Helliconia Winter

by neetha Napew

  Luterin moved away. He leaned against a wall, struggling with his feelings. "Oh, Beholder..." he groaned.

  "I expect you find the crowds overpowering after your solitude," someone who passed by said pleasantly.

  His whole inner life was undergoing revolution. Things had not been, he had not been, as he had pretended to himself. Even his gallantry on the field of battle - had that not been powered by ancient angers released, rather than by courage? Were all battles releases from frustration, rather than deeds of deliberate violence? He saw he knew nothing. Nothing. He had clung to innocence, fearing knowledge.

  Now he remembered that he had experienced the actual moment when his brother died. He and Favin had been close. He had felt the psychic shock of Favin's death one evening: yet his father had announced the death as occurring on the following day. That tiny discrepancy had lodged in his young consciousness, poisoning it. Eventually - he could foresee - joy could come that he was delivered from that poison. But delivery was not yet.

  His limbs trembled.

  In the turmoil of his thoughts, he had almost forgotten Insil. He feared for her in her strange mood. Now he hurried towards the corridor she had indicated - reluctant though he was to hear more from her.

  His way was barred by bedizened dignitaries, who spoke to him and to each other roundly of the solemnity of this occasion, and of how much more appalling conditions would be henceforth. As they talked, they devoured little meat-filled pastries in the shape of birds. It occurred to Luterin that he neither knew nor cared about the ceremony in which he had become involved.

  Their conversation paused as all eyes focussed on the other side of the chamber.

  Ebstok Esikananzi and Asperamanka were leaving by a spiral stair which wound to an upper gallery.

  Luterin took the opportunity to slip into the corridor. Insil joined him in a minute, her narrow body leaning forward in the haste of her walk. She held her skirt up from the floor in one pale hand, her jewellery glittering like frost.

  "I must be brief," she said, without introduction. "They watch me continually, except when they are in drink, or holding their ridiculous ceremonies - as now. Who cares if the world is plunged into darkness? Listen, when we are free to leave here, you must proceed to the fish seller in the village. It stands at the far end of Sanctity Street. Understand? Tell no one. 'Chastity's for women, secrecy's for men,' as they say'. Be secret."

  "What then, Insil?" Again he was asking her questions.

  "My dear father and my dear husband plan to kick you out. They will not kill you, as I understand - that might look bad for them, and that much they owe you for your timely disposal of the Oligarch. Simply evade them after the ceremony and go down Sanctity Street."

  He stared impatiently into her hypnotic eyes.

  "And this secret meeting - what is it about?"

  "I am playing the role of messenger, Luterin. You still remember the name of Toress Lahl, I suppose?"

  XVII

  SUNSET

  Trockern and Ermine were asleep. Shoyshal had gone somewhere. The geonaut they preceded had come to a halt, and stood gently breathing out its little white hexagonal offspring.

  Sartorilrvrash woke and stretched, yawning as he did so. He sat up on his bunk and scratched his white head. It was his habit to sleep for the second half of the day, waking at midnight, thinking through the dark hours, when his spirit could commune with the travelling Earth, and teaching from dawn onwards. He was Trockern's teacher. He had named himself after a dangerous old sage who once lived on Helliconia, whose gossie he had met empathically.

  After a while, he heaved himself up and went outside. He stood for a long while looking at the stars, enjoying the feel of the night. Then he padded back into the room and roused Trockern.

  "I'm asleep," Trockern said.

  "I could hardly waken you if you weren't."

  "Zzzz."

  "You stole something of mine, Trockern. You stole my explanation of why things went awry on Earth, in order to impress your ladies."

  "As you see, I impressed fifty percent of them." Trockern indicated the peacefully sleeping Ermine, whose lips were pursed as if she was awaiting the chance to kiss someone in her midsummer dream.

  "Unfortunately you got my argument wrong. That possessiveness which was once such a feature of mankind was not a product of fear, as you claimed - although I believe you called it 'perpetual unease.' It was a product of innate aggressiveness. The old races did not fear enough: otherwise they would never have built the weapons they knew would destroy them. Aggression was at the root of it all."

