by Amy Thomson
"I thought you were trying to starve yourself to death," he said when he recovered a bit from his surprise.
"I changed my mind. Is that soup?"
"Yes. Yes it is. Here." He carefully ladled soup into a small bowl. "It's hot, be careful."
Teller cradled the bowl in her hands, smelling the soup. She blew on it, and took a small sip. "It's good."
"Thank you," Samad said, blinking back tears. He felt as though his world had been turned upside down, shaken, and then turned right side up again. He sat and watched her drink every drop of the soup in her bowl.
"You should eat, too, Samad," she said. "You're too thin."
Samad smiled. "You're a fine one to talk."
Teller glanced down at the coverlet. "I know." She looked back at him, her face solemn. "Samad, I put you through hell. I'm so sorry."
Samad shrugged. There was a long silence.
"I went out to the Giant's Nose," he said at last. "And I sat and thought about how I'd feel if you died. I knew why you wanted to kill yourself." He was silent again for a long time, then said. "There's an empty place in my head where Abeha used to be. I miss her so much."
Teller nodded, her eyes swimming. "I know," she whispered. "I know." She looked out the window at the gathering twilight. There was nothing more either of them could say.
"Well," she said, breaking the somber silence. "Could you get me a little more soup, Samad?"
He nodded, and the two of them sat in the gathering darkness, eating soup and not talking.
Samad and Florio took turns feeding Teller small meals every couple of hours around the clock for the next two
weeks. Teller recovered quickly. After a week she was able to sit up. By the end of the next week, she could move around the house, first with help, and then by herself. After another week she started making short trips outside. Her gaunt frame began to look less skeletal, and her strength began returning.
When Teller was well along the road to recovery, Florio decided it was time to gather up the scattered threads of his own life. Teller and Samad accompanied Florio as far as the road.
Florio put his hands on Samad's shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze. "Take care of her, and take care of yourself, too."
"Don't worry, I won't let her push me around too much," Samad replied with a mischievous grin.
"Good! Good!" Florio embraced Samad briefly, then turned to Teller.
"Good-bye, aghapitee," Florio said, embracing her. "I'm glad that this wasn't our final farewell."
Teller looked down, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, aghapitos. I was—"
Florio lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. "No. Don't apologize. I understand. You lost the center of your life. Now you're rebuilding it, and that isn't easy. But I wouldn't leave you now if you weren't well on your way." He glanced past her at Samad and smiled. "Good luck, aghapitee. I hope we'll see each other soon." He kissed her forehead tenderly and then gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth.
"You'd better go before I drag you back to the house for some more of that," Teller teased.
"But you taught me to always leave them wanting more, teacher," Florio protested with a teasing grin. He gave her one last quick kiss, settled his pack, and started off.
Teller and Samad stood watching him walk away. Just
before the first bend in the road, Florio turned and waved one last time. Teller waved back, and stood with her arms wrapped around her as Florio's path took him out of sight.
"Well," Teller said, breaking the silence. "Let's head back." Samad held out his arm, and she took it. By the time they were halfway up the hill, she was panting and out of breath.
"Let's rest for a bit," Samad suggested. He helped her into the old graveyard.
"I hate getting tired so easily," Teller grumbled.
"You're getting better," Samad reminded her. "Last week you couldn't have made it half this far."
Teller nodded. "But I feel like an old lady, and I hate that."
"Let's sit down on that log," Samad said. "You can tell me a story. I've missed hearing them."
Teller looked grim. "I've neglected your education," she apologized. She eased herself down onto one of the smooth boulders that served as grave markers and was silent for a while.
"I never told you what happened to the Pilot after she left her family, have I?" Teller said.
Samad shook his head. "I thought that was the end of the Cycle."
"Actually, the official end of the cycle is after she rescues that family over on Sartene Island. That's where the manuscript in the Guild archives ends. No, this is an unofficial story, something that I never tell to an audience. It's not in the archives. You'll know how I know it after I tell you the story, but you can't tell anyone. Do you want to hear it?"
Samad nodded. "Yes, please, sera," he said, slipping easily back into the role of pupil.
"After losing almost all of her family, the Pilot lived with the harsels far out among the Western Isles, living on fish
and old caches of stored food. She listened to the harsels' deep-toned memory songs; letting them fill the empty spaces in her heart. Freed from the weight of human needs, the tide of her grief slowly ebbed. One day, she realized that she had not seen another human being for nearly two years. She pushed the thought away, but it kept returning.
"It was her harsel who finally took matters in hand. They were near an inhabited archipelago, and one night while the Pilot slept, the har sailed into the nearest harbor. The Pilot awoke to find herself and the harsel surrounded by boats at anchor.
" 'As long as we're here, you might as well go in and have a bite to eat at the local taverna,' her harsel suggested innocently.
"The Pilot spluttered angrily at her harsel, who ignored her as placidly as a cat. When the Pilot's angry tirade ran down, the harsel politely pointed out that she did need some new gear, and this was a good chance to get some."
Samad smiled at this. Teller paused and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"They sound like you and Abeha," he said. He looked down and then up again, and Teller could see that he was worried that he had hurt her. "I'm sorry—" he began.
Teller laid a gentle hand on Samad's arm. "Abeha's always in our thoughts these days. We might as well talk about him."
"Him?"
"I know that for the harsels, the honorable dead are all female, but I'm not a harsel," Teller said. "Abeha was male for most of his life, and that's how I remember him."
Samad nodded. "What happened next?"
"Well, the Pilot stormed off angrily into town and returned several days later, looking less tattered and very satisfied. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed fresh bread,
cheese, coffee, and beer. And she'd managed to take several hot baths. Her satchel bulged with produce and cheese. She had also bought new clothes and some sturdy foul-weather gear.
"When the fresh food ran out, she stopped in at another harbor and bought more. Slowly they made their way north again. Half a year passed like that, and then one day she woke to find that they were lying just off Bonifacio Island. As the Pilot saw the familiar silhouette of the island on the horizon, her breath caught in her throat. Should she go back? She had left her daughter alone with a family and a farm to run, leaving no word of where she was going, or why. What kind of welcome would she have if she returned?
" 'There's no way to know without trying,' her harsel told her. 'Go, see for yourself.'
"And so that night the Pilot and her harsel slipped into the sheltered bay near her farm. The Pilot rowed ashore in her little gray rowboat. Moving silently, she approached close enough to see the farmhouse, but not so close as to wake any sleeping dogs. She could see sheep lying in the fold, like gray humps of fluff, and remembered that it was shearing season. The farm looked well-tended and prosperous. Clearly the family had got on well without her. She slipped around the house and through the orchard to the little family graveyard. She sat there and watched while Amphitr
ite rose out of the ocean. It lit the rounded boulders that served as gravestones, and she saw that the names of everyone in the family who had died in the plague were there. She got up and found the boulder with her husband's name on it. Kneeling before it, the Pilot kissed her finger and then ran her fingers over her husband's name. She looked more closely, but her own name was not there.
"A stick snapped, and the Pilot whirled around, ready to flee like a frightened animal.
" 'For nearly three years I've wondered whether I should put your name on that boulder next to his, Mama.'
"'Barbara!'
" 'I've missed you,' the Pilot's daughter said. 'Every night for a year the children asked me where Nonna was.' She came closer, and the Pilot was shocked to see how much her daughter had aged. 'Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore, and I told them to stop asking. Still, I see them wondering where you are, every time they come up here.' The moonlight gleamed off of the tears in her daughter's eyes.
" 'I'm sorry, Barbara. I couldn't stay. The memories were too strong. I was drowning in them.'
" 'Where have you been?'
" "With the harsel. He sends his love.'
"Barbara smiled. 'Give him mine in return.'
" 'Has it been hard?'
