The Book of the Ler

by M. A. Foster

  The voice stopped then, and remained quiet, as if it had admitted something unintended. Then it continued.

  —So I know this about it: it isn’t a God, because it has limited perceptions and makes mistakes. It is a life-form, not a machine, however odd it may seem to us, and it is single, not one of a kind of which there are others. It has continuation, but not reproduction, which suggests a kind of colony organism. But all that is nothing: what counts is that it has a single nature and it is fixed, immobile.

  Meure could not deny the gloating he heard in the voice. And Cretus caught the fugitive thought, as well.

  —That’s correct. It is large, very large, but it is highly vulnerable. So much so that if I can touch it, I can kill it. And I intend to.

  —And you’re going to use me as bait for it.

  —Not quite so. I am you, now. Rest assured that I will not recklessly endanger our mutual house. And remember this: it’s hard to find, but I know that it can’t move. I know that, now; because if it could have left, it would have. There are better opportunities for strife elsewhere. It’s tied here.

  —It came here and was trapped, like you Klesh were?

  —No. Wait, I say that without knowing. If it came from elsewhere, it was very long ago. No, it has been here from the beginning. It is native, as far as I have been able to see.

  —I see it bringing others to it. It brought me.

  —And the Ler under circumstances that. . . . yes, I see. You are one step ahead now. It will bring the new contenders; the Mixed men from the stars, the Ler, those star-creatures.

  —And you-I are to ignite the mixture.

  —It would be here, of course. But I have an objection: though I do not care that the offworlders fight among themselves, I can see easily enough that it would be the end of the Klesh.

  —And the strife will not be limited to Monsalvat. I object to that.

  —Well you should, if you respect your origins; for it does not care about events outside. Only that they happen here.

  —There has not been in history a major interstellar war. Minor actions, yes, but nothing where the survival of a race or a planet was in question.

  —At the least, then, we can agree: you must let me do this thing.

  —We have little choice. Neither it nor the Ler will allow us to leave Monsalvat. And I fear what you might do there if you did leave.

  —You will keep me here, too? You will volunteer to remain on this most deadly world? Then you will assuredly need my help to survive here, now, for this has never been a gentle world. Up to now, you have been under the protection of a force, but that has now been accomplished which was intended, and I can no longer be sure it will protect you as fully as it has. Since Cucany, things have been easy. Do not be fooled by that ease. It has given me time to integrate myself into you. Now it will prod us a little.

  —You never did say what your indulgence was when you ruled.

  —To know what happened to us, why . . . and if there were any others. I will keep them to myself. Those times will not come again. I had my turn, and unlike others, was able to walk away from it.

  And, abruptly, not finishing the thought-pattern, the Cretus presence withdrew, faded out, vanished. Meure felt freer than he had since the castle; Cretus must have gone deep within, to hide, or perhaps to sulk. He felt free; still, he knew he would never be entirely free of Cretus. There was no way he knew to reverse the thing that had happened to him. And he wondered, deep in his own thoughts, how they would eventually come to terms with each other. It seemed there was no way out.

  10

  “It is hard to explain, and harder to learn, that truth abides in the inmost sanctuary of the soul and may not be told, either by speech or by silence; yet all attempts to interpret it distort it progressively as they adapt themselves to the perceptions of the mind, and become sheer caricatures by the time they are translated into terms of bodily sensation. Now the reality of things depends on their truth, and thus it is that it is not a philosophical paradox but a matter of experience that the search for truth teaches us to distrust appearances exactly in proportion as they are positive.”

  —A.C.

  WHILE MEURE HAD been holding his internal conversation with the shade of Cretus, he had ignored the flow of perceptual events outside; and why not? For time on the river was a repetition of endless sameness, and within the group, relationships were now fixed.

  But someone was standing beside him at the edge of the barge, who had come silently, unobtrusively. Ingraine Deffy, the other girl from the Ffstretsha.

