by Speer, Flora
She had his full attention. His eyes were boring into hers and for once she felt no need to lower her own. There was nothing personal in his gaze, only surprise and a growing interest in what she was saying. She went on, determined to tell him all she suspected before she lost her nerve and became too terrified to speak.
“I believe this is Tathan as it once was, Tathan as we know it from the records we discovered at our headquarters building. This is Dulan’s Tathan, but whether it is an illusion, or whether it is real and we have been moved in time, I do not know.” She saw Herne considering what she had said, and she saw that he would not reject it immediately as she had half feared he might.
“You may be right,” he said. He looked at sea and sky, at the near by farmland and the tall cliffs in the distance. “Tathan.”
“Shall we test my theory?” she asked. A surge of pure recklessness urged her forward, an impulse unlike anything she had ever known before. She knew she was still confused and more than a bit unbalanced by what had happened to them, but she did not care. “Shall we set our feet upon that bridge just ahead and attempt to cross the river by it and enter the city?”
“I’ll go first,” he said. “You wait here until I reach the other side. If that is no real bridge, you can pull me out of the water. That’s assuming there really is a river.”
She waited only until he had reached the middle of the bridge before, certain the structure was solid, she hurried after him. They entered the city together, and Merin was not surprised to recognize the arrangement of streets and buildings, not after helping Tarik and Osiyar to map Tathan. She was convinced now that she was right. Somehow, she and Herne had come to Old Tathan.
They chose a wide, tree-lined avenue and began to walk along it. The two-story buildings on each side of the street were perfectly simple, yet of elegant and pleasing proportions, and all made of a rose-red stone that looked as though it could have been quarried from the face of the cliffs where the plateau ended. Almost every house had a lush garden.
They saw no one, but a murmur of sound drew them onward to where the avenue ended at a large, open square. Here at least they found evidence of busy life. The square was filled with people, most of whom appeared to be human, clothed in bright red, blue, or green. Produce was piled in bins beneath the striped awnings of several shops. A few buildings away from the produce market, a weaver worked at his loom, the previous products of his labors draped on frames to display their many-colored patterns. Another shop sold ready-made clothing; still another displayed racks of leather goods.
“It seems so real,” Herne said, turning about slowly in order not to miss a thing in the bustling square. “But who – or what – has done this?”
“Do you really think all of this is an illusion?” Merin asked, looking around, trying to remember everything she saw.
“Let’s find out.” Herne stepped in front of a red-robed figure. “Excuse me, sir. May I speak with you?” The figure walked past him, apparently unaware of Herne’s presence.
Herne caught at the sleeve of a second figure, but again the person simply moved away. A third and a fourth try brought the same results.
“I gather we aren’t really here,” Herne noted dryly, glancing at Merin.
She had been observing his attempts to make someone notice their presence. Convinced by now that he would be unsuccessful, she turned away to scan the crowded square, looking for some clue to their mysterious circumstances. The crowd shifted, giving her a new view of their surroundings. She cried out, pointing to a building strikingly different from all the rose-stone structures they had seen so far. This was a low white edifice, long enough to form one side of the square. White stone steps led up to an arched doorway. The dark wood double doors were wide open. She recognized the building from Herne’s description. Herne stepped to her side, following her line of sight through the moving patterns of brightly clothed figures.
“That’s it,” Herne exclaimed. “This square must be where we landed the shuttlecraft when we came to explore, because that is the building I saw then.”
“Be careful,” Merin warned, but he wasn’t listening. He made straight for the entrance. “Herne, wait.”
“No,” he said. “I intend to find out exactly what is going on here.” With that, he mounted the steps and disappeared through the arch.
Not wanting to remain alone among figures that bought and sold and otherwise acted as if they were alive while completely ignoring Herne and herself, Merin decided the only sensible thing to do was follow him inside.
The white stone interior was as Herne had described it to her a month before, while they had explored its ruins. Here was the double row of columns, shaped like the columns of their headquarters building at the lake. In the center of the building, exactly where Herne had once told her, was the statue of a Chon with wings upraised and beak open. There was no roof on this section of the hall. Herne stopped beside the golden statue, and there Merin caught up with him.
“It’s beautiful, just as you said,” she whispered, laying one hand on the bird, her fingers tracing the delicately carved feathers. “I have never seen such exquisite workmanship.”
“It’s not real. It can’t be. None of this is real. I’m certain of it now. It’s all too much like the dream I had. It’s too perfect.”
As he spoke Herne was striding down the length of the long chamber, taking wide steps that quickly brought him to double doors at the far end, set in an arch that matched the main entrance. With Merin at his heels, Herne burst through these doors into a garden. White flowers in every conceivable shape and size filled the garden, their mingled fragrances almost too sweet and heavy for human nose and throat and lungs to tolerate.
“Where is the grotto?” Herne glared at the high white wall surrounding the garden. He raised his voice. “Whoever you are, since you seem determined to recreate an illusion, show me the entrance to the grotto.”
They stood in silence, Herne clenching his fists, both of them waiting for some response. It came from the far side of the garden.
“How impatient you are,” said an oddly scratchy voice. “But then, impatience is one of the attributes of Jurisdiction personnel.”
“Who are you?” Herne demanded.
Merin thought he was disappointed because the short figure now approaching them, hooded and cloaked in pale blue, could not possibly be the Ananka whom Herne had described to her. She could not even see the figure’s face beneath the sheltering hood, and she could not tell by the voice whether it was male or female.
“You must relinquish your weapons,” the figure told them. The blue robe rippled and two slender but obviously strong hands stretched forward. “Tathan is a peaceful place, but all here remember too well the violence of the Jurisdiction. We cannot allow you to break our peace. The weapons, if you please. Now.”
It was impossible to resist that voice. Herne placed his small hand weapon into the figure’s hands. Merin did the same, making certain to touch those hands as she did so. The flesh was solid, warm, real. Still, she could not see the face, and she sensed a cool reserve more than matching that of any Oressian. She decided to try courtesy.
“I also have a recorder that doesn’t work.” She touched the strap at her shoulder, from which the useless recorder swung. “Will you want it, also?”
“Since it is not functional, you may keep it.”
“Thank you. I am Merin of Oressia,” she said politely. “This is Herne of Sibirna.”
“Both Jurisdiction planets,” said the figure.
“In a way, we are exiles from the Jurisdiction,” Merin said. “May we know your name?”
The cloaked figure bowed its head. “I am Dulan of Romesan, also an exile,” replied the scratchy voice.
Chapter 10
“You are Dulan?” Herne’s shock was plain to see.
Although surprised herself, and immediately, frighteningly, aware of the many implications of finding themselves in a Tathan in which Dulan still liv
ed, Merin found her voice.
“Is this building your home?” she asked.
“Of course not. Who would wish to live in so large and empty a space?” Dulan gave a short, broken laugh. “This is the Gathering Hall.”
“The statue of the Chon is magnificent,” Merin said.
“You know of the Chon?” Dulan’s short figure exuded tenseness.
“We lived briefly in the northern part of this continent,” Merin said. “We had some contact with them.”
“How is it that we did not sense your presence?” Dulan’s head bowed, as if the weapons still being held in slim fingers were being examined. “You say you are exiles. Are you telepaths?”
“No, but we know you are.” At Herne’s words, Dulan moved back a pace or two.
“Have you come here searching for us, to do us harm? If so, you were foolish to hand over your weapons.” Dulan turned them over and over, the motions of those pale hands imparting to Merin a distaste and a reluctance to handle them. “They are unusual. I have never seen any like them before.”
“That’s because – oh, blessed stars.” Herne looked helplessly at Merin. “You’re the historian, you tell me how we can explain how we got here, or what you think happened, without sounding completely insane.”
“There is no reasonable explanation,” Merin said to Dulan.
“Your confusion, these strange weapons – now I begin to understand,” said Dulan.
“You do?” They both stared at the blue-robed figure.
“If I speak the name Ananka, will it be familiar to you?” asked Dulan.
“It will,” said Herne, looking grim.
“As I expected. How many others are with you?”
“There is no one else,” Herne said, adding,“we were forced to land here. At the moment, our ship is in need of repair.”
“Of course it is. You want to return to your proper place. I shall try to help you. In the meantime, let me offer you my hospitality. Perhaps it will be some small recompense for the inconveniences you have suffered.” Dulan indicated with one hand that they should follow, then led them toward the garden wall where they could now see a door that had been partly concealed by shrubbery and white flowers.
“Dulan, how long have your people lived here?” Merin asked.
“For almost exactly one hundred of this planet’s years,” came the reply.
At this, Merin and Herne exchanged glances. Both had read the records of Tathan that were stored at their headquarters building, so they knew Tathan had been one hundred years old when the Cetans attacked and destroyed it. Behind Dulan’s back, Merin touched Herne’s arm. Perhaps startled by this unusual gesture on her part, he stopped walking to look at her.
“Say nothing of what we know about the fate of Tathan,” Merin whispered urgently.
“Don’t worry,” Herne whispered to her. “That’s a vital piece of information to be kept secret in case we need it later, to bargain for our lives.”
“Is something wrong?” Dulan paused by the garden door, waiting for them.
“Do we appear solid to you?” Herne asked.
“To my eyes you are perfectly normal, substantial human beings,” Dulan said. “However, I understand your concern. Indeed, I share it. As soon as we have reached my house, I will do what I can to dispel the mystery that so disturbs you.”
Dulan led them through the door into a narrow alley that ran parallel to the garden wall. Along the opposite side of the alley was another stone wall into which, a short distance away, was set a dark wooden door. Dulan pushed this door open. Inside, they found a pleasant, cozy room with dark wood ceiling beams. Colorful, finely woven banners hung on the white walls, wooden chairs were cushioned with more bright textiles, a fire burned merrily in a raised fireplace. In one wall a series of windows looked out across a salt marsh to the sea. Above the undulating grasses three Chon were hunting their dinner, diving now and then to snatch at prey.
“My mate is away from home on a brief retreat to Lake Rhyadur,” said Dulan, “so it is left to me alone to make you comfortable. I have more than enough food and drink here. Since you are familiar with the Chon, perhaps you will wish to join us tomorrow evening, for our Gathering with them.”
“We would be honored,” Merin said.
“Actually, we would like to be gone by tomorrow,” Herne said. “You offered to help us repair our ship.”
What is wrong with your vessel, or perhaps I should say, the conditions that I believe resulted in your arrival here, will take more than a single day to repair,” Dulan informed them. “Please, seat yourselves near the fire. We chose to build at Tathan because the climate here is uniformly pleasant, but at this time of year, as summer ebbs, the sea breeze can be surprisingly cool and damp. Let me find refreshments to share with you.” Dulan left them, passing through an archway to the left of the room.
Once again, Merin touched Herne’s arm and raised a finger to her lips, signaling caution.
“Somehow, we have been moved in time,” she began in a whisper.
“No, it’s all an illusion,” Herne interrupted.
“Whichever it is,” Merin told him with a hint of impatience, “we must be careful not to reveal anything we know about the fate of Tathan.”
“I have already agreed to that.” Herne nodded. “I think it would also be wise not to mention our colony. And, Merin, we are going to let Dulan believe we are mates.”
“What?” This suggestion so startled her that she forgot to whisper.
“Hush, talk softly. It’s a way of making sure we aren’t separated through an entire night, until we find out what has really happened to us. We’ll have to take turns standing watch. Dulan seems to be friendly enough, but we can’t be certain what is planned for us. We don’t even know if that is really Dulan in there.”
“Your point is well made, Herne. For the time being, I am willing to act as if we are mated while we are with Dulan and the other telepaths whom we will probably meet here.”
“Are you sure you know how?” He grinned at her in a manner most unlike the Herne she knew.
Merin wondered if he was experiencing the same occasional giddiness she had been feeling ever since leaving the shuttlecraft, but before she could ask him about it, Dulan returned with the promised refreshments. He brought them brown bread, a plate of several kinds of fruits, a pitcher of foaming, golden liquid, and three pottery mugs glazed in a lovely shade of blue.
Dulan set the food on a low table, pulled a third chair close to the fire, and sat down to pour out the liquid. It proved to be a tangy, beer-like beverage. Merin drank it with thirsty pleasure, but she noted that Herne barely sipped at his.
“I have promised to tell you what I know, or can conjecture about your coming here,” Dulan said. “To begin, everyone in Tathan or farming on the outskirts of the city is a telepath. Most are human and some are members of the other Races. After the Act of Banishment forced us to leave the Jurisdiction we made a long journey together, ending finally in the Empty Sector, where we found this suitable planet. There were but sixty-four of us left when we founded Tathan a century ago, but on this world all Races live much longer lives than is usual. Sixty of the original founders are still alive. All of us have prospered and multiplied our kin through several new generations until now there are over two thousand of us. We brought with us the technology to build our beautiful city and to make the best use of soil and the sea. For nearly one hundred years, we have been safe and content, until recently.”
Since this information was familiar to both Merin and Herne, neither said anything, but let Dulan continue the story.
“Among telepaths there are universally understood barriers to the expansion of our skills,” Dulan told them. “But in every group of intelligent beings there are those, usually young, ambitious, as yet untried souls, who want to abolish all limits.”
“It happens in most societies,” Herne put in. “The young rebel for a while, but in time they mature and learn to control the
mselves. By then of course, there is a new generation coming along to cause fresh trouble.”
“So it was with our previous young ones,” said Dulan, nodding agreement. “But in the case of this particular generation two new factors have been added. The first was Saray, a girl born with remarkable powers. She studied with me for several years, until she outpaced her teacher. The second factor is the entity known to us as Ananka.”
Herne drew in his breath with a sharp sound. Dulan’s head turned in his direction, as if the telepath was studying Herne’s expression.
“Is there something you wish to add to this story?” asked Dulan.
“Not yet,” Herne said. “Perhaps later.”
“Very well.” The blue hood now faced toward the fire, as if Dulan was gazing into the flames, considering what to say next. After a time, the low voice resumed. “We had known of the presence of several similar entities on this world before we settled here. They are creatures of light and energy, without bodies as we know them. Our powers were not great enough to allow full contact with them, but we received the impression that our settlement was not unwelcome. For almost a century we largely ignored this form of life, and it ignored us.
“Now Saray claims that she has made friends with Ananka, and that Ananka is helping her to enhance her telepathic abilities. I have seen Saray move objects and even herself through space,” Dulan continued. “I have also observed a brief though successful attempt at transportation through time. I think that is why you are here. I believe Ananka and Saray were experimenting on you.”
Merin and Herne stared at each other, saying nothing.
“You knew the name the entity uses,” Dulan said, “which makes me believe you have witnessed one of its manifestations.”