"The Pilot's daughter looked away, shrugging, and then smiled fleetingly. 'Of course. But the girls helped, and the neighbors, when they could. The first year or two was hard on everyone, after the plague. One of the young dogs got out one night and chased the sheep into the ocean, where they drowned. We lost half the flock. But we got in a champion merino ram three years ago, and the flock is coming back.'
" 'Have you . . . Have you remarried, or found someone?'
"Barbara shook her head. 'Too busy. And the plague hit the men harder than the women. So there's no one to spare.'
" 'I remember,' the Pilot replied, her eyes hooded. 'I remember.'
" 'The children have grown. Stephano looks more like his father every day.'
" 'He must be nearly grown.'
"Barbara nodded. 'He turned fourteen two months ago.
When the others are all grown, -I'll turn the farm over to him.'
" 'What will you do then?' the Pilot asked.
" 'Travel. I want to see Thalassa before I die. Will Abeha take me?'
Samad jumped as though stung, and opened his mouth to ask a question. Teller held up a hand, and he subsided. He would have to wait and see.
" 'I think so, but you'll have to ask him,' the Pilot said. 'Do you want to travel alone, or would you like to travel with me?'
" 'A little of both, I think,' Barbara said. 'Oh, Mother, it's so good to see you again!'
"They embraced.
" 'How long can you stay?'
" 'Till after the shearing,' the Pilot offered.
" 'We could use the help. The children will be glad to see you.'
"After the shearing, and another quiet month with her family, the Pilot began visiting other islands, other settlements, paying attention to how things were changing. What she saw troubled her deeply. Everywhere the colonists' grandchildren were forgetting their history. They were forgetting their parents' and grandparents' pride in their newly colonized world, and were striving to be as much as possible like the people they saw on the Tri-V programs exported from the Central Worlds.
"The Pilot remembered her years among the harsels. Some of their memory songs were several millennia old, ancient even by the long-lived standards of the harsels. The people of Thalassa were already forgetting themselves and their past. She was watching a generation of Thalassans growing up without any traditions.
"The Pilot pondered the problem as she traveled. Then one night she was caught by a sudden blizzard in the Gavadhos Range, and sheltered in an isolated farmhouse. The farmhouse was filled with a big family. Grandparents, parents, and almost a dozen children of all ages sat around the fire, telling stories about the settling of Thalassa, and ancient stories from Earth, too. She stayed at the farmhouse until the passes were clear, helping with the chores during the day and sharing stories at night.
"She left the farmhouse behind but never forgot her visit there. She kept remembering the storytellers' firelit faces, and the rapt faces of the listening children. That farmhouse was a place where history lived through the stories that the elders told.
"And so the Pilot began traveling all over Thalassa, stopping in farmhouses and inns, asking for stories, and telling them in return. And when her children were grown, Barbara de Benedetti joined her mother, telling stories to remind Thalassans of who they were. Eventually, Barbara de Benedetti formed the Storytellers' Guild. The Pilot traveled everywhere, collecting stories and bringing them back to the Guild House. As the years passed, the Pilot acquired a nickname. People began to call her Teller, after the stories she told."
"But that's your name!" Samad exclaimed. "Did you name yourself after her? Was Abeha the Pilot's harsel?"
Teller nodded. "But, you see, I'm the Pilot. I did all those things in the Pilot Cycle. That's why I tell those stories so well."
Samad looked at her, frightened. "That can't be! The Pilot lived centuries ago. She must have been dead for a long, long time. Nobody lives that long."
Teller shook her head. "That's my daughter Fiorenza's
headstone you're sitting on, Samad. Fiorenza died in the epidemic. I'm sitting on my husband Stephano's headstone." She looked down, smoothing the worn stone with one weathered hand. "All these years, these centuries, and I still miss him." She looked back up at Samad. "I was waiting until our children were married, and then I was going to take him to Hanuman for a rejuve treatment. It was only going to be another year or two." She bowed her head sadly.
