Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 1 March 2013
Page 18
Jared felt a touch of concern for the Prime Survivor. They were standing in the entrance to the grotto now and the sounds his father was reflecting conveyed their impressions of thinning limbs that had reluctantly yielded ample muscular development of a more active era. His hair was thin, but still swept proudly back over his head, evidencing an obstinate rejection of facial protection.
“It didn’t have to be me,” Jared grumbled. “Why not Romel?”
“He’s a spur.”
Jared didn’t understand why the accident of illegitimate birth should make any difference in this situation. But he let the point go. “Well, anybody else then! There’s Randel and Many and—”
“The Wheel and I have been discussing closer relations since you were hip high. And I’ve been building you up in his estimation until he thinks you’re almost the equal of a Zivver.”
Silence was perhaps the severest penalty of Jared’s punishment.
Silence and drudgery.
Hauling manure from the world of the small bats, trudging to the cricket domain to collect insect bodies as compost for the manna orchard. Rechanneling overflow from the boiling pits and getting steam-shriveled flesh in the process. Tending livestock and hand-feeding chicks until they could feel around for their own food.
And all the while never to be allowed a word. Never a word spoken to him except in direction-giving. No clickstones for fine hearing. Completely isolated from contact with others.
The first period lasted an eternity; the second, a dozen. The third he spent tending the orchard and consigning to Radiation everyone who approached because they came only to give orders—all but one.
That was Owen, who relayed instructions to begin excavating a public grotto. And Jared heard the troubled lines on his face. “If you think you ought to be working alongside me,” Jared said, violating Vocal Detachment, “you’d better forget it. I made you cross the Barrier.”
“I’ve been worrying about that too,” Owen admitted distantly. “But not nearly as much as about something else.”
“What?” Jared spread more compost around the manna plant stalk.
“I’m not worthy of being a Survivor. Not after the way I acted out there in the Original World.”
“Forget the Original World.”
“I can’t.” Owen’s voice was filled with self-reproach as he moved off. “Whatever courage I had I left beyond the Barrier.”
“Damned fool!” Jared called softly. “Keep away from there!”
He spent the fourth period languishing in solitude, without even a single person bringing instructions. The fifth he tried congratulating himself on at least having escaped the Pit. But throughout the sixth, as he bemoaned aching muscles and insufferable fatigue, he realized he might as well have gotten the more severe punishment. And before the final stint of exhausting drudgery ended, he wished to Radiation he had been sentenced to the Pit!
He finished wresting a final slab into place for one of the new grottoes, then pegged the echo caster into silence for the sleep period. Numb with weariness, he dragged himself to the Fenton recess.
Romel was asleep, but the Prime Survivor was still lying awake. “I’m glad it’s over, son,” he comforted. “Now get some rest. Tomorrow you’ll be escorted to the Upper Level for the Five Periods Preparatory to Declaration of Unification Intentions.”
Lacking strength to argue, Jared collapsed on his ledge.
“There’s something you ought to know,” his father went on soberly. “The Zivvers may be taking captives again. Owen went out to collect mushrooms four periods ago. He hasn’t been heard from since.”
Suddenly wide awake, Jared wasn’t as exhausted as he had imagined. When the Prime Survivor fell asleep, he retrieved his clickstones and stole out of the Lower Level World, tempering condemnation of Owen’s addleheaded pride with concern for his safety.
Fighting the impulse to drop in his tracks and sleep there forever, he pushed on past the place where he had encountered the Zivver child, along the bank beside the swift stream and into the smaller tunnel. Sounding the depths of each pit along the way, he reached the Barrier and dragged himself over it. On the other side his foot brushed across something familiar—Owen’s quiver!
Beside it were a broken lance and two arrows. The bow, his clickstones told him, lay against the wall, cracked almost in half. Sniffing what might have been the lingering scent of the Original World creature, he backed off toward the Barrier.
Owen didn’t even have a chance to use his weapons.
CHAPTER THREE
At the entrance to the Upper Level, the unfamiliar tones of the central echo caster brought Jared crude impressions of a world much like his own, with grottoes, activity areas, and livestock compounds. In addition it had a natural ledge running along the right wall and sloping down to the ground nearby.
Waiting for his reception escort, he turned his thoughts grimly back to the discovery of Owen’s weapons on the other side of the Barrier. All he could think of then was that the evil creature had been a punishment sent by Light Himself for his sacrilegious rejection of established beliefs. Certainly he had been wrong. The Barrier had, after all, been erected solely to protect man from monster. Yet, he knew he would not forfeit his quest for Darkness. Nor would he let the uncertainty surrounding Owen’s fate rest for very long.
“Jared Fenton?”
The voice, coming from behind a boulder on his left, took him by surprise. Stepping out into the full sound of the central caster, the man said. “I’m Lorenz, Adviser to Wheel Anselm.”
Lorenz’s voice suggested a person of short stature, small lung capacity, depressed chest. Added to this composite was the indirect sonic impression of a face whose audible features were rough with creases and lacked the soft, moist prominences of exposed eyeballs.
“Ten Touches of Familiarization ?” Jared offered formally.
But the Adviser declined. “My faculties are adequate. I never forget audible effects.” He struck off down a path that coursed through the hot-springs area.
Jared followed. “The Wheel expecting me?” Which was an unnecessary question, since a runner had come ahead.
“I wouldn’t be out here to meet you if he wasn’t.”
Detecting hostility in the Adviser’s blunt responses, Jared turned his attention fully on the man. The caster tones were being harshly modulated by his expression of resentful determination.
“You don’t want me up here, do you?” Jared asked frankly.
“I’ve advised against it. I don’t hear where we can gain anything through close association with your world.”
The Adviser’s sullen attitude puzzled him for a moment—until he realized unification between the Upper and Lower Level would certainly affect Lorenz’s established status.
The well-worn path had straightened and was now taking them along the right wall. Residential recesses cast back muffled gaps in the reflected sound pattern. And Jared sensed rather than clearly heard the knots of inquisitive people who were listening to him pass.
Presently the Adviser caught his shoulders and spun him to the right. “This is the Wheel’s grotto.”
Jared hesitated, getting his bearings. The recess was a deep one with many storage shelves. In the space before the entrance there was a large slab with adequate leg room carved in its sides. From its surface came the symmetrical sounds of empty manna shell bowls, giving the over-all impression of an orderly arrangement for a meal that would accommodate many persons.
“Welcome to the Upper Level! I’m Noris Anselm, the Wheel.”
Jared listened to his more than amply proportioned host advance around the slab with arm extended. That the hand found his on first thrust spoke well for the Wheel’s perceptive ability.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, my boy!” He pumped Jared’s arm. “Ten Touches?”
“Of course.” Jared submitted to exploring fingers that swept methodically across his face and chest and along his arms.
“Well,”
said Anselm approvingly. “Clean-cut features—erect posture—agility—strength. I don’t guess the Prime Survivor exaggerated too much. Feel away.”
Jared’s hands Familiarized themselves with a stout but not flaccid physique. Absence of a chest cloth, clipped hair and beard, suggested resistance to the aging process. And lids that flicked their protest to his touch signified abiding rejection of closed eyes.
Anselm laughed. “So you’ve come with Declaration of Unification Intentions in mind?” He led Jared to a bench beside the slab.
“Yes. The Prime Survivor says—”
“Ah—Prime Survivor Fenton. Haven’t heard him in some time.”
“He sends—”
“Good old Evan!” the Wheel declared expansively. “He’s got a likely idea—wanting the two Levels closer. What do you think?”
“At first I—”
“Of course you do. It doesn’t take much imagination to hear the advantages, does it?”
