Sky Trillium

by Julian May

  Denby leapt to his feet, genuine alarm on his brown, withered features. “Haramis—wait!” he cried. “You don’t understand! You can’t open that! It would be the death of you!” He stumbled to the enshrouded window beside the round black door and pulled the blue velvet draperies back.

  Haramis uttered a cry of consternation. Leaning heavily against a chair, she stared at the scene outside. It was a night sky, strewn with multicolored stars beyond counting. Three side-lit heavenly bodies hung amidst the profusion of twinkling points—one seeming to be of modest size, colored blue and white, the other two much larger and silvery, without recognizable features.

  “Sacred Flower!” Haramis whispered. “You’ve taken me to your Moon!”

  “Yes,” Denby said, now almost apologetic. “You really can’t go until I let you. It’s necessary that you stay, I tell you … just as it’s necessary for Iriane to remain out of the picture for the time being.”

  “What? You know of her monstrous captivity and will do nothing to help her?” Eyes ablaze, Haramis strode to the Dark Man and took hold of his skinny shoulders. “You doddering lunatic! What kind of silly game do you think you’re playing?”

  “No game! No game!” he wailed. “Ow! That hurts. Forbear, young Archimage! I’m twelve thousand years old and my bones are brittle and my poor heart is weak. I may just drop dead on you if you treat me too roughly. Then you’ll never get back home.”

  She turned him loose and spoke in tones of icy contempt. “Explain yourself, then. Where is my sister Anigel if she is not here—and why have you dared to interfere with me in the execution of my solemn duties?”

  He lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “The Queen is safe enough, along with the other rulers. Orogastus has them locked up in his castle in Sobrania. It’s all part of my plan.”

  The drop of trillium-amber atop the Three-Winged Circle now began to shine like a tiny sun as the face of Haramis became awesome in its wrathful resolution. “Denby Varcour,” she intoned, “I command you, as your fellow Archimage and peer, to send me back to the world at once—or face dreadful consequences.”

  His shaken nerves seemed to be mending. He tilted his head, pursing his lips in a teasing grimace. “What consequences? Do you plan to shake the teeth out of my crumbling skull if I disobey? Or deny your sacred oath and slay me—a feeble old eccentric who only has the best interests of the world at heart? You could easily do so with just your bare hands, you know. But I beg you to hold off, lovely young Haramis. I brought you here for a very good reason.” His expression turned mock-reproachful. “And I was so sure you’d enjoy the new bread.”

  “What do you want?” she cried in desperation.

  Abruptly, he seemed both serious and sane. “Archimage, you know that the World of the Three Moons that you love so much is out of balance, threatened with catastrophe.”

  “I—I do know that. My sisters and I have tried to restore this balance, as it was prophesied of us. Once we thought all would be well when Orogastus was conquered, but that did not prove to be the case. Now I suspect that only the reassembly of the broken Sceptre of Power will alleviate the peril that threatens.”

  “Yes!” the Archimage of the Firmament affirmed. “It holds the secret, all right. The Sceptre, that damnable instrument capable of both restoring the world and annihilating it. You have one piece, and the other two are …” The old man trailed off, shaking his head. “But there is much more to the matter than that.”

  “Then explain,” she demanded.

  He essayed a tentative little smile. “It would help your understanding, I think, if you first allowed me to show you something. Will you accompany me to that Moon over there? There’s a viaduct in the alcove next to the middle bookcase.”

  She frowned. “Orogastus spoke of a Garden Moon and a Death Moon.”

  “It is to the latter we must go.” As Denby gestured, opening the viaduct, the familiar bell-tone sounded and a dark disk sprang into existence. “I’m not trying to trick you, lass. I’ll go first, if you like.”

  He disappeared. Haramis hesitated for a moment. “The Death Moon! I must be as mad as Denby.” She took hold of her talisman, murmured a brief prayer, and followed.

  They emerged and stood side by side on a round piece of transparent scaffolding, suspended in murky crimson twilight. Above them, below them, and on all sides extending as far as they could see into the distance floated a myriad of golden spheres some two ells in diameter, each one tethered to others nearby with barely visible gossamer threads, as though they were caught in an enormous, elegantly woven lingit web spangled with huge drops of dew. When her eyes became better accustomed to the dim light, Haramis realized that the spheres were transparent, filled with some kind of luminous mist. Inside each one was a human form, motionless, attired in garments of a strange cut.

  “Dear Lords of the Air,” Haramis exclaimed, stricken. “There must be thousands upon thousands of them! Who are they?”

  “Those who were unable to Vanish,” said Denby Varcour.

  12

  “Are they truly dead?” Haramis asked, overwhelmed with pity and horror at the sight of the countless glowing bubbles and the bodies within them—men, women, and children.

  “No,” said Denby. “They sleep, as they must continue to do, forgotten by everyone except me and the surviving sindona.”

  “But why can’t you free them?” she cried. “The poor souls—neither dead nor truly alive! It’s dreadful!”

  “I’ve waited twelve thousand years, hoping that the appropriate time would come. But it never did. If these people were revived now—” He broke off, shaking his head.

  “What would happen?” Haramis demanded.

  “I’ll tell it all to you, lass,” said Denby, taking her arm and pulling her back toward the black disk of the viaduct, “the real story—not the half truths you got from Iriane during your time of study. But we can’t talk here. Not in this accursed Death Moon. Come with me.”

  In spite of herself she was drawn away again into ringing darkness. When the passage was complete they were in another place that at first sight seemed ordinary enough, a paved hexagonal eminence a dozen ells in diameter, bordered by a parapet of pierced stone. The sun shone brightly overhead, and for a moment she felt a great surge of joy and relief, thinking that they had returned to the world of her birth.

  “Come and take a look,” Denby said, going to the platform’s edge and flinging out one arm in an inviting gesture.

  Standing beside him, Haramis gave a cry of amazement. She and the Archimage of the Firmament stood atop an enormous pyramid composed of stacked terraces. The level directly beneath was planted with geometric beds of blue and orange flowers, alternating with orchards of small trees laden with many different kinds of fruit. The third terrace from the top had groves of larger trees, meadowlike expanses where some kind of animals grazed, and irregular bodies of water that glistened in the sunlight. Still lower were more green terraces, broad and encircling, that spread far down into the misty depths. Haramis lifted her eyes, looking off into the distance, and was astounded to discover other huge pyramids dimly visible in every direction. There was no horizon, only a dizzying concavity soaring upward, bearing endless numbers of the mysterious prominences. And what she at first thought were oddly shaped dark clouds on the blue bowl of the sky turned out to be more hexagonal shapes, closely spaced, with the “sun” obscuring the smallest ones immediately overhead.

  They were inside a colossal globe studded with pyramidal gardens, having a bright light source at its center.

  “Once there were dwellings and pleasure-domes and places for games here,” the Dark Man said. “But their emptiness made me sad, so I had the sindona take everything away but the plantings and the things in the Grotto of Memory.” Again he took her arm. “We’ll go down to the grotto now. But I wanted you to see the Garden Moon from this vantage point first.”

  The viaduct had changed into a black circular pit precisely at the center of
the platform. Before she could say a word, Denby stepped nonchalantly into it and dropped out of sight.

  “I’ll never get used to this,” Haramis murmured crossly. Holding tight to her talisman, she followed the old man.

  Instantly, she found herself in a sun-dappled woodland clearing, standing beside her smiling host. A little pool glimmered in the distance. Haramis looked at the peculiar vegetation underfoot, which had a certain familiarity. The grass was very fine and smooth-edged rather than properly saw-toothed, and odd wildflowers with cushiony yellow heads grew here and there in sunny spots. “The Place of Knowledge had strange plants like this,” she observed.