"But nobody lives five hundred years, not even with rejuve! And how could you afford such a thing?"
"I was a Jump pilot, Samad," Teller replied. "Back then, pilots were much rarer. They were trying all kinds of crazy things to keep our Talent from burning out. They gave me rejuve. Lots of rejuve. Maybe it worked, because I had a very long career. I was sixty when I was marooned in this system, but my body looked like a twenty-year-old's. I still looked like that when the first colonists arrived. That was why no one recognized me. I don't know why I've lived so much longer than anyone else, Samad. The doctors say that my body has a freak reaction to the stuff. And I've kept it up. Every century or so I go back and get another treatment." She shrugged. "It's worked so far. Despite my best efforts, I've even managed to outlive Abeha," she said with a resigned smile.
"Teller, you've been under such a strain—" Samad soothed. "Let me help you back to the house. I think you need to rest a bit."
"You don't believe me. I know it's hard to accept, but I can prove it. Follow me."
Samad followed Teller up around the shoulder of the hill. It was a steep climb, and Teller paused to rest several times on the way. They passed through the ancient orchard and into a patch of brushy woods. A stone outcrop rose out of
the ground. Teller stopped again to catch her breath. Then she pushed through the brush toward the ridge of stone, swearing as the twigs caught in her clothes and hair.
"Here, let me," Samad offered, and began pushing aside the brush while Teller guided him. Suddenly he saw a dark gap in the yellow stone.
"There!" Teller said excitedly. "In there!" They forced their way past the last few shrubs and stooped under the low brow of rock covering the opening. Inside was a dry, empty chamber, big as a large living room, but bare and empty except for the skeleton of a long-dead nicino and a pile of loose rubble lying along one wall. Samad looked around at the empty cave, feeling worried and confused. Had grief and starvation unhinged Teller's mind?
But Teller was scrabbling at the pile of rubble.
"Help me move these rocks, Samad!" she called.
Samad helped her move aside the loose stones. The corner of a small, gray plasteel switch box appeared. Teller lifted away the last few stones covering the lid.
When t
he box was uncovered, Teller flipped up the lid, revealing a keypad. She tapped in a code, and a green light went on. With a rumble of hidden machinery and the rattle of falling rocks, part of the cave wall slid back, revealing a short passageway and a door sealed by a palm lock. Teller set her hand against the sensor, and the palm lock opened with a heavy clunk. A light came on in the chamber behind the door as Teller opened it.
Teller looked at Samad and smiled. "Welcome to my secret laboratory," she joked.
Samad stepped through the doorway and found himself in a large, high-ceilinged cave. The walls of the cave were lined with shelves filled with books and an amazing array of artifacts. There were odd bits of machinery, tools, mineral
specimens, and preserved plants and animals, some so wholly alien that Samad wasn't sure what they were.
"You like it?" Teller asked.
"I—it's amazing!"
Teller shrugged, but there was a pleased smile on her face. She went over to the shelves and pulled down a large, thick tome. She opened it and paged through it until she found the picture she wanted.
"Here. Look at this."
Samad took the book. The photo was eerily familiar. He'd seen an almost identical picture reprinted in several different books on Thalassan history. There were the same three members of the Founding Families, posed in front of a newly built cabin, but in this picture there was a fourth person. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Samad looked closer, unable to believe his eyes. It was Teller, her face a bit weathered but still youthful. In one hand she held a shovel; in the other she held a fruit tree, its roots wrapped in a burlap ball. The poses of the other three Founders were just different enough from the ones in his history book to convince him that the picture was not a fake.
He paged back through the album and stopped at a picture of Teller, looking considerably less weather-beaten than she had in the Founders' picture. She was sitting on a rock in front of a row of newly planted fruit trees. On a ridge above the new trees sat a small space shuttle, and in the far distance loomed the unmistakable shape of Pilot's Peak, the highest point on Pilot's Island.