never listens to me the way he listens to you,” said Eyron, as Lyric’s pouting expression was abruptly replaced on Sorak’s face by Eyron’s wry look of annoyance.

  “That is because you are impatient with him,” Ryana said with a smile. “Children always recognize the weak points in adults, and they are quick to play on them.”

  “I grow impatient merely because he delights so in annoying me,” said Eyron.

  “It is only a ploy to get attention,” said Ryana. “If you were to indulge him more, he would feel less need to provoke you.”

  “Females are better at such things,” said Eyron.

  “Perhaps. But males could do equally well if they took the time to learn,” Ryana said. “Most of them forget too easily what it was like to be a child.”

  “Sorak was a child,” Eyron said. “I never was.”

  Ryana sighed. “There are some things about you all that I think I shall never understand,” she said with resignation.

  “It is better simply to accept some things without trying to understand them,” replied Eyron.

  “I do my best,” Ryana said.

  They continued talking for a while as they walked, and it helped to pass the time of their journey, but Eyron soon wearied of the trek and ducked back under, allowing the Guardian to manifest. In a way, however, the Guardian had been there all along. Like the Watcher, she was never very far beneath the surface, always present, even when one of the others had come out. As her name implied, her primary role was to act as the protector of the tribe. She was the strong, maternal figure, sometimes interacting with the others in an active way, sometimes content to remain passive, but always there as a moderating presence, a force for balance in the inner tribe. While she was manifested, Sorak was there too as an underlying presence. If he chose to, he could speak, or else he could simply listen and observe while the Guardian interacted with Ryana. When any of the others were out, things were often slightly different. If Lyric was at the fore of their personas, he and Sorak could both be out at the same time, like two individuals awake in the same body, as was the case with Sorak and the Guardian, or Screech. But if it was Eyron, or the Ranger, or any of the others that were stronger personalities, Sorak often wasn’t there at all. At such times, he faded back into his own subconscious, and his knowledge of what occurred during the times when any of the stronger ones were out depended on the Guardian granting him access to the memories. Kivara seemed to cause him the greatest difficulty. Of all his personalities, she was the most unruly and unpredictable, and the two were frequently in conflict. If Kivara had her way, Sorak had explained, she would come out more often, but the Guardian kept her in line. The Guardian was capable of overriding all the other personalities, Sorak’s included, save for Kether and the Shade. And those two appeared only rarely.

  It had taken Ryana ten years to become accustomed to the intricacies of the relationships of Sorak’s inner tribe. She could imagine how it would be for anyone who met Sorak for the first time. And she could understand why Sorak did not trouble to explain his curious condition to others that he met. It would only frighten people and confuse them. Without training in the Way, it would have frightened and confused him, too. She wondered if there was any way that he could ever become normal.

  “Guardian,” she said, knowing that the privacy of her own thoughts would be respected unless she invited the Guardian to look into her mind, “I have been wondering about something, but before we speak of it, I wish to make certain you do not take it amiss. It is not my desire to offend.”

  “I would never think that of you,” the Guardian replied. “Speak then, and speak frankly.”

  “Do you think that there is any chance Sorak could ever become normal?”

  “What is normal?” the Guardian replied.

  “Well… you know what I mean. Like everybody else.”

  “Everybody else is not the same,” the Guardian replied. “What is normal for one person may not be normal for another. But I believe I understand your meaning. You wish to know if Sorak could ever become just Sorak, and not a tribe of one.”

  “Yes. Not that I wish you did not exist, you understand. Well… in a sense, I suppose I do, but it is not because of any feeling that I have against you. Any of you. It is just that… if things had been different…”

  “I understand,” the Guardian replied, “and I wish that I could answer your question, but I cannot. It goes beyond my realm of knowledge.”

  “Well… suppose we find the Sage,” Ryana said, “and suppose he can change things with h
is magic—make it so that Sorak is no longer a tribe of one, but simply Sorak. If that were possible…” her voice trailed off.

  “How would I feel about that?” the Guardian completed the thought for her. “If it were possible, I suppose it would depend on how it were possible.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It would depend on how it would be achieved, assuming that it could be achieved,” the Guardian replied. “Imagine yourself in my place, if you can. You are not simply Ryana, but Ryana is merely one aspect of your self. You share your body and your mind with other aspects, who are equally a part of you, though separate. Let us say that you have found a wizard who can make you the same as everybody else—the same, that is, in the sense you mean. Would you not be concerned about how that would be done?

  “If this wizard were to say to you, ‘I can make you whole, unite all of your aspects into one harmonious persona,’ well, in that case, you might be inclined to accept such a solution. And accept it eagerly. But what if that same wizard were to say to you, ‘Ryana, I can make it so that you will be like everybody else. I can make it so that only Ryana will exist, and the others will all disappear’? Would you be so eager to accept such a solution then? Would it not be the same as asking you to agree to the deaths of all the others? And if we assume, for the sake of the discussion, that you could accept such a situation, what would be the outcome? If all the others were separate entities who made up a greater whole, what would be gained, and what would be lost? If they were to die, what sort of person would that leave? One who was complete? Or one who was but a fragment of a balanced individual?”

  “I see,” Ryana said. “In such a case then, if the choice were mine to make, I would, of course, refuse. But suppose it was the first choice that you mentioned?”

  “To unite us all in one persona—Sorak’s?” asked the Guardian.

  “In a manner that would preserve you all, though as one individual instead of many,” said Ryana. “What then?”

  “If that were possible,” the Guardian replied, “then I think, perhaps, I would have no objection. If it would benefit the tribe to become one instead of many and preserve all those within it as a part of Sorak, then it might indeed be for the best. But again, we must think of what might be gained and what might be lost. What would become of all the powers we have as a tribe? Would they be preserved, or would some be lost as a result? And what would become of Kether? If Kether is, as we suspect, a spirit from another plane, would his ability to manifest through Sorak be preserved? Or would that bridge be forever burned behind us?”