“And the Cataclysm?”
It was a Cataclysm…we managed to break all the lines of force that held the portals together…and they sought another world…less intractable…but it too is now dying, and they are trying to return here.
“Why can’t you—”
We are an old race, and there are few of us left…fewer every generation…we no longer possess the power to wrench whole world-threads the way we once did.
Alucius could sense the quiet desperation. “What do I do? How can I best them? The Recorder almost destroyed me.”
You have been through the Table portals with all your being, not just your mind. You can draw upon the power of the portals and the world, more strongly than they can now. The portals are tools, nothing more. When you are stronger, we can help you master yourself.
“Why me?” Alucius asked once more, feeling the heaviness in his eyes.
Who else? Your race is young, and there are few with Talent. Except among your herders. Talent is not valued. Among others, it is despised. In many lands, those with Talent are killed at birth if they are recognized, later if they are not.
Just like everyone else, the soarers wanted to use him.
No! The soarer’s response was like a hot and cold shock, indignant and with a truth Alucius had trouble ignoring. You have promise, much promise, and you could do far better than did we.
“You…you have this city, and you can soar and—”
There is much you do not know. We have counted more failures than any would wish. We cannot compel you. We cannot force you. We can only show you and hope you will see the need. The soarer’s unspoken words felt softer at the end, softer, almost pleading, and despairing.
Alucius had no words, and his eyelids were heavy, so heavy.
Whatever may come, you must rest.
The green radiant darkness was a welcome relief from all the thoughts that swirled in and around and through his mind.
106
Tempre, Lanachrona
In the cool of the early evening, the Lord-Protector eased his way into the bedchamber, peering toward the bed.
“I am awake, Talryn.”
The Lord-Protector closed the chamber door behind him and crossed the room, settling himself into the chair beside the high bed. “How are you feeling, dearest?”
“I am better,” replied Alerya.
“But not so much as I would prefer.”
“You should have gotten a stronger consort, my dear.” Alerya’s voice betrayed the effort to speak.
“I wanted you. I love you for your depth and your thoughts.”
“Would that…my body were as strong as my thoughts.”
Talryn leaned forward, reaching out and touching her cheek. “You will get stronger. It will take time, but you will.”
“You are tired…and fret much. The war in the west…or the overcaptain…or both?”
“The war is going as we had thought. The Northern Guard took Klamat and advances steadily southward. They also are a good hundred vingts to the west of the Westerhills on the midroad. If all goes not too badly, we should hold Harmony by the end of fall. It could be earlier.”
“Be careful.”
“I have cautioned both Alyniat and Wyerl that we wish to hold the lands, not ravage them, and to advance only when we can control what we take.” Talryn moistened his lips. “I am still worried about the overcaptain. He left Suntyl and Ratyf, and everyone saw him walk out. But he never reached the palace entry.” Talryn frowned. “That was near-on a week ago. There have been no reports of unknown officers. No one has found a body. I cannot tell anyone that one of my officers vanished from the palace. Can you imagine that? Yet sooner or later, we will have to send some dispatch north to Dekhron. No matter how I handle it, it will cause trouble. I summon the man to Tempre and commend him—and he vanishes? Everyone will think the worst.”
“That is not all bad. They will at least not think you weak. Tell his squad that he is undertaking some commission for you. Give them furlough. If he does not return, commend him further and send golds to his widow, then send the squad back.”
“That may be what I must do, but he is a good officer, and he saved me from great difficulty.”
“Have you asked Enyll to use the Table?”
“No. I can see no good in that. The overcaptain has enough Talent that the Table will not show him. If Enyll is somehow behind this, as I fear he is, then it will reveal clearly that I suspect him. Yet…how could he have caused the man to vanish, without anyone seeing, without any trace? Every hall is watched, every door guarded. Does this mean I can trust none of it?”
“You never could, dearest.” The faintest laugh colored Alerya’s words.
The Lord-Protector laughed, too loudly. “You are good to remind me of that. But there are some I can trust, and they would have heard. Eventually, word does pass.”
Alerya nodded, waiting for her husband to continue.
“Then, there’s Waleryn. He has less than good on his mind. He’s wearing that smile that means nothing except that he’s plotting something.”
“Do you think it has to do with the overcaptain?” Alerya coughed.
The Lord-Protector immediately stood and offered her a sip from the goblet on the bedside table. “You should not talk. I should not talk to you. I would not weary you.”
“I can listen…”
“Then…listen only…I cannot deny that it helps to clear my mind, for me to talk to you, and to see how you hear what I say.” He leaned forward, half-standing, and kissed her forehead. “You are still too warm.”
“Your healer says that I am better…Go on…”
Talryn opened his mouth, as if to protest, then smiled faintly before speaking. “Waleryn…I do not think he had anything to do with the overcaptain. He could not best the man, not by himself, and where there are more than one or two gathered together, then in time I do hear. I have heard nothing. That does not mean that Enyll has not hatched something with my dear brother.” He looked at Alerya. “Rulers should not feel guilty, but I do. I hinted that Enyll might be a difficulty to be set right. To the overcaptain. He caught my meaning. I know he did. Now he has vanished.”
“Then…best…you be most careful with Enyll…and send Waleryn someplace far from Tempre for the harvest…and fall…” Alerya paled.
The Lord-Protector bolted upright and reached for the bell.
“No…be better…moment…hold my hand…”
Talryn continued to hold the bell in one hand, holding his consort’s in the other. But he did not set the bell down as he watched Alerya closely.
107
Alucius opened his eyes. For a time, he did not move at all. The room remained as it had been. His uniform and boots were still hung from the pegs on the wall. Through the clear glass of the window, he could see a clear silver-green sky that darkened as he watched. He eased himself into a sitting position, favoring his right side and arm, but there was barely a hint of discomfort in the once-injured arm and shoulder. He had clearly slept most of the day.
The chamber remained silent, and he turned and swung his feet over the side of the narrow bed, letting them rest on the cool green tiles of the floor. There was no sign of the square mirror, a good indication that he had been moved from the room in which he had originally appeared. He hadn’t even thought of the mirror when he had wakened before, a sure sign that he had not been as alert as he had thought he had been.
Why didn’t the alabaster-skinned people or creatures sense the yellow thread? If they were so powerful, why hadn’t they attacked the soarers? And if the soarers were strong enough to keep them from entering the hidden city, why couldn’t they stop the invasion through the Tables—or portals? They certainly built well enough to keep his Talent confined within the room.
The eaters of lifeforces cannot sense what you call the yellow thread. It is not within their dark conduit. You sensed it beyond the conduit, and you had to reach outside the conduit. That shows how s
trong you are.
Alucius turned his head. He had not heard or seen the soarer—or sensed her.
We can watch without being sensed. That takes little energy. A sense of ruefulness accompanied the words.
“You say that I am strong. I didn’t feel that way against them. How can I overcome…such strength?” In fighting both the Recorder and the engineer, Alucius had not felt so helpless since he had been seventeen and had been manhandled in the training given by his grandsire.
A small man with one of your rifles can kill a far larger and stronger man who is unarmed. Compared to the ifrits, you were unarmed. You must first learn what strength is.
“What is it?”
You have seen the lifethreads, and the way that they hold and embrace the world. Each world that holds life holds threads. All life is one, and the threads link all that lives. You see but the larger threads.
Alucius considered her words for a moment, before replying. “All life creates threads, even the shellbeetles and the bugs and—?”
Life does not create the threads. Where there is life, there are threads. The two are inseparable. A touch of dark humor radiated from the soarer. You should know. You have seen what happens when you break the thread.
Alucius nodded, aware that even that movement left him with the slightest sense of dizziness.
You still are weak.
“I can feel that.” He tried to gather scattered thoughts. “Just knowing that there are more threads isn’t going to help me much.”
Each thread is composed of smaller threads. Those, in turn, have yet smaller threads.
Alucius could sense the condescension, and, had he not been so weak, might have said something, but just sitting on the edge of the bed and listening took an effort.
Whoever…whatever controls the smallest of threads…controls what will be. To control such threads takes both knowledge and strength. We have the knowledge, but no longer have the strength. You have the strength, but not the understanding. If you are willing, we will teach you.
Willing? It wasn’t as though he had a choice. Would the soarers even let him leave if he didn’t agree?
We could guide you back to the portal in Tempre.
Alucius laughed. That would leave him little better off. Even if he could find a way to kill the Recorder—and he wondered if even a rifle would work—he’d know that the other creature was still at work. Sometimes, what appeared to be choices weren’t.
It is still a choice. What limits your choice is understanding. A wise spirit always has fewer choices than a foolish one.
“I’m not exactly wise. A wise man wouldn’t have gotten himself in this situation.”
Even the wisest of spirits can find themselves in the greatest of difficulties.
Alucius could sense the sadness behind those words, a sadness he did not wish to look into. He had enough problems as it was, and he had a definite feeling that, if the soarer felt that Alucius’s problems were not that difficult, whatever might be the “greatest of difficulties” for soarers was doubtless well beyond his poor abilities.
“What do I do?” he finally asked.
The soarer extended a tray on which were a platter and a tall beaker of the amber beverage that was similar to ale, but was not. For now…you must eat and rest. In the morning, we will begin. What lies before you is far more difficult than anything you have yet attempted.
More difficult than anything he had attempted? Those were words Alucius could have done without.
108
Alucius stood. Still wearing the greenish gown that came but to his knees, he walked to the window, that sheet of glass so clear that it appeared not to be there, set in its shimmering silvery frame. He pressed the bracket and slid the window open, leaning out into the chill, and trying to see more of the tower. There was little to see, except that he could tell it was circular and perhaps thirty yards across, although that was a guess. Below, he saw no movement, just the same buildings of amber stone.
He eased his upper torso back into the room and tugged the window shut. He was shivering.
Alucius sensed the soarer and turned.
She stood inside the door, again with a tray that contained the alelike drink and his breakfast, something similar to egg toast, with honey, and thin slices of ham. A plumapple was set at one side as well.
While you eat, I will tell you more.
Alucius walked back to the bed, where he seated himself, the beaker on the floor, the tray in his lap, because there was no other furniture in the room except for the bed and a chest-high and narrow washstand—and what passed for a chamber pot.
Once there was a world with a deep green sky…
“This world?” mumbled Alucius.
The soarer ignored the question. The winds were fierce, and the summers were as cold as the winters are now in Corus. In the winter, all the rivers froze, even to the depths of the river beds. There were small animals, the size of your hand, if not smaller, who learned to link themselves to the lifethreads of the world itself and travel those threads as if they could fly. They were so small and light that the world did not notice. That was good, because the life of the world was young, and the threads were yet delicate. The ages passed, and more animals appeared, and many were large. Some were fierce, and their lifethreads were far stronger. They preyed upon others, including those who had learned to travel above the ground. Those who soared had become larger, and some came to use the lifethreads of the very predators to escape them. Others used the lifethreads to prey upon the predators. Yet they were one, although some were soarers and others were not. The ages passed. Like your ancestors, they became aware of themselves and their world. They began to change the world, to better suit their needs, and the days became warmer—
“Change the world? How?”
Listen to the story, first.
At the tartness of the soarer’s response, Alucius tightened his lips, then took a deep breath, and a swallow of the amber alelike drink, better than any ale he had tasted before.
The days became warmer, and the winds gentler, and there was more rain, and the rivers did not freeze solid in winter, and plants like quarasote spread northward and across the lands. Those who could soar grew in size and knowledge in this youth of the world. And then, the world changed. Webs of darkness slashed across that early world, and when they lifted, there were other, strange creatures now living in the warmer and lower lands. These creatures were different, for they had not arisen from the crystal, but from the coal.
“Coal?” Alucius couldn’t help the inadvertent question.
The elementary substance which is at the heart of coal. In time, you will understand. Please do not interrupt. So there were two kinds of life in the world, and yet both were linked with their lifethreads, to each other and to the world itself. There were those creatures who had arisen first, out of the very crystal and fury of the world, and those that had come from elsewhere. At first, the new creatures lived only in a few southern valleys, but the plants and the trees that came with them also began to change the world, making the air warmer and damper, and the soils moist and thick. Most of those who soared felt uncomfortable in the dampness and heat, and they retreated to the north and the heights of the world, where they built new and glorious cities. Some few remained in the warmer lands, but even they preferred drier or higher lands. As time passed, some creatures arose that partook of both heritages. The soarer stopped, as if waiting for Alucius to ask a question.
Alucius finished the last of the egg toast, then took a long swallow of the drink before speaking. “You’re saying that, sometime long, long ago, the lifeforce-eaters—the…ifrits…put people like us on…this world…on our world?”
Yes.
“But…why? Why did they do that, then leave it…us alone?”
Farmers plant crops and make sure that they grow. It is not from kindness.
Alucius disliked thinking of himself as a crop, ready to be harvested. “Then…they’re older than yo
u are. And you think I can best them?”
They are not what they once were. Neither are we. You are more than you once were. We have seen to that.
“You?”
Enough. You have little enough time to learn what you must. You needed to know from where you came, and how all this came to be. You do not act well in ignorance. A sense of laughter followed.
Who did, Alucius asked himself. “But the Cataclysm?”
At first, when the lifeforce-eaters appeared among the primitive farmers in the south, we did not even notice, and that was our great mistake. None of us cared for the heavy damp lands to the south. Unless we looked closely, there was little difference between the poor farmers and those who came to rule them. In the beginning, there was no difference, for those of your ancestors were guided by dreams and visions, not directly. Even the building of the first cities was guided from afar. Then came the building of the portals—what you call Tables—and the first of the actual ifrits appeared in body upon the lands of Corus. Then, when we saw what had happened, we tried, as you did, to attack. Thousands of us died under the light-knives and the firelances. Thousands of them died as well, but there were more of them.
The soarer’s story was making Alucius more and more uneasy.
They increased the crops and the numbers of your people, so that they could feast. We returned to the north and our hidden cities and turned our thoughts to the very basis of being. When we had learned what we could, we wrenched the very world threads, in a way that severed the lifethreads of all those of the purple, and slashed the conduits to their worlds. When we wrenched the world threads, we also made other changes, those that we could…
“The nightsheep and the sanders and sandwolves?”
The nightsheep and sandwolves…yes. The sanders are kin to us. Those efforts exhausted us, and many died. We have never had many children.
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