by Vernor Vinge
Then the full weight of the depths was upon him, and he knew no more.
There was more pounding on the door. She heard Pilgrim walk to the hatch. A crack of light shone in. Ravna heard Jefri’s piping voice: “The sun is back! The sun is back!… Hei, why is it so dark in here?”
Pilgrim: “The artifact—the thing Pham was helping—its light went out.”
“Geez, you mean you left off the main lights?” The hatch slid all the way open, and the boy’s head, along with several puppies’, was sihlouetted against the torchlight beyond. He scrambled over the lip of the hatch. The girl was right behind him. “The control is right over here … see?”
And soft white light shone on the curving walls. All was ordinary and human, except… Jefri stood very still, his eyes wide, his hand over his mouth. He turned to hold onto his sister. “What is it? What is it?” his voice said from the opened hatch.
Now Ravna wished she could not see. She dropped back to her knees. “Pham?” she said softly, knowing there would be no answer. What was left of Pham Nuwen lay amid the Countermeasure. The artifact didn’t glow any more. Its tortuous boundaries were blunted and dark. More than anything it looked like rotted wood … but wood that embraced and impaled the man who lay with it. There was no blood, and no charring. Where the artifact had pierced Pham there was an ashy stain, and the flesh and the thing seemed to merge.
Pilgrim was close around her, his noses almost touching the still form. The bitter smell still hung in the air. It was the smell of death, but not the simple rotting of flesh; what had died here was flesh and something else.
She glanced at her wrist. The display had simplified to a few alphanumeric lines. No ultradrives could be detected. OOB status showed problems with attitude control. They were deep in the Slow Zone, out of reach of all help, out of reach of the Blight’s fleet. She looked into Pham’s face. “You did it, Pham. You really did it,” she said the words softly, to herself.
The arches and loops of Countermeasure were a fragile, brittle thing now. The body of Pham Nuwen was part of that. How could they break those arches without breaking…? Pilgrim and Johanna gently urged Ravna out of the cargo hold. She didn’t remember much of the next few minutes, of them bringing out the body. Blueshell and Pham, both gone beyond all retrieval.
They left her after a while. There was no lack of compassion, but disaster and strangeness and emergency were in too abundant a supply. There were the wounded. There was the possibility of counterattack. There was great confusion, and a desperate need for order. It made scarcely any impression on her. She was at the end of her long desperate run, at the end of all her energy.
Ravna must have sat by the ramp for much of the afternoon, so deep in loss as not to think, scarcely aware of the sea song that Greenstalk shared with her through the dataset. Eventually she realized she was not alone. Besides Greenstalk’s comfort … sometime earlier, the little boy had returned. He sat beside her, and around them all the puppies, all silent.
EPILOGS
Peace had come to what had once been Flenser’s Domain. At least there was no sign of belligerent forces. Whoever had pulled them back had done it very cleverly. As the days passed, local peasantry showed themselves. Where the people weren’t simply dazed, they seemed glad to be rid of the old regime. Life picked up in the farmlands, peasants doing their best to recover from the worst fire season of recent memory, compounded by the most fighting the region had ever known.
The Queen had sent messengers south to report on the victory, but she seemed in no rush to return to her city. Her troops helped with some of the farm work, and did their best not to be a burden on the locals. But they also scouted through the castle on Starship Hill, and the huge old castle on Hidden Island. Down there were all the horrors that had been whispered about over the years. But still there was no sign of the forces that had escaped. The locals were eager with their own stories, and most were ominously credible: That before Flenser had undertaken his attempt upon the Republic, he had created redoubts further north. There had been reserves there—though some thought that Steel had long since used them. Peasants from the northern valley had seen the Flenserist troops retreating. Some said they had seen Flenser himself—or at least a pack wearing the colors of a lord. Even the locals did not believe all the stories, the ones about Flenser being here and there, singletons separated by kilometers, coordinating the pull out.