  Meure was fond of girls without desiring to possess them; still, he could appreciate how this slight girl, Ingraine, could incite possessiveness: seen from a distance, she was merely a pretty girl of no great distinction, not entirely real. Close by, however, she had a beauty that was remarkable—something not quite human anymore. Overall, she was fragile and delicate in appearance, with clear, almost translucent skin; and what he could see of her features had been drawn with a hand free of hesitation or doubt. Ignoring a slight childishness which the fineness of her features suggested, she was almost perfect, even after their escapades since the grounding of the ship.

  Meure was not city-quick, after what he thought was the manner of Cretus, but neither was he an innocent yokel; he was perceptive enough on his own to see with his own senses that Ingraine was not as young as she appeared, nor had she been discomfited by some of the harsh exertions they had been through. He could see easily that she would inspire protectiveness by her appearance alone, whether she actually needed it or not. And that, having been favored by beauty, she had made herself the final adjustments in mannerisms to fit herself into a specific interaction with the people around her; feeling subliminally the undertow of others’ emotions, she had turned herself to them, to her advantage. Now he wondered, what was the advantage?

  He felt acutely uncomfortable; Meure and Halander had been only casual acquaintances, not particularly friends, and he had claimed her early aboard the ship. This action on her part could only cause problems which he did not care to add to what he thought were excessive complications.

  Now she was here, when before she had scarcely noticed him, looking out over the water dreamily, brushing her soft brown hair out of her eyes, pursing her delicate, full lips pensively.

  What had Cretus said? Thoughts are endless chains, but you must follow them as far as you can. He accepted without question that he would have to learn from Cretus. What did that learning tell him now? That Ingraine, sensing the stronger Cretus personality, had switched allegiances at the first appropriate moment . . . she could mean more trouble than all he had experienced on Monsalvat up to this moment. It was a most delicate moment; he felt, without looking, the beginnings of malice in Halander; what did the others feel? Tenguft? Audiart? Indeed, what about Cretus? Glancing about, internally and externally, he sensed withdrawal. He was on his own.

  She asked, softly, as if for his ears alone, “What are you thinking about now?”

  “I was thinking, as a fact, just now, why me? I had not hoped for so much adventure when I signed on the Ffstretsha, on Tancred.”

  She mused, “Yes, isn’t it terrible, what’s happened to us? Do you think we’ll ever be rescued from this . . . Monsalvat?”

  “Myself, I believe the worst; but the Ler think that a Spsom craft will come here, after all. If we can survive until then, they will surely pick us up.” Why had she hesitated over the word, Monsalvat?

  “But they sided with those hunters, so quickly.”

  “They think, only to allow them to remain close to the crash site; presumably the hypersensitive perceptions of the Haydar will warn them when the new ship arrives. In the meantime, they can enjoy themselves with a little sport, while they’re waiting.”

  “While we wonder from minute to minute whether we’ll be alive or not; I thought those hunters were preparing to eat us. And why didn’t they?”

  “They act under a system of oracles and r
evelations, as I understand it. The best way to say it is that their spirits told them to pack us off to that castle. Besides . . . I don’t think they’d actually eat us: we’re not ‘game,’ apparently. They might have disposed of us as excess baggage by dumping us somewhere, or selling us to another tribe. Who knows. We are certainly no threat to them, and they know that easily enough . . . of what we’ve seen so far, they appear to be the best. At the least, the most honorable, even though they are wild. I wish we had more of them with us where we are going.”

  “I thought we were going down this vile river only because it was away from the land of castles. Where are we going?”

  Now Meure was wary, although he tried not to show it; Ingraine had spoken at the last to Cretus, not to him, Meure Schasny. Cretus-Meure had led them to the river and the barge; Cretus knew what lay at the place where the pestilential river drowned itself in the stormy gulf between the two southern peninsulas of Kepture, knew it far better than any of them, even Tenguft. And if he was bound there, to what purpose? Ingraine sensed that the land was just itself, but a city was a bridge to somewhere else, something else, change. He said, only, “To a city.”