  "Isn't aggression born of fear?"

  "Don't get sophisticated before you can walk. If you take Helliconia as an example, you can see how every generation ritualises its aggression and its killing. The earlier terrestrial generations you were talking about did not seek to possess only territory and one another, as you were claiming."

  "In truth, Sartorilrvrash, you cannot have slept well this afternoon."

  "In truth I sleep, as I wake in truth." He put an arm about the younger man's shoulders. "The argument can be taken to greater heights. Those ancient people sought to possess the Earth also, to enslave it under concrete. Nor did their ambitions die there. Their politicians strove to make space their dominion; while the ordinary people created fantasies wherein they invaded the galaxy and ruled the universe. That was aggression, not fear."

  "You could be right."

  "Don't abandon your point of view so easily. If I could be right I could be wrong. We ought to know the truth about our forebears who, wicked though they were, have given us our chance on the scene."

  Trockern climbed from his bunk. Ermine sighed and turned over, still sleeping.

  "It's warm - let's take a stroll outside," said Sartorilrvrash.

  As they went out into the night, with the star field above them, Trockern said, "Do you think we improve ourselves, master, by rethinking?"

  "We shall always be as we are, biologically speaking, but we can improve our social infrastructures, with any luck. I mean by that the sort of work our extitutions are working on now - a revolutionary new integration of the major theorems of physical science with the sciences of mankind, society, and existence. Of course, our main function as biological beings is as part of the biosphere, and we are most useful in that role if we remain unaltered; only if the biosphere in some way altered again could our role change."

  "But the biosphere is altering all the time. Summer is different from winter, even here so close to the tropics."

  Sartorilrvrash was looking towards the horizon, and said, rather absently, "Summer and winter are functions of a stable biosphere, of Gaia breathing in and out in her stride. Humanity has to operate within the limits of her function. To the aggressive, that always seemed a pessimistic point of view; yet it is not even visionary, merely commonsensical. It fails to be common sense only if you have been indoctrinated all your life to believe, first, that mankind is the centre of things, the Lords of Creation, and, second, that we can improve our lot at the expense of something else.

  "Such an outlook brings misery, as we see on our poor sister planet out there. We have only to step down from the arrogance of believing that the world or the future is somehow 'ours' and immediately life for everyone is enhanced."

  Trockern said, "I suppose each of us has to find that out for ourself." He found it delightful to be humble after sunset.

  With sudden exasperation, Sartorilrvrash said, "Yes, unfortunately that's so. We have to learn by bitter experience, not blithe example. And that's ridiculous. Don't imagine that I think the state of affairs is perfect. Gaia is an absolute ninny to let us loose in the first place. At least on Helliconia the Original Beholder planted phagors to keep mankind in check!" He laughed and Tockern joined in.

  "I know you think me wanton," the latter said, "but isn't Gaia herself a wanton, spawning so riotously in all directions?"

  His senior shot him a foxy look. "Everything else must
bring forth in abundance, so that everything else can eat it. It's not the best of arrangements, perhaps - cooked up and cobbled together on the spur of the moment from a chemical broth. That doesn't mean to say we can't imitate Gaia and adopt, like her, our own homeostasis."

  The moon in its last quarter shone overhead. Sartorilrvrash pointed to the red star burning low by the horizon.

  "See Antares? Just north of it is the constellation Ophiuchus, the Serpent Bearer. In Ophiuchus is a large dark dust cloud about seven hundred light-years away, concealing a cluster of young stars. Among them lies Freyr. It would be one of the twelve brightest stars in the sky, were it not for the dust cloud. And that's where the phagors are."

  The two men contemplated the distance without speaking. Then Trockern said, "Have you ever thought, master, how phagors vaguely resemble the demons and devils which used to haunt the imagination of Christians?"

  "That had not occurred to me. I have always thought of an even older allusion, the minotaur of ancient Greek myth, a creature stuck between human and animal, lost in the labyrinths of its own lusts."

  "Presumably you think that the Helliconian humans should allow the phagors to coexist, to maintain the biospheric balance?"

  " 'Presumably...' We presume so much." A long silence followed. Then Sartorilrvrash said, reluctantly, "With the deepest respect to Gaia and her Serpent-Bearing sister out there, they are old biddies at times. Mankind learnt aggression in their wombs. I mean, to use another ancient analogy, humans and phagors are rather Cain and Abel, aren't they? One or other of them has to go..."

  Trumpets sounded above the heads of the gathering. Their voices were muted and sweet, and in no way reminiscent of those work trumpets buried far below their feet - except to Luterin Shokerandit.

  The dignitaries in the great chamber swallowed their last bird-shaped pastries and put on reverential faces. Luterin moved among them feeling cumbersome among so many ectomorphic shapes. He lost sight of Insil.

  The Keeper and the Master, Insil's father and husband, were returning down the spiral stair. They had assumed silken robes of carmine and blue over their ordinary clothes, and put on odd-shaped hats. Their faces were as if cast from an alloy of lead and flesh.

  Side by side, they paraded to the curtained windows. There they turned and bowed to the assembly. The assembly fell silent, the musicians tiptoed away over creaking boards.

  Keeper Esikananzi spoke first.

  "You all know of the reasons why Bambekk Monastery was built, many centuries ago. It was built to service the Wheel - and of course you know why the Architects built the Wheel. We stand on the site of the greatest act of faith ever achieved/to be by mankind. But perhaps you will/permissive allow me to remind you why this particular position was chosen by our illustrious ancestors, in what some people regard as a remote part of the Sibornalese continent.

  "Let me draw your attention to the iron band running under your feet which divides this dome in half. That band marks the line of latitude on which this edifice is built. We are here fifty-five degrees north of the equator, and standing upon that actual line. As you scarcely need reminding, fifty-five degrees north is the line of the Polar Circle."

  At this point, he gestured to a servant. The curtains concealing the windows were drawn apart.

  A view over the town was revealed, looking south. The visibility was good enough for everything to be seen clearly, including the far horizon, bare except for a thin line of denniss trees.

  "We are fortunate on this occasion. The cloud has cleared. We are privileged to witness a solemn event which the rest of Sibornal will be commemorating."

  At this point, Master Asperamanka stood forward and spoke, stiffening his speech with High Dialect. "Let me echo my good friend and colleague's word, 'fortunate.' Fortunate we are/tend indeed. Church and State have kept/keeping/will the people of Sibornal united. The plague has been/aspirational eradicated, and we have slain most of the phagors on our continent.

  "You know that our ships have mastery of the seas. In addition, we are now/will building a Great Wall to serve as an act of faith comparable with our formidable Great Wheel.

  "This is/proclamatory a New Great Age. The Great Wall will run right across the north of Chalce. There will be watchtowers on it every two kilometres, and the walls will be seven metres high. That Wall, together with our ships, will keep/keeping out all enemies from our territory. The Day of Myrkwyr is the harbinger of Weyr-Winter ahead, but we shall live through it, our grandchildren will live through it, and their grandchildren. And we shall emerge in the spring, the next Great Spring, ready to conquer all of Helliconia."

  Cheers and handclaps had sounded throughout this speech. Now the applause was clamorous. Asperamanka stared down to hide the gleam of satisfaction on his face.

  Ebstok Esikananzi raised a hand.

  "Friends, it is five to noon on this solemn day. Watch the southern horizon. Since it is small winter, Batalix is below that horizon. She will rise again with her puny light in another four tenners, but-"

  His words were lost, as everyone pressed to the windows.

  Down in the village below, a bonfire had just been lit. The villagers were seen as ants, running about it, arms upraised, swaddled in woollens or furs.

  Fresh drink was brought to the watchers in the dome. Mostly, it was drunk as soon as received, and the empty glasses thrust out for more. An unease had settled on the privileged crowd, whose faces made a gloomy contrast to the merry gestures of the ants far below.

  A bell began to sound noon. As if in response to its brazen tongue, a change took place on the southern horizon.

  On that horizon, the road could be seen as it wound from the village. Elsewhere was unbroken white, trees and buildings standing in frosty outline. Wisps of snow perpetually blew from lodgements, streaming out on the wind like smoke from candles newly extinguished. The horizon itself was clear, and bright with dawn - with sunrise.

  Above its crusty line rose a rim of red, a red of heaviness, of congealing blood, the upper part of Freyr's orb.

  "Freyr!" came the exclamation from the throats of all who watched, as if by naming the star they could have power over it.

  A shaft of light spread upon the world, casting shadows, flooding a range of far hills with pink light till they gleamed against the slatey sky behind them. The faces of the privileged in the dome were made red. Only the village below, where the ants were circling, remained in shadow.

  The privileged glared upon that sliver of disc. It remained as it was, growing no greater. The most intense scrutiny could not determine the instant at which, instead of increasing, it began to shrink. Sunrise was enantiodromic sunset.

  Light was withdrawn from the world. The range of far hills faded, was absorbed into the increasing murk.

  The precious slice of Freyr shrivelled still further. By now, the giant sun had in actuality set: what remained behind was an image of it, a refraction through the thickness of atmosphere of the real thing below the horizon. None could tell the image from the real. Myrkwyr had already begun, without their knowing it.

  The red image shrivelled.

  It divided itself into bars of light. Shattered.

  Then it was gone.

  In the centuries ahead, Freyr would hide like a mole beneath the mountain, never to be seen again. In the small summers, Batalix would shine as previously; the small winters would remain unlit, under the shadow of the greater winter. Auroras would unfold their mysterious banners in the skies above the mountain. Meteorites would briefly glitter. Comets would occasionally be sighted. The stars would still shine. Throughout the next ninety revolutions of the Great Wheel, the major luminary, that massive furnace which had given life to the Sons of Freyr, would be little more than a rumour.

  For all who experienced it, Myrkwyr was a day of doom. The faceless deity who presided over the biosphere was powerless to intervene, relying perhaps on the shortsightedness of the humans, on their involvement in their own affairs, to damp down its
psychic shock. She was carried along with her world. Seen in wider perspective, Freyr continued to shine, and ever would do until its comparatively brief lifespan was finished: its darkness was merely a local condition, of small duration.

  For most of nature, there could be only submission to fate. On land, the sap, the seed, the semen, would wait, dormant for the most part. In the sea, the complex mechanisms of the food chain would continue unabated. Only mankind could lift itself above direct necessity. In mankind lay reserves of strength unknowable to those who held them, reserves which could be drawn upon in situations where survival demanded.

  Such reflections were far from the minds of those in the assembly who watched Freyr shatter into fragments of light. They were touched by fear. They wondered for their family's survival and their own. The most basic question of existence faced them: How am I to keep fed and warm?

  Fear is a powerful emotion. Yet it is easily overcome by anger, hope, desperation, and defiance. Fear would not last. The great processes of the Helliconian year would grind on towards apastron and the winter solstice. That turning point of the year was many generations away. By then, the twilights of Weyr-Winter would have long since become all that northern Sibornal knew. The rise of Freyr once more, majestic in the Great Spring, would be greeted with the same awe as its departure. But fear would have died long before hope.

  How mankind would survive the centuries of Weyr-Winter would depend upon its mental and emotional resources. The cycle of human history was not immutable. Given determination, better could succeed worse; it was possible to row into the light, to navigate in the tide of Myrkwyr.

  Keeper Esikananzi said solemnly, "The long night holds no fear for those who trust in the Lord God the Azoiaxic, who existed before life, and round whom all life revolves. With his aid, we shall bring this precious world of ours through the long night, to bask again in his glory." And Master Asperamanka shouted spiritedly, "To Sibornal - united throughout the long Weyr-Winter to come!"