Ravna and the Queen had reason to believe the story, but not the foolhardiness to check it out. Woodcarver’s expeditionary force was not a large one, and the forests and valleys stretched on for more than one hundred kilometers to where the Icefangs curved west to meet the sea. That territory was unknown to Woodcarver. If Flenser had been preparing it for decades—as was that pack’s normal method of operation—there would be deadly surprises, even for a large army hunting just a few dozens of partisans. Let Flenser be, and hope that his redoubts had been gutted by Lord Steel.
Woodcarver worried that this would be the great peril of the next century.
But things were resolved much sooner than that. It was Flenser who sought them out, and not with a counterattack: About twenty days after the battle, at the end of a day when the sun dipped just behind the northern hills, there was the sound of signal horns. Ravna and Johanna were wakened and shortly found themselves on the castle’s parapet, peering into something like a sunset, all orange and gold sihlouetting the hills beyond the northern fjord. Woodcarver’s aides were gazing from many eyes at the ridgeline. A few had telescopes.
Ravna shared her binocs with Johanna. “Someone’s up there.” Stark against the sky glow, a pack carried a long banner with separate poles for each member.
Woodcarver was using two telescopes, probably more effective than Ravna’s gear, considering the pack’s eye separation. “Yes, I see it. That’s a truce flag, by the way. And I think I know who’s carrying it.” She yammered something at Peregrine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to that one.”
Johanna was still looking through the binoculars. finally she said, “He … made Steel, didn’t he?”
“Yes, dear.”
The girl lowered the binocs. “I … think I’ll pass up meeting him.” Her voice was distant.
They met on the hillside north of the castle just eight hours later. Woodcarver’s troops had spent the intervening time scouting the valley. It was only partly a matter of protecting against treachery from the other side: one very special pack of the enemy would be coming, and there were plenty of locals who would like that one dead.
Woodcarver walked to where the hill fell off in supersteepness toward forest. Ravna and Pilgrim followed behind her at a Tinishly close ten meters. Woodcarver wasn’t saying much about this meeting, but Pilgrim had turned out to be a very talkative sort. “This is just the way I came originally, a year ago when the first ship landed. You can see how some of the trees were burned by the torch. Good thing it wasn’t as dry that summer as this.”
The forest was dense, but they were looking down over the treetops. Even in the dryness, there was a sweet, resinous smell in the air. To their left was a tiny waterfall and a path that led to the valley floor—the path their truce visitor had agreed to take. Farmland, Peregrine called the valley bottom. It was undisciplined chaos to Ravna’s eyes. The Tines grew different crops together in the same fields, and she saw no fences, not even to hold back livestock. Here and there were wooden lodges with steep roofs and outward curving walls; what you might expect in a region with snowy winters.
“Quite a mob down there,” said Pilgrim.
It didn’t look crowded to her: little clumps, each a pack, each well-separated from the others. They clustered around the lodge buildings. More were scattered across the fields. Woodcarver packs were stationed along the little road that crossed the valley.
She felt Pilgrim tense next to her. A head extended past her waist, pointing. “That must be him. All alone, as promised. And—” part of him was looking through a telescope, �
�now that’s a surprise.”
A single pack trekked slowly down the road, past Woodcarver’s guards. It was pulling a small cart—containing one of its own members, apparently. A cripple?
The peasants in the fields drifted toward the edge of the field, paralleling the lone pack’s course. She heard the gobble of Tinish talk. When they wanted to be loud, they could be very, very loud. The troopers moved to chase back any local who got too close to the road.
“I thought they were grateful to us?” This was the closest thing to violence she had seen since the battle of Starship Hill.
“They are. Most of those are shouting death to Flenser.”
Flenser, Skinner, the pack who had rescued Jefri Olsndot. “They can hate one pack so much?”
“Love and hate and fear, all together. More than a century they’ve been under his knife. And now he is here, half-crippled, and without his troops. Yet they are still afraid. There are enough cotters down there to overwhelm our guard, but they’re not pushing hard. This was Flenser’s Domain, and he treated it like a good farmer might treat his yard. Worse, he treated the people and the land like some grand experiment. From reading Dataset, I see he is a monster ahead of his time. There are some out there who might still kill for the Master, and no one is sure who they are…” He paused a second, just watching.