Abandoning hope of completing a sentence, Jared accepted the question as rhetorical while he concentrated on faint impressions coming from the mouth of the grotto behind him. Someone had moved out into the entrance and was silently listening on. Reflected clacks fetched the outline of a youthful, feminine form.
“I said,” Anselm repeated, “it doesn’t take much imagination to hear the benefits of uniting the Levels.”
Jared drew attentively erect. “Not at all. The Prime Survivor says there’s a lot to be gained. He—”
“About this Unification. Figure you’re ready for it?”
At least Jared had managed to finish one answer. But there was no point in pushing his success, so he simply said, “Yes.”
“Good boy! Della’s going to make a fine Survivoress. A little headstrong, perhaps. But you take my own Unification…”
The Wheel embarked on a lengthy dissertation while Jared’s attention went back to the furtive girl. At least he knew who she was. At the mention of the name “Della,” her breathing had faltered and he had heard a subjective quickening of her pulse.
The brisk, clear tones of the Wheel’s voice produced sharp-sounding echoes. And Jared took note of the girl’s precise, smooth profile. High cheekbones accentuated the self-confident tilt of her chin. Her eyes were wide open and her hair was arranged in a style he hadn’t heard before. Swept tightly away from her face, it was banded in the back and went streaming bushily down her spine. His imagination provided him with a pleasing echo composite of Della racing down a windy passageway, long tresses fluttering behind.
“…But Lydia and I never had a son.” His garrulous host had gone on to another subject by now. “Still, I think it would be best if the Wheelship remained in the Anselm line, don’t you?”
“To be sure.” Jared had lost track of the conversation.
“And the only way that can come about without complications is through Unification between you and my niece.”
This, Jared reasoned, should be the cue for the girl to step from concealment. But she didn’t budge.
The Upper Level had recovered from his arrival and now he listened to the sounds of a normal world—children shouting at play, women grotto-cleaning, men busy at their chores, a game of clatterball in progress on the field beyond the livestock pens.
The Wheel gripped his arm and said, “Well, we’ll get better acquainted later on. There’ll be a formal dinner this period where you’ll Familiarize yourself with Della. But, first, I’ve had a recess prepared for your convenience.”
Jared was led off along the row of residential grottoes. But they hadn’t gone far when he was drawn to a halt.
“The Prime Survivor says you have a remarkable pair of ears, my boy. Let’s hear how good they are.”
Somewhat embarrassed, Jared turned his attention to the things about him. After a moment his ears were drawn to the ridge running along the far wall.
“I hear something on that ledge,” he said. “There’s a boy lying up there listening out over the world.”
Anselm drew in a surprised breath. Then he shouted, “Myra, your child up on that shelf again?”
A woman nearby called out, “Timmy! Timmy, where are you?”
And a slight, remote voice answered, “Up here, Mother.”
“Incredible!” exclaimed the Wheel. “Utterly incredible!”
As the formal dinner neared its end, Anselm thudded his drinking shell down on the slab and assured the other guests, “It was quite remarkable! There was the lad, all the way across the world. But Jared heard him anyway. How’d you do it, my boy?”
Jared would have let the matter drop. He’d had his fill of uneasiness, each guest having taken the full Ten Touches.
“There’s a smooth dome behind the ledge,” he explained wearily. “It magnifies the tones from the central caster.”
“Nonsense, my boy! It was an amazing feat!”
The slab came alive with murmurs of respect.
Adviser Lorenz laughed. “Listening to the Wheel tell about it, I’d almost suspect our visitor might be a Zivver.”
An uncomfortable hush followed. Jared could hear the Adviser’s complacent smile. “It was remarkable,” Anselm insisted.
There was a lull in the conversation and Jared steered the talk away from himself. “I enjoyed the crayfish, but the salamander was especially good. I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”
“Indeed you haven’t,” Anselm boasted. “And we have Survivoress Bates to thank. Tell our guest how you manage it, Survivoress.”