  “Yes. That was the landside floral archive of our university. But mine’s much nicer, don’t you think?” The old man reached down and plucked a globular seedpuff. “These are the plants of our original home world, kept in both places for sentimental reasons as well as for their unique genome.” He blew, and the seeds flew off, hanging from tiny parasols. “Aeons ago, these plants served as foundation breeding stock for the hybrids that are the most valued crops down below. Of course, there were many more varieties before the Conquering Ice came along and destroyed the ecological and geophysical balance.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t! That’s one of the reasons why you’re here.” He turned and started off in the direction of the pool, forcing her to trail along behind. “The Grotto of Memory is over yonder, among those rocks on the other side of the water. It has something interesting inside that I want to show you, and we can sit down and rest for a bit, too.”

  Skirting the shore, Haramis admired the pink and white exotic blossoms that grew in the water, surrounded by round flat leaves that floated on the surface like rafts. Strange little green animals crouched on the leaves and watched her with protuberant golden eyes, and a very large four-winged insect darted just above the water’s surface, keeping well clear of the leaf-sitters.

  “It’s time for you to know the history of the World of the Three Moons,” Denby said as they reached the cave mouth. It was broad, but only slightly higher than their heads. “I know that Iriane told you something about it when you studied with her, but there’s much more. Please come inside.”

  The cave was almost cozy, the size of a modest cottage parlor. From somewhere in the shadows came the tinkle of falling water. Ferns grew lushly on the walls and ceiling, and the floor was carpeted with moss. At the center stood a low pedestal topped by a ball of stone about an ell in diameter. Behind it was a curved wooden bench.

  Denby touched the ball. Instantly it glowed from within, becoming deeply blue with a single irregular area of ocher and dark brown, thickly dotted with azure.

  “Why, it’s a representation of our own world!” Haramis exclaimed. “I recognize the single continent from charts in my Tower library, even though its shape on this globe seems slightly different. But where is the Sempiternal Icecap?”

  “Ah!” Denby crowed. “This shows the planet as it was before the coming of humanity—when the Skritek dwelt in abominable primacy at the summit of animal evolution.” His forefinger poked at the brown patch. “You’re right about the continent being somewhat different in contour then. The sea was higher, but the land was, too—because it wasn’t weighted down by a thick icy mantle covering over half of its surface.”

  He motioned for her to sit down on the bench. One of the omnipresent domestic machines called tenders now appeared, tiptoeing discreetly through the viridescent twilight and bearing two glass goblets of reddish–purple liquid in the box on its back.

  “Your requested refreshment, master,” it said buzzily. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Bring me a schematic diagram of the Threefold Sceptre of Power,” said Denby, giving one cup to Haramis and taking the second for himself. The tender stalked away into the depths of the cave.

  Haramis gazed into her drink, as if into a scry-bowl. Its scent was both heady and familiar. It was mistberry brandy, one of the favorite drinks of Ruwenda, her home. “The Sceptre … is that at the heart of the matter, then?”

  “Oh, yes, lass. It’s been both our shining hope and our ultimate menace ever since the world’s imbalance worsened. But let me tell the whole story to you properly, in my own way.”

  “I presume you also told this tale to Orogastus, during his sojourn here.”

  The old man giggled. “Three Petals of the Living Trillium and the last Star Master … Of course I told him! And he learned more delving through my archives, discovering how the imbalance might be corrected. That’s why he was born. That’s why you were born!” And he began to chant:

  “One, two, three: three in one.

  One the Crown of the Misbegotten, wisdom-gift, thought-magnifier.

  Two the Sword of the Eyes, dealing justice and mercy.

  Three the Wand of the Wings, key and unifier.

  Three, two, one: one in three.

  Come, Trillium. Come, Almighty.

  “That’s the rhyme! That’s the secret! The way to call forth the Sky Trillium and heal the ancient wounds of the world! Binah and Iriane thought you three girls would be able to do it, but I put my money on Orogastus. It’s impossible to unite all those disparate nations and tribes with sweetness and light, you know. It’s against human nature—against aboriginal nature, too. Force! That’s the only way to get things done. Crush the opposition! We tried persuasion and reasoning during the war of enchantment, and what did it get us, eh? Disaster, that’s what! And in the end, a Death Moon. Could never let ’em wake up into this primitive environment. They’d destroy your simple civilization with their science and high magic—start the fracas all over again.”

  He had leapt to his feet during the fevered harangue, his eyes wide and flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. She drew back in alarm.

  He is insane, she thought. As unbalanced as the world itself—

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he caroled. His frenzy evaporated and he took his seat once more. After taking a swig from the cup of brandy he stared at the shining world icon and vented a doleful sigh. “Yes, I do know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I’m a lunatic. That’s why I could never fix things all by myself.” Two great tears rolled down his wrinkled dark cheeks.

  Haramis spoke gently. “You were going to tell me the story. Please begin.”

  Oh, very well [said Denby Varcour]. The trouble started twelve-times-ten hundreds ago.

  In those days, the whole world looked just like that globe. The continent had a myriad of lakes with islands scattered upon them, and that’s where we built most of our cities. You’ve seen some of the ruins, deep in your Mazy Mire: gorgeous places like Trevista, laced with canals and adorned with verdant parks and gardens. We modified the original planetary flora to suit our needs, and worked over some of the animals, too—although they were already compatible with our basic biology.

  The settlement was a success for many hundreds. Then we were abruptly left on our own when the outside political ultra-structure crumbled and it became dangerous to sail the firmament. For some other worlds, that spelled calamity, but not for us. Oh, no! Our planet was small but it was completely self-sufficient, and our population was stable, enlightened, and contented. We lived as long as we liked, then passed safely beyond when the time seemed appropriate to move on to another plane of existence. Most of us were worker-philosophers, but there were lots of artists, too, and a cadre of professional scientists and engineers who kept the necessary machinery in order.

  I was one of those, until the Restless Time began.

  It’s not easy for me to explain our Restless Time to a simpleminded person like yourself, accustomed to life in a relatively harsh preindustrial culture. (Don’t look at me like that! You’re nothing but a barbarian—an intelligent primitive … Oh, very well. I apologize for insulting you. But it’s still true.)

  To you, the world we lived in then would have seemed like paradise: no one was hungry, sick, ignorant,
or oppressed. Crime was almost unheard of. Everyone had a fulfilling job to do, as well as plenty of leisure time for other pursuits. Nevertheless, after years of tranquillity, a strange new discontent seemed to appear out of nowhere. All of a sudden, people began to question the old customs and beliefs and systems of values. We argued passionately about things such as the nature of the universe and our own place in it, about the profundities of life and mind and love and free will.

  At first the debates were civilized and rational, but as time went on the opposing philosophical groups became more and more intolerant and fanatical. Disputes began to end in physical violence. That should have warned us what lay ahead, but it didn’t. We’d been at peace for so long that we had no true weapons. The rowdiness seemed part of the fun and excitement that were sweeping the world.

  Not everything that happened during the Restless Time was bad. Scientific inventions proliferated—including the wonderful viaducts that were capable of carrying a person anywhere in the world within an eye-blink. New forms of entertainment and new schools of art sprang up. The Three Moons were built, originally as holiday colonies and pleasure parks for those who found themselves unsatisfied with traditional modes of amusement. Novelty piled upon novelty, squabble upon diverting squabble. It was a thrilling time and it was scary, too, for the wisest among us suspected that our once-peaceful society would never be the same again.

  None of our historians was ever sure who first resurrected the ancient human craft that some people call magic … but there it was, all of a sudden, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Fascinating, eh?

  Magic was more than just another passing fad. The practitioners learned to manipulate both the inner resources of the human mind and also those mysterious wellsprings of the natural order that the mind is able to influence. Genuine magicians are always avid for more and more power—especially the ability to control other human beings. We worked away at it, and interestingly enough, those of us who had been scientists (like myself) turned out to be the best enchanters. Not everyone could perform magic, of course. Those who couldn’t do it began to fear and envy and hate those who could.