“And you know the greatest reason for fear? That he would come here alone, so far from any help we can conceive.”
So. Ravna shifted Pham’s pistol forward on her belt. It was a bulky, blatant thing … and she was glad to have it. She glanced westward towards Hidden Island. OOB was safely grounded against the battlements of the castle there. Unless Greenstalk could do some basic reprogramming, it would not fly again. And Greenstalk was not optimistic. But she and Ravna had mounted the beam gun in one of its cargo bays, and that remote was dead simple. Flenser might have his surprises, but so did Ravna.
The fivesome disappeared beneath the steepness.
“It will be a while yet,” said Pilgrim. One of his pups stood on his shoulders and leaned against Ravna’s arm. She grinned: her private information feed. She picked it up and placed it on her shoulder. The rest of Peregrine sat his rumps on the ground and watched expectantly.
Ravna looked at the others of the Queen’s party. Woodcarver had posted crossbow packs to her right and left. Flenser would sit directly before her and a little downslope. Ravna thought she could see nervousness in Woodcarver. The members kept licking their lips, the narrow pink tongues slipping in and out with snake-like quickness. The Queen had arranged herself as if for a group portrait, the taller members behind and the two little ones sitting erect in front. Most of her gaze seem focused on the break in the verge, where the path from below reached the terrace they sat upon.
Finally she heard the scritching of claws on stone. One head appeared over the drop off, and then more. Flenser walked out onto the moss, two of his members pulling the wheeled cart. The one in the cart sat erect, its hindquarters covered by a blanket. Except for its white-tipped ears, it seemed unremarkable.
The pack’s heads peered in every direction. One stayed disconcertingly focused on Ravna as the pack proceeded up the slope toward the Queen. Skinner—Flenser—was the one who had worn the radio cloaks. None were worn now. Through gaps in the jackets Ravna could see scabby splotches, where the fur had been rubbed away.
“Mangy fellow, isn’t he?” came the little voice in Ravna’s ear. “But cool too. Catch his insolent look.” The Queen hadn’t moved. She seemed frozen, every member staring at the oncoming pack. Some of her noses were trembling.
Four of Flenser tipped the cart forward, helping the white-tipped one slide to the ground. Now Ravna could see that under the blanket, its hindquarters were unnaturally twisted and still. The five settled themselves rumps together. Their necks arched up and out, almost like the limbs of a single creature. The pack gobbled something that sounded to Ravna like strangling songbirds.
Pilgrim’s translation came immediately from the puppy on Ravna’s shoulder. The pup spoke in a new voice, a traditional villain voice from children’s stories, a dry and sardonic voice. “Greetings … Parent. It has been many years.”
Woodcarver said nothing for a moment. Then she gobbled something back, and Pilgrim translated: “You recognize me?”
One of Flenser’s heads jabbed out toward Woodcarver. “Not the members of course, but your soul is obvious.”
Again, silence from the Queen. Peregine, annotating: “My poor Woodcarver. I never thought she would be this flummoxed.” Abruptly he spoke loud, addressing Flenser in Samnorsk. “Well, you are not so obvious to me, O former traveling companion. I remember you as Tyrathect, the timid teacher from the Long Lakes.”
Several the heads turned toward Peregrine and Ravna. The creature replied in pretty good Samnorsk, but with a childish voice. “Greetings, Peregrine. And greetings, Ravna Bergsndot? Yes. Flenser Tyrathect I am.” The heads angled downwards, eyes blinking slowly.
“Sly bugger,” Peregrine muttered.
“Is Amdijefri safe?” the Flenser suddenly asked.
“What?” said Ravna, not recognizing the name at first. Then, “Yes, they are fine.”
“Good.” Now all the heads turned back to the Queen, and the creature continued in Pack talk; “Like a dutiful creation, I have come to make peace with my Parent, dear Woodcarver.”
“Does he really talk like that?” Ravna hissed at the puppy on her shoulder.
“Hei, would I exaggerate?”