A stout woman across the slab said, “I had an idea meat would taste better if we could get away from soaking it directly in boiling water. So we tried putting the cuts in watertight shells and sinking them in the hot springs. This way the meat’s dry cooked.”
On the edge of his hearing, Jared sensed that Della was listening to his slight movements.
“The Survivoress used to prepare salamander even better,” offered Lorenz.
“When we still had the big boiling pit,” the woman said.
“When you still had it?” Jared asked, interested.
“It dried up a while back, along with a couple of others,” Anselm explained. “But I suppose we’ll be able to do without them.”
The other guests had begun drifting off toward their grottoes—all except Della. But still she ignored Jared.
The Wheel gripped his shoulder, whispered “Good luck, my boy!” and headed for his own recess.
Someone turned off the echo caster, ending the activity period, and Jared sat listening to the girl’s even breathing. He casually tapped the slab with a fingernail and studied the reflected impressions of a creased feminine brow and full lips compressed with concern.
He moved closer. “Ten Touches?”
There was a sharp alteration in the sound pattern as she faced the other way. But she offered no protest to Familiarization.
His probing fingers traced out her profile first, then verified the firmness of her cheekbones. He explored further the odd hair style and her level shoulders. The skin there was warm and full, its smoothness harshly broken by the overlay of halter straps.
She drew back. “I’m sure you’ll recognize me the next time.”
If he was going to be stuck with Unification, Jared decided, he could fare worse by way of a partner.
He waited for the feel of her fingers. But none came. Instead, she slid off the bench and walked casually toward a natural grotto whose emptiness reflected her footfalls. He followed.
“How does it feel,” she asked finally, “to have Unification forced on you?” Her words bore more than a trace of bitter indignation.
“I don’t much care for it.”
“Then why don’t you refuse?” She sat on a ledge in the grotto.
He paused outside, tracing the details of the recess as relayed by her rebounding words. “Why don’t you?”
“I don’t have much of a choice. The Wheel’s made up his mind.”
“That’s tough.” Her attitude sug
gested that the whole arrangement was his idea. But he supposed she did have a right to be indignant. So he added, “I guess we could both do worse.”
“Maybe you could. But I might have my pick of a dozen Upper Level men I’d prefer.”
He bristled. “How do you know? You haven’t even had Ten Touches.”
She scooped up a stone and tossed it. Kerplunk.
“I didn’t ask for them,” she said. “And I don’t want them.”
He wondered whether a few swats in the right place wouldn’t soften her tongue. “I’m not that objectionable!”
“You—objectionable? Paradise no!” she returned. “You’re Jared Fenton of the Lower Level!”
Another pebble went kerplunk.
“‘I hear something on that ledge’,” she mocked his earlier words. “‘There’s a boy lying up there listening out over the world’.”
Della threw several more stones while he stood there with his ears trained severely on her. They all went kerplunk.
“That demonstration was your uncle’s idea,” he reminded her.
Instead of answering, she continued tossing rocks into the water. She had him on the defensive. And if he chose to strike back it would only seem he was in favor of their Unification, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Unification and the obligations it brought would mean an end to his search for Light.
Della rose and went to the grotto wall where a group of slender stones hung needlelike from the ceiling. She stroked them lightly, and melodious tones filled the recess with vibrant softness. It was a wistful tune that sang of pleasant things with deep, tender meaning. He was stirred by the girl’s sensitive talent as he was by the sharp contrasts the music showed in her nature.
She slapped several of the stones in an impulsive burst of temperament, then scooped up another pebble. Whispering through the air, her arm arched out to toss the rock as she turned and strode defiantly from the grotto.
Kerplunk.
Curious, he went over to explore for the puddle. He was concerned over the fact that he hadn’t detected the liquid softness of water in the recess. He found the pool a moment later, however. A deep, almost still spring, it had a surface area no larger than his palm.