Marune Alastor 933

by Jack Vance

  "Will I know everything I knew before?"

  "Yes. And when you have your memory, you must protect our sanctuary."

  Efraim went thoughtfully up the steps.

  By the balustrade Singhalissa and Destian stood waiting. Singhalissa asked sharply: "What is that vial?"

  "It contains my memory. I need only drink it."

  Singhalissa leaned forward, her hands quivered. Efraim moved back. She asked:

  "And will you drink it?"

  "Naturally."

  Singhalissa chewed at her lip. Efraim's vision suddenly seemed totally keen and clear; he noticed the lack of bloom on Singhalissa's skin, the minute wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, the bird-like thrust of her sternum.

  "This may seem an odd point of view," said Singhalissa, "but consider. Events go well for you! You are Kaiark; you are about to make trisme with a powerful realm. What else do you need? The contents of the vial may well disturb these conditions!"

  Destian spoke with an air of authority: "If I were in your position, I would let well enough alone!"

  Singhalissa said: "You had best confer with Kaiark Rianlle; he is a wise man; he will advise you."

  "The matter would seem only to concern myself," remarked Efraim. "I doubt if Rianlle's wisdom can apply in this case." He passed into the reception hall, to meet Rianlle coming down the grand staircase. Efraim paused. "I hope you enjoyed your rest."

  Rianlle bowed politely. "Very much indeed."

  Singhalissa came forward. "I have urged Efraim to solicit your advice in a very important matter. The Fwai-chi have provided him a liquid which they claim will restore his memory."

  Rianlle reflected. "Excuse me a moment or two." He took Singhalissa aside; the two conversed in mutters. Rianlle nodded and thoughtfully returned to where Efraim waited.

  "While I rested," said Rianlle, "I reviewed the situation which has caused a tension between our realms. I propose that we postpone further consideration of Dwan Jar. Why allow so paltry a matter to interfere with the trisme I have suggested? Am I not correct?"

  "Entirely."

  "However, I have no confidence in Fwai-chi drugs. Often they promote cerebral lesions. In view of our prospective relationship I must insist that you do not dose yourself with some vile Fwai-chi potion."

  Very odd, thought Efraim. If the truncation of his memory were so advantageous to other folk, then the disadvantage to himself would seem correspondingly great. "Let us join the others who await us in the parlor."

  Efraim seated himself at the red table and looked around the faces: fourteen Scharde and four Eccord eiodarks; Singhalissa, Destian, Sthelany; Rianlle, the Kraike Dervas, Maerio, and himself. He carefully placed the vial on the table before him.

  "There is a new circumstance to be considered," said Efraim. "My memory. It is contained in this bottle. At Port Mar someone robbed me of my memory. I am intensely anxious to learn the identity of this person. Of the folk who were with me in Port Mar, two are dead - by coincidence, or perhaps not coincidentally after all, both were murdered.

  "I have been advised not to drink this draught. I am told that it is best to let sleeping dogs lie. Needless to say, I reject this point of view. I want my memory back, no matter what the cost." He unstoppered the vial, raised it to his mouth and poured the contents down his throat. The flavor was soft and earthy, like pounded bark and mold mixed with stump water.

  He looked around the circle of faces. "You must forgive this act of ingestion before your very eyes... I feel nothing yet. I would expect a delay while the material permeates my blood, courses around my body... I notice a shifting of lights and shadows - your faces flicker. I must shut my eyes... I see splashes of light: they shatter and burst... I see everywhere in my body . .

  . I see with my hands and inside my legs and down my back." Efraim's voice became hoarse. "The sounds - everywhere..." He could speak no more; he leaned back in his chair. He felt, he saw, he heard: a jumble of impressions: whirling suns and dancing stars, the froth of salt spume, the warmth of swamp mud; the dank flavor of waterweeds. The thrust of spears, the scorch of fire, and screaming women. Timelessness: visions swarmed past, then back, then away, like shoals of fish. Efraim became faint; his legs and arms went numb. He fought away the lethargy, and watched in fascination as the first furious explosion of images retreated and swirled away. The succession of sensations continued, but at a pace less blurred, as if to the control of chronology. He began to see faces and hear voices: strange faces, strange voices, of persons inexpressibly dear, and tears ran down his cheeks. He felt the extent of space; he knew the grief of departures, the exultation on conquest; he killed, he was killed; he loved and knew love; he nurtured a thousand families; he knew a thousand deaths, a thousand infancies.

