The Morphodite

by M. A. Foster

  They were still down in a valley, following the creek north and west, but the sky to the west of them was open and expansive, full of light instead of shadows, and there was a warm lightness to the air that promised a different terrain. Meliosme called them to a halt.

  “Here is the place where the paths diverge. Follow the creek north, and you will come to an open hilltop, with a circle worn into it. Bosels use this in midsummer, but none will approach the place now. Follow the rivulet down, on the other side, and you will come to the marshes, which is in Zolotane, but is near to the Serpentine. About a day’s walk, I should think, if you’re up to moving along smartly. We will turn here and go down into lower Zolotane, where there are few.”

  Emerna looked north, up the creek, and hesitated. “Could we not follow you to the coast? Then we could go north.”

  “This part of Zolotane is empty, and the coast is rough.” She shrugged. “It is your choice. You saved us from the tramps; who am I to tell you where you can go and not go? I only say that where we go is empty country, and no easy way out of it.”

  Janea the waif tugged at Emerna’s arm. She clearly did not wish to stay in the wilds. For a minute longer, she stood, uncertain, looking at the light fading in the west, and the empty creek bottom north. At last, she said, “So be the throw,” and turned up the creek, neither saying farewells nor waiting for any.

  After the pair had walked around a bend, Phaedrus said, “An odd and capable creature, that one. I am sorry to see her go, the times being what they are.”

  Meliosme said, “Surely you could see that she wasn’t whole, but was damaged and broken, long before you set the world on edge. And as you were not whole yourself, so she could serve you, but as you grew in knowledge of self, you would threaten her, and in the end, she would be your enemy. She is dangerous. Better we send her back to the world, where the presence of many others may heal her. She needs those others. You know what you need.”

  He nodded. “Yes. At least for a time. Well, let us go. I think you know the way.”

  Meliosme smiled, and Phaