by Pearl North
“Arche,” supplied Selene.
“Yes,” said Siblea. “Before she got the idea of forcing poor Rossiter to look upon the words, she read aloud to us. It did not terrify us as much as she’d hoped it would, and that is when she became more inventive. However, what she read was this.” He sang,
Active immunization,
describes the administration,
of all or pa-a-a-rt
of a biologic agent
in
an
effort
to
evoke
a defensive response
in the host.
Gyneth’s eyes widened and he leaned toward Siblea. “Oh! Oh that makes sense!” he said.
Siblea nodded happily, then looked at Haly and Selene. “We’ve always known that the mark of Yammon protected children against certain diseases. And we knew how to make the patches that bear the mark, but we didn’t know why they worked. You see? We know the how, but you know the why. And that is why, even though The Book of the Night is a fake, I think we’ll be well-served to stay here with you and learn to read. At least for now.”
“What? The Book of the Night is a fake?” blurted Gyneth.
Siblea looked at him and nodded. “I’m sorry, Gyneth. We’ve been tricked. The Book of the Night, if it ever existed, is not here.”
Haly and Selene stared at each other and then at Siblea. Maybe he was bluffing. Haly said, “But I recited—”
Siblea laughed, not unkindly. “You made it up. You did quite a credible job, too, for the most part, but you said that the Ancients were held in the temple. They were not. The temple had not been built at that time. Frankly, I’m surprised Orrin didn’t catch it, but then I think he was rather focused on learning how to make Eggs. At any rate, he is dead now and I, the highest-ranking official left alive, must choose the course for my nation.
“Holy One, you once told me that you would teach every member of the devout chorus to read, and call that the Redemption. I think we need a miracle now, don’t you?”
They were all silent. Haly stared at Siblea, who regarded her with a happy smile. This is what she had worked for since the moment Anne spoke to her from the iron box. But something about the self-satisfied curve at the corners of Siblea’s mouth made her queasy. There were so many more of them than there were Libyrarians. What was to stop them from doing everything their way and totally subsuming the Libyrarians?
“Now,” said Siblea, clapping his hands and standing up, “is there a song for learning how to read?”
A-B-C-D-E-F-G, H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P, Q-R-S, T-U-V, W-X, Y and Z. Now I know my A-B-Cs, all the books are mine to read.”
Haly stood in the archway to the seventh tower and watched as Siblea led the imprisoned Singers in a new song. He stood outside the cage in the Great Hall, singing with great force and waving his arms energetically in patterns that probably meant something to them. He had a big grin on his face.
“He inspired uneasiness,” said a book.
The other Singers sang along with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some lifted their voices in rapture, jubilant that the Redemption was nigh; others, like Baris, mouthed the words while staring around with wide, fearful eyes, as if expecting the wrath of Yammon to come crashing down upon them at any moment.
Siblea abruptly dropped his arms and the singing stopped. In an eyeblink his expression had turned from energetic delight to menacing wrath. He stepped forward quickly and reached through the bars of the cage, wrapping his fingers into the collar of Baris’s robes. He pulled the hapless boy against the bars of the cage. “Do not think you can fool me by simply mouthing the words. I can hear that you are not singing.” Still keeping a firm grip on Baris, Siblea looked among the others, picking out several more who had appeared unenthusiastic and pinning each of them with a glare that made Haly shiver. “As I can hear all of you who are not singing.” He released Baris at last and the boy fell back against two of his fellows, gasping. “You will all learn this song, and you will all learn to read. Because it is the will of Yammon!”
And of Censor Siblea, thought Haly, finding herself grateful that he had never felt the need to go beyond unspoken threats in his interrogation of her.
“Now, again from the beginning.” Siblea stepped back, lifted his arms, and began to sing. “A-B-C-D-E-F-G . . .”
A few feet away, Gyneth knelt beside a bedsheet that had been laid out upon the floor. He dipped the feather end of a quill into the pot of ink at his side and painted an S on the fabric. As she approached he looked over his shoulder. When he spotted her, he broke out in a grin and sat back on his haunches. “Holy One! Look!”
Haly returned his smile and quickened her steps, wondering as she did if his evident pleasure at the sight of her was no more than religious zeal. She pushed the thought aside and surveyed Gyneth’s handiwork. He had written the letters of the alphabet out large, in a painstaking and rather jagged hand. But it was readable.
“I thought we could hang it from the shelves,” he said. “If they can see the letters while they sing the song, they will learn quickly.”
Haly nodded. “It’s a great idea.”
Siblea smiled happily and looked as if he was about to say something else, but someone called to her from the part of the hall where the wounded were being cared for. She glanced over and saw Rossiter, standing beside the Singer wounded, on the side closest to the Libyrarian wounded. He looked down at Palla, the crèche nurse, who had been shot in the leg. It was a flesh wound, but she was not recovering. She had a high fever and was weakening rapidly.
Haly started toward him. The dead had been removed to the top of the sixth tower to await cremation. And the Singer soldier whose leg was broken was sitting up now, his leg in a splint. Among the Libyrarian wounded, many were up and helping Libyrarian Burke with the others. Those who had not recovered were, however, in grave condition. As Haly reached him, he looked over at Burke, biting his lip. “Holy One,” he said, “I have something that might help these people.” He took a pouch from around his neck and opened it. Inside were small, oval, shiny objects. Haly stared at them. “Are . . . are those pills?” she asked. She’d heard descriptions of pills, but she’d never seen any before now.
He nodded. “The song for making them comes directly from the Ancients themselves and is one of the most prized of the medical chorus. They’re a broad-spectrum antibiotic. With just one dose they destroy infections of all kinds. Those of your people who have not either recovered or died from their wounds are suffering from infection. This could save them.”
Haly nodded. She turned and called Burke over. “Rossiter, tell her what you just told me.”
When he finished, Burke pursed her lips. “I don’t know,” she said, staring warily at Rossiter. “It could be a trick.”
“ ‘Don’t trust that dingblasted old Cat neither,’ ” said a book.
“Libyrarian Burke . . .” Before Haly went on she pulled Burke and Rossiter with her some distance from the wounded. “What would be the purpose of poisoning them? They’re already dying.”
She shrugged. “How should I know the purpose of anything these people do?” She hesitated, then looked closer at the pills in Rossiter’s hand. “Let me see one.”
Rossiter handed her a pill and she scrutinized it. “The books tell of such medicines,” she admitted. She looked back at the Libyrinth wounded and was silent a moment. At last she nodded. “All right,” she said. “But I will administer the pills.”
As she watched Burke giving out the medication, Haly remembered she’d meant to see about getting the imprisoned Singers something to eat. She turned toward the kitchen, but on her way there she ran into Selene. “I’ve just been talking with Peliac and Griome. They’re not happy, and for that matter neither am I, but we all agree this is the best chance for the books to survive.”
Haly nodded. “Look what Gyneth is doing,” she said, dragging Selene over to where Gyneth was just finishing the Z. He looked up, smiled at
her, and gave Selene a strained, polite nod.
Selene opened her mouth to speak but her reply was cut off when Jan came running headlong from the second tower as if the Lion itself were after him. “Haly! Selene! You know that big horn thing they have out there? It’s moving!”
Haly, Selene, and Gyneth exchanged glances. As one they ran to Selene’s chamber. They went to the window and looked out upon the multitude of the Righteous Chorus. What Haly saw sent a shudder through her. No. Oh, no.
“The true parasites of Pern were Threads,” said a book, one Haly knew, but there were no dragons here to save them.
The sun was setting, but the horn was clearly visible, a black disk rising up out of the mass of people outside like a new and terrible dawn. Tiny figures swarmed over the lowest curve of the spiraling horn as it gradually turned to face the Libyrinth. “It’s too late,” she whispered. All their work, all the difficult, miraculous work they had all done over the past day was wasted. “They’re going to use it,” she said.
The Libyrinth
Haly strained for the first vibrations of the horn’s sound wave. Gyneth and Selene stood on either side of her and she took their hands, gripping them tightly as she waited for the antlike, crawling sensations to creep over them.
“It hushed the eloquent, struck down the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good,” said a book.
Someone pounded at the door. “Princess Selene, you must come at once. We have a . . . situation,” shouted a voice.
Selene spun from the window and opened the door. Haly turned to see Vorain, the woman who had worn the red kerchief, now dressed in the uniform of the Ilysian army. Her cheeks flushed vividly and she sweated a little. “I’ve never seen the likes of it, Selene,” she said. “A little red man!”
“Nod!” shouted Haly, and her heart lifted with hope. If he’s managed to steal the Egg from the horn . . . Dragging Gyneth by the hand, she shouldered past Selene and the soldier and ran down the stairs, following the sounds of commotion to the Great Hall.
“The most frightening thing was probably the tenacity of his continued existence against all the physical odds,” said a book as Haly arrived in the Great Hall.
The ring of Ilysian guards around the prisoners shouted and brandished their weapons toward the top of the palanquin while the Singers inside wailed with terror, and above it all shrieked Nod, squatting atop the peak of the roof with a bundle of black cloth clutched to his chest. Haly couldn’t be sure, but she thought the bundle glowed ever so slightly. Gyneth opened his mouth as if he would say something, but couldn’t seem to find the right words.
“Everyone calm down!” shouted Siblea, an edge of hysteria to his own voice.
The Singer wounded, those well enough to move, were huddled together behind Rossiter, who stared wild-eyed at the imp. Meanwhile, Libyrarian Burke, her attendants, and those Libyrinth wounded who were well enough to sit up and look around were watching with amazement. As Haly looked on, Burke approached Rossiter, put a hand to his sleeve, and said something to him.
Selene skidded to a halt beside Haly. “It’s Nod,” she said.
Haly nodded and turned to her, grinning. “I think he’s got the Egg from the horn.”
Selene’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“No, but on the way here I tried to get him to steal it. And just now, they tried to use the horn and nothing happened.”
Just then a shot was fired and they both turned in horror to the palanquin. Fortunately the nervous soldier had missed both Nod and his mysterious bundle. Nod screeched in further indignation and spat at her. “Selene, would you tell your women to stand down, please?” asked Haly.
Selene nodded. “Everyone lower your weapons, there is nothing to fear,” she said, striding forward. The women looked uncertain, but they brought their rifles to their sides and backed off a trifle, allowing Haly to pass between them.
Haly approached the palanquin, tilted her head back, and lifted her hands to the edge of its roof. “She says Nod is the hero of the Libyrinth. She says come to her now. There is still more to his story.”
Everyone waited in silence as Nod, still clutching his bundle, crawled to the edge of the palanquin and peered at her. “Story?” he said.
She smiled and nodded. “Nod’s story. Best story. Come now.”
The imp permitted her to wrap her hands around his ribs and lift him down. She held him close, cradled against her chest much as he cradled the bundle. “Thank you, Nod.”
“What is that thing?” said Siblea, more unnerved than Haly had ever seen him. “It crawled through one of the skylights above”—he pointed up at the dome—“and then it dropped. It landed on top of the palanquin, unharmed. How did it do that? And why does it have your Redemption hood?”
Haly ran her finger along a ribbon of gold that was sewn into the cloth Nod held. So that was what had happened to her hood. Gently, making no attempt to remove the object beneath from Nod’s grasp, she pushed the fabric aside to reveal an Egg. Glowing amber and traced with copper veins, it shone forth in all its glory and everyone, including Siblea, gasped. Haly grinned.
“This,” she said, nodding at the little red man in her arms, “is Nod, my traveling companion.”
“Your traveling companion?” Siblea glanced at Gyneth and narrowed his eyes in speculation. Gyneth swallowed.
“Yes,” said Haly. “And he stole this Egg from the Horn of Yammon and saved us all. They were about to use it to bring the Libyrinth down around us all, but it is powerless now. Now we have time to prepare for the true Redemption.”
Nod tugged at her hair. She looked down at him. “Nod give Libyrinth her heart back now?”
“Yes,” said Haly. “She says, ‘Does Nod know where the Libyrinth’s heart goes?’ ”
He nodded his head vigorously and squirmed. “She must put Nod down!”
Haly set him on the floor and he raced with the Egg across the Great Hall to the console. The hood, no longer needed, fell to the floor and was left behind.
Haly ran after Nod and found him inside the curved wooden counter, splaying his hands upon the seal on the floor. The Egg rested at his side.
In the center of the floor inside the console was a round seal of brass, engraved with the seven guardians. “Must open,” said Nod.
Haly remembered the vault and the constellations on the rim of the hatch and the simple scale she and Clauda and Selene had sung to open it. Here, they had a voice for every Tale. More than one. And they might need them, because the vault had an Egg and was fully functional. The Libyrinth had not had an Egg in all the centuries that its people had lived there. This might not work at all, Haly thought.
But if they were going to perform a Redemption for those waiting outside, then singing would need to be part of it. And if the Singers were going to learn to read, hadn’t the Libyrarians better learn to sing, just in order to keep up? “All life is a form of cooperation, an expression of feedback arising out of the flux of chaos,” said a book.
Haly turned to face all of those who now gathered expectantly around the console. “It’s time for voice practice,” she told them.
She had expected resistance, but the possibility that singing might allow the Libyrinth to at last have its Egg had the whole population of the Libyrinth sorting itself into Tales almost before Haly had finished telling them what to do. Now standing on top of the console to make herself heard, she watched in amazement as each group assembled itself behind its respective guardian in a wedge. Peliac stood at the head of the Mice, Micah the Goats, Arche the Lions, Burke the Fish, Talian the Cows, Noil the Dogs, and Selene herself motioned to Haly to jump down and take the place before her, at the head of the Flies.
It was no easy task to get this many people in key at the same time, and in the end Siblea—perhaps in self-defense—pushed through the crowd and began to direct them, Tale by Tale.
At last, some hours later, they were ready to sing. As their voices filled the Great Hall, Haly, standing before
the gap in the console, stared at the seal in the floor. Nothing happened.
“Louder,” cried Siblea. “Sing louder!”
They did. Their voices doubled in volume. It was not the most beautiful chorus, but it was amazingly good considering how bad they had been when they’d begun. They drew their breath deep and belted forth their notes with all the power they could muster. Sparks appeared, faintly, around the edge of the seal. Haly and Siblea both nodded and waved their arms in encouragement and somehow, the Libyrarians sang even stronger. Haly’s ears rang with the sound. It thrummed in her bones. Nod rolled the Egg into the center of the seal and suddenly the figures of the guardians came alive with light. It was different than it had been at the vault; this was smaller and less showy, and instead of erupting with intertwining lines, the animals themselves flowed and moved with light, and chased one another around and around in a circle. The seal began to open, and Nod barely caught the Egg before it fell through the hole. He danced around the widening circle with it in the same direction in which the animals ran, until there was no place left for him to stand and he had to leap outside the circle.
The light went out. Silence rang in Haly’s ears in the wake of the sound they had made, and she found herself overwhelmed with pride for her people and what they had just done. No, it was not like the Song, or even like any song, but it was their sound, and a good one.
Beneath the seal was a round tunnel leading straight down. A narrow metal staircase clung to the walls of the tunnel and spiraled down into the darkness. Nod, still holding the Egg, began to climb down the steps, and Haly stepped past the console and followed. Behind her she heard a scuffle as several people tried to access the steps at once.
“No,” said Selene, “we can’t all get down there.”
“And let’s not waste more time arguing over who goes,” Peliac amazed Haly by saying. “Besides,” she noted, “it could be dangerous. We’ve lost enough people already.”