  “Do they actually have cities on this planet?”

  “So I am told, although they will not be cities as I have seen them. Like something from the dim past.” Now he sought to deflect her. “Were you from Tancred?”

  Ingraine shook her head briefly, as if shaking cobwebs away, sending waves flowing down her hair. “No. Didn’t you know? Well, no matter—I suppose it never got around to you. I came aboard on Flordeluna.”

  Meure turned slightly away to conceal his surprise. “That’s . . .”

  She finished the sentence, “. . . a long way off. I know.”

  “Where did Audiart come from? Flordeluna?”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “No. I hadn’t asked . . .”

  “She was there when I boarded. She hasn’t told me, either. She has some mannerisms which suggest . . . perhaps a world like Tancred, something a bit out of the way.”

  Meure took no offense. He knew Tancred was more than a bit out of the way. But Flordeluna was on the far side of the central group; if Audiart came from a colony planet like Tancred, then it would be, very likely, on the far side, adjoining Spsom space. He asked, “You were hired on by the Ler as we were?”

  “Hired, yes. Not as you were. She and I were aboard when the Ler girl entered the Ffstretsha; we could have left the ship or taken employment with the Ler party . . . it was on a Ler world and I did not care to be so stranded.” She finished with some heat, as if there was something offensive to her about a world inhabited solely by Ler.

  “Was there not a Transition?”72

  “On Lickrepent? Indeed there was, but you would not care to have to work your way out of it. I did not.” Here Ingraine looked coyly sidelong at Meure under her eyelashes. “I prefer not to work any harder than absolutely necessary, and so I thought being a scull for Ler aristocrats was better than slogging it in Transiton. I did not reckon on the disasters that have befallen us along the way, but all in all, things have not turned out badly so far . . . I will certainly have a tale to tell!” Here she shook out her hair again and smiled up at the sky.

  Meure thought, here stands a slight girl who looks like she should yet be in school, yet she is experienced enough to set out tramping rides alone across space, obviously an individual of considerable verve . . . Still, dangerous. Audiart had offered and given of herself with no thought of tomorrow; Tenguft had used him for some incomprehensible purpose, but had allowed him to share in it, however brief it had been; this one would have a price, which he was not sure he could pay. Or would. Not the least of which would be surrender to Cretus . . . He was not entirely sure Cretus would wish to pay, either, whatever it was. He was one who liked no restraints or obligations. But at the same time, looking at the smooth skin of her throat, at the slender body under the borrowed Ler overshirt, he could not but imagine. Meure looked around guiltily. He was acutely uncomfortable. And Cretus, of course, would sit back and let him make his own choices, and probably vicariously watch as well.

  Halander was glaring at them from the bow, making small, indecisive movements. He continued glancing around at the others. Tenguft ignored the whole proceeding. Audiart caught his eye and looked away, with an odd flicker of sadness, or so Meure thought. As if she were worried for him, rather than jealous of the girl. He felt pressure to act, to make a decision. The only thing was, any way he moved, he would make an enemy, and he could afford no more. Cretus, however benign, had to be counted an enemy, and one such as no man ever had before.

  One of the bargemen hybrids suddenly called out to the others, and began to jabber excitedly; the others hurriedly joined him at the stern, facing west, back up the river, where they conferred earnestly and gestured wildly at something out over the water which Meure couldn’t quite make out.

  The bargemen became more excited, and one climbed up on the rail and began shouting at the passengers. Meure looked hard up the river, but he could see no cause for their erratic behavior . . . there was an irregular spot far back up the river, seemingly moving toward them, but he could make out no details. It seemed to be moving, or changing its orientation. He could not make out a shape at all.