  More slowly came the images, as if the source were almost drained. He was the first man to arrive on Marune; he led the tribes east from Port Mar; he was all the Kaiarks of Scharrode and of many other realms as well; he was many of the ordinary folk; he lived all these lives in the course of five seconds.

  Time began to decelerate. He watched the construction of Benbuphar Strang; he prowled by mirk; he scaled the Tassenberg and struck a blond warrior toppling down the face of the Khism. He began to see faces to which he could almost put names; he was a tall auburn-haired child who grew into a tall spare man with a bony face and short thick beard. With beating heart Efraim followed this man whose name was Jochaim through the chambers of Benbuphar Strang, by aud, isp, umber, and rowan. By mirk he wandered the mirk-ways, and he felt the intoxication of striding forth, clad only in shoulder-piece, man-mask, and boots into the chamber of his sometimes terrified elect. To Benbuphar Strang came the maiden Alferica from Cloudscape Castle, to be taken in trisme by Jochaim, and in due course a child was born who was named Efraim, and Jochaim faded from consciousness.

  Efraim's youth passed. His mother, Alferica, drowned during a visit to Eccord; presently to Benbuphar Strang came a new Kraike, Singhalissa, with her two children. One of these was dark vicious Destian; the other, a pale big-eyed waif, was Sthelany.

  Tutors educated the three children; they chose cogences and eruditions. Sthelany professed the writing of poetry in an abstruse poetic language, the working of mothwing tapestry, and star-names, as well as the contriving of fumes and fragrances which all well-born ladies were expected to include among their skills. She also collected Glanzeln flower vases, glazed an ineffable transparent violet, and unicorn horns. Destian collected precious crystals, and replicas of medallions on the hilts of famous swords; he also, professed heraldry and the intricate lore of fanfares. Efraim professed the architecture of castles, mineral identification, and the theory of alloys, although Singhalissa considered the choice insufficiently erudite.

  Efraim politely acknowledged Singhalissa's remarks and put them to the back o€ his mind. He was First Kang of the Realm; Singhalissa's opinions need not concern him.

  Singhalissa herself professed a dozen skills, didactics, and expertises; she was quite the most erudite person of Efraim's acquaintance. Perhaps once a year she visited Port Mar, that she might buy supplies and materials for the specialized needs of those at Benbuphar Strang. When Efraim learned that Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord, with the Kraike Dervas and the Lissolet Maerio, planned to accompany Jochaim and Singhalissa to Port Mar, he decided to join the party. After considerable discussion, Destian and Sthelany also decided to undertake the journey.

  Efraim had been acquainted with Maerio for years, under the formal circumstances imposed upon all visits between kaiarkal households. At first he considered her frivolous and eccentric. She lacked all erudition, she was clumsy with the vials, and she seemed always to be restraining herself from some reckless spontaneity, which caused Singhalissa's eyebrows to twitch and Sthelany to look away in ostensible boredom. These very factors induced Efraim to cultivate Maerio. Gradually he noticed that her company was extraordinarily stimulating, and that she was remarkably pleasant to look at. Forbidden thoughts wandered into hi
s mind; he ejected them from loyalty to Maerio, who would be shocked and horrified!

  The Kaiark Rianlle, Kraike Dervas, and Maerio flew over the mountains to Benbuphar Strang; on the morrow all would journey to Port Mar. Rianlle, Jochaim, Efraim; and Destian gathered in the Grand Parlor for an informal talk; bobbing their heads behind etiquette screens they discreetly took small cups of arrack.

  Rianlle was at his best. Always a remarkable speaker, on this occasion his conversation was brilliant. Like Singhalissa, Rianlle was most erudite; he knew the Fwai-chi signals and all the trails of their "Path through Life"; he knew the Pantechnic Metaphysic; he had collected and studied the insects of Eccord, and had indited three monographs upon the subject. Additionally Rianlle was a notable warrior, with remarkable exploits to his credit. Efraim listened to him with fascination. Rianlle was discussing Dwan Jar, the Whispering Ridge. "It has occurred to me," he told Jochaim, "that here is a site of sublime beauty. One of us should make use of it. Be generous, Jochaim; let me build myself a summer garden with a pavilion on the Dwan Jar. Think how I would rest and muse to the wild whispering sound!"