Woodcarver gobbled back, and Pilgrim picked up the translation, now in the Queen’s human voice: “Peace. I doubt it, Flenser. More likely you want breathing space to build again, to try to kill us all again.”
“I wish to build again, that is true. But I have changed. The ‘timid teacher’ has made me a little … softer. Something you could never do, Parent.”
“What?” Pilgrim managed to inject a tone of injured surprise into the word.
“Woodcarver, have you never thought on it? You are the most brilliant pack to live in this part of the world, perhaps the most brilliant of all time. And the packs you made, they are mostly brilliant, too. But have you not wondered on the most successful of them? You created too brilliantly. You ignored inbreeding and [things that I can’t translate easily], and you got … me. With all the … quirks that have so pained you over the last century.”
“I-I have thought on that mistake, and done better since.”
“Yes, as with Vendacious? [Oh, look at my Queen’s faces. He really hurt her there.] Never mind, never mind. Vendacious may well have been a different sort of error. The point is, you made me. Before, I thought that your greatest act of genius. Now … I’m not so sure. I want to make amends. Live in peace.” One of the heads jabbed at Ravna, another at the OOB down by Hidden Island. “And there are other things in the universe to point our genius at.”
“I hear the arrogance of old. Why should I trust you now?”
“I helped to save the children. I saved the ship.”
“And you were always the world’s greatest opportunist.”
Flenser’s flanking heads shifted back. “[That’s a kind of dismissing shrug.] You have the advantage, Parent, but some of my power is left in the north. Make peace, or you will have more decades of maneuvering and war.”
Woodcarver’s response was a piercing shriek. “[And that’s a sign of irritation, in case you didn’t guess.] Impudence! I can kill you here and now, and have a century of certain peace.”
“I’ve bet that you won’t harm me. You gave me safe passage, separately and in the whole. And one of the strongest things in your soul is your hate for lies.”
The back members of Woodcarver’s pack hunkered down, and the little ones at the front took several quick steps toward the Flenser. “It’s been many decades since we last met, Flenser! If you can change, might not I?”
For an instant every one of Flenser’s members was frozen. Then part of him came slowly to its feet, an
d slowly, slowly edged toward Woodcarver. The crossbow packs on either side of the meeting ground raised their weapons, tracking him. Flenser stopped six or seven meters from Woodcarver. His heads weaved from side to side, all attention on the Queen. Finally, a wondering voice, almost abashed: “Yes, you might. Woodcarver, after all the centuries … you’ve given up yourself? These new ones are…”
“Not all mine. Quite right.” For some reason, Pilgrim was chuckling in Ravna’s ear.
“Oh. Well…” The Flenser backed to its previous position, “I still want peace.”
“[Woodcarver looks surprised.] You sound changed, too. How many of you are really of Flenser?”
A long pause. “Two.”
“…Very well. Depending on the terms, there will be peace.”
Maps were brought out. Woodcarver demanded the location of Flenser’s main troops. She wanted them disarmed, with two or three of her packs assigned to each unit, reporting by heliograph. Flenser would give up the radio cloaks, and submit to observation. Hidden Island and Starship Hill would be ceded to Woodcarver. The two sketched new borders, and wrangled on the oversight the Queen would have in his remaining lands.
The sun reached its noon point in the southern sky. In the fields below, the peasants had long since given up their angry vigil. The only tensely watchful people left were the Queen’s crossbow packs.
Finally Flenser stepped back from his end of the maps. “Yes, yes, your folk can watch all my work. No more … ghastly experiments. I will be a gentle gatherer of knowledge [is this sarcasm?], like yourself.”
Woodcarver’s heads bobbed in rippling synchrony. “Perhaps so; with the Two-Legs on my side, I’m willing to chance it.”
Flenser rose again from his seated posture. He turned to help his crippled member back on the cart. Then he paused. “Ah, one last thing, dear Woodcarver. A detail. I killed two of Steel when he tried to destroy Jefri’s starship. [Squashed them like bugs, actually. Now we know how Flenser hurt himself.] Do you have the rest of him?”