  The bargeman who had climbed up on the rail emitted a long, doleful hoot that echoed across the water, an expression of emotions too complex to frame in speech, and then stepped over the side and began swimming for the nearer shore to the south. The remaining bargemen hesitated, looking fearfully first up the river, then at one another, then at the barge. Then, one by one, they, too, began climbing over the side, and swimming for the shore. The river had become ominously still, its surface like molten glass. The bargemen scarcely made ripples as they entered the water and began stroking mightily.

  They all looked at each other uncertainly. The bargemen had abandoned the barge! Morgin had been dozing, but now he ran to stern to see what it was that caused such panic. Meure and Ingraine also hurried to join Morgin. They passed Tenguft, who hadn’t changed position, but was looking intently up the river from under her deep brows.

  South of the barge, between the barge and the south shore, the Ombur side of the Great River, the bargemen were still swimming for the shore; there was a sudden sucking sound and a swirl of water, and there was one bargeman less. Meure felt his scalp crawling. What was it, there, coming toward them that would make bargemen who supposedly knew the river brave it? The others took no notice whatsoever, but kept on making for the Ombur shore.

  Now they stood by the stern rail and looked up the river; something was approaching, coming toward the barge, an irregular something which would not resolve into a perceptible shape, suspended somewhat above the surface without visible force. Meure looked at Morgin; Morgin looked back, blankly; here was something of Monsalvat beyond the experience of an Embasse.

  Tenguft slid down from the pile of faggots, a silky, wary motion, and stood slightly behind Meure looking very intently at the approaching object. Meure looked at her also, but she did not return the gesture; she was watching.

  Meure turned back to the object; it was closer now, still approaching, still suspended above the water without visible effort. He tried harder to make it out, but something about it continued to elude resolution. It was brownish in color, but it seemed to have no single outline, nor stable shape. It changed somehow, constantly; but it also possessed an inexplicable vagueness of size, for it seemed both very large and far way, and simultaneously small and close, no matter how it occluded the backgound it moved against. It was nothing he could classify into any known category.

  He glanced again at Tenguft; the Haydar girl was still looking at the object, her lips tightly compressed. Meure asked her, “What is that? Why did they fear it?”

  She answered, not looking at him, speaking tonelessly and softly, as if she wished not to disturb some delicate equilibrium, “I have heard of such things in th
e most ancient of tales, but I have not ever seen one myself, nor has anyone I have known. Our rites exist to prevent this appearance of such demons. It is not good that we see it now; it is a sign of dire events.”

  Meure insisted, “What is it?”

  She continued, “The Lami Sari Au Ardebe faced one alone for the sake of the tribe Tahiret; Gambir ’Am-seleb the holy man called upon one to end the holy war N’Guil-Ellem; Imrem Galtaru was said to have entered into association with one, but he was no longer of the Haydar after that, and was pursued as game by the great among the People—without success or trophy, indeed, many a fine warrior of the Haydar learned truth untelling in that quest. . . .”

  “You mean they saw, but they could not speak of it?”

  Morgin tactfully interrupted, “She means that the great warriors vanished in a manner strongly suspected of bringing great shame upon them ...”

  Tenguft interrupted Morgin, “. . . Ebdalla Yamsa returned to Illili without his spear, crawling on the ground in his fear. The people gave him the truth, and hunted after Imrem the unholy no more. His memory be cursed. But we do not forget, and we do not seek that-which-has-no-name; and what it does here is beyond me. I have not called it, and Morgin the Embasse does not know how, indeed, those who carry a Prote cannot see one.”

  The object, now measured against its background, seemed to have approached the barge closely, almost within stone-throwing distance. Its motion had ceased, save for that slight drift necessary to keep it near the barge, but not its mutability; its outline wavered constantly, and its shape and internal features shifted too rapidly for anything of detail to be made out. Meure strained at it, trying to grasp enough of it to make up an image, but he could not. It was as if the thing were mutating at a rate too great for his senses to discern any single state of it. It made no sound. And although he saw no evidence to support the suspicion, he strongly felt that it was a living thing, however imprecise it was, rather than a machine. Or a part of something alive. Where had that idea come from?