  Jochaim had smiled. "Impossible! Have you no sense of fitness? My eiodarks would drive me forth for a madman if I agreed to your proposal. Additionally, I am bound by a covenant with the Fwai-chi. Certainly you are making a joke."

  "No joke whatever. Truly I covet that bit, that trifle, that insignificant wisp of land!"

  Jochaim shook his head. "When I am dead, I can no longer oppose; Efraim must then assume that responsibility. While I live, I must deny you your fancy."

  Rianlle said: "It would seem that by the process of dying, you withdraw your opposition. I would not have you dead on that account, however. Let us talk along easier subjects..."

  The group had flown into Port Mar, and as usual taken accommodation at the Royal Rhune Hotel, where the management knew and respected their customs...

  Efraim raised his head from his hands and looked wildly around the table. Taut faces everywhere; eyes fixed upon him; silence: He closed his eyes.

  Recollections came soft and slow now, but with a wonderful luminous clarity. He felt himself leaving the hotel in company with Destian, Sthelany, and Maerio for a stroll through Port Mar, and perhaps a visit to the Fairy Gardens, where Galligade's Puppets provided entertainment.

  They walked down the Street of Brass Boxes and across the bridge into New Town.

  For a few minutes they strolled along the Estrada, peering into the beer gardens where the folk of Port Mar and students from the college drank beer and devoured food in full view of everyone.

  Efraim at last asked direction from a young man emerging from a book shop.

  Seeing the party to be Rhunes, he volunteered serving as their escort to the Fairy Gardens. To everyone's disappointment the entertainment was at an end.

  Their guide introduced himself as Matho Lorcas and insisted upon ordering a bottle of wine, along with suitable etiquette screens. Sthelany raised her eyebrows in a fashion reminiscent of Singhalissa and turned away. Efraim, catching Maerio's eye, sipped the wine, protected by the propriety of the screen. Maerio, greatly daring, did likewise.

  Matho Lorcas seemed a person of buoyant disposition and irrepressible wit; he refused to allow either Sthelany or Destian to sulk. "And how are you enjoying your visit?" he asked.

  "Very much," said Maerio. "But surely there is more excitement than this? We always think of Port Mar as a place of wild abandon."

  "Not quite accurate. Of course this is the respectable part of town. Doesn't it seem so to you?"

  "Our customs are rather different," said Destian frostily.

  "So I understand, but here you are in Port Mar; why not attempt the Port Mar customs?"

  "That logic does not quite follow," murmured Sthelany.

  Lorcas laughed. "Of course not! I wondered if you'd agree. Still - don't you have any inclination to live - well, let us say, normal lives?"

  Efraim asked: "You think we don't live normal lives?"

  "Not from my point of view. You're smothered in convention. You're walking bundles of neuroses."

  "Peculiar," said Maerio, "I feel quite well."

  "I feel well," said Efraim. "You must be mistaken."

  "Aha! Well, possibly. I'd like to visit one of the Realms and see how things go for myself. Do you like the wine? Perhaps you'd prefer punch."

  Destian looked around the table. "I think we'd better return to the hotel.

  Haven't we seen enough of New Town?"

  "Go, if you like," said Efraim. "I'm in no hurry."

  "I'll wait with Efraim," said Maerio.

  Matho Lorcas spoke to Sthelany. "I hope you'll wait too. Will you not?"

  "Why?"

  "I want to explain something which I believe you want to hear."

  Sthelany languidly rose to her feet and without a word moved off. Destian, with a dubious look back at Efraim and Maerio, followed.

  "A pity," said Lorcas. "I found her extremely attractive."

  "Sthelany and Destian are both most stately," said Maerio.

  Lorcas asked with a sly smile, "And what of you? Aren't you stately too?"

  "When ceremony makes demands on me. Sometimes I find Rhune ways rather tiresome.

  If Efraim weren't here I'd try that punch. I'm not ashamed of my inner workings."

  Efraim laughed. "Very well. If you will, I will too. But wait until Destian and Sthelany are out of sight."

  Matho Lorcas ordered rum punch for all. Efraim and Maerio drank first behind the screens, then spluttering with embarrassed laughter, brought the goblets into the open and drank.

  "Bravo!" declared Lorcas soberly. "You have taken a long step on the road to emancipation."

  "It doesn't amount to all that much," said Efraim, "I'll buy another round.

  Lorcas, what about you?"

  "With pleasure. Still, it wouldn't do for the two of you to stagger into the hotel drunk, would it?"

  Maerio clasped her head. "My father would turn purple. Of all the folk alive he is the most rigid."

  "My father would simply look the other way," said Efraim. "He seems rigid, and of course he is, but essentially he is quite reasonable."

  "So, you two are not related?"

  "Not at all."

  "But you're fond of each other?"

  Efraim and Maerio looked sidewise at each other. Efraim laughed uncomfortably.

  "I won't deny it." He looked again at Maerio, whose face was twisting. "Have I offended you?"

  "No."

  "Then why do you look so doleful?"

  "Because we must come to Port Mar to tell each other such things."

  "I suppose it is absurd," said Efraim. "But Port Mar is so much different from Eccord and Scharrode. Here I can touch you, and it is not mirk." He took her hand.

  Matho Lorcas heaved a sigh. "Ah me. I should leave you two alone. Excuse me a moment; for a fact there is someone I wish to see."

  Efraim and Maerio sat together. She leaned her head against his shoulder; he bent down, kissed her forehead. "Efraim! It is not even mirk!"

  "Are you angry?"

  Lorcas appeared beside the table. "Your friend Destian is here."

  Efraim and Maerio drew apart. Destian approached and looked curiously from one to the other. He addressed Maerio. "The Kaiark Rianlle has asked me to conduct you back to the hotel."

  Efraim stared up at Destian, who, so he knew, was not above misrepresenting facts. Maerio, sensing friction, jumped to her feet. "Yes. I'll welcome some rest, and look! with umber and the overcast and the shade from these enormous trees it is almost like mirk!"

  Destian and Maerio departed. With a debonair gesture Lorcas settled into the seat beside Efraim. "And that is the way things go, my friend."

  "I am embarrassed," said Efraim. "What will she think of me?"

  "Get her alone somewhere and find out."

  "That is impossible! Here in Port Mar perhaps we lost our equilibrium. In our realms we could never consider
such display." He rested his chin on his hands and looked gloomily across the restaurant.

  "Come along," said Lorcas. "Let's move down the avenue. I'm due at the Three Lanterns presently; first I'll show you a bit of the town."

  Lorcas took Efraim to a cabaret frequented by students. They listened to music, drank light beer. Efraim explained to Lorcas how life went in the Realms. "A

  place like this by comparison seems a zoo of fecund animals. The Kraike Singhalissa, at least, would adopt this view."

  "And you respect her judgment?"

  "To the contrary; this is the principal reason I am here. I hope to discover benefits and redemptions in what I confess seems sickening behavior. Look at that couple yonder. Sweating, panting, shameless as dogs in rut. At the very least their activity is unhygienic."

  "They are relaxed. Still, yonder other folk sit quite decorously, and none seem offended by the antics of the two reprobates."

  "I am confused," admitted Efraim. "Trillions inhabit Alastor Cluster; not all can be deluded. Perhaps anything and everything is innocent."

  "What you see here is relatively innocent," said Lorcas. "Come, I'll show you places less so. Unless you prefer your illusions, so to speak?"

  "No. I will come with you, as long as I do not have to breathe too much fetid air."

  "When you've seen enough, just say the word." He glanced at his watch. "I have just an hour to spare, then I must go to work at the Three Lanterns."

  The two walked up the Street of Limping Children, then turned along the Avenue of Haune, Lorcas pointing out the more disreputable places of the tower - an expensive bordello, bars frequented by sexual deviates, and a dim establishment, purportedly a tea shop which operated illegal nerve machines in the upper rooms; other sordid places offering even more questionable entertainment.

  Efraim observed all with a stony face. He found himself not so much shocked as detached, as if what he saw were intended as a grotesque stage-setting. At last they reached the Three Lanterns, a rambling old structure from which issued the sound of fiddles with banjos playing merry jigs after the style of the Tinsdale Wayfarers.

  Singhalissa was right, thought Efraim, when she declared music no more than symbolic sebalism - well, perhaps "sebalism" was not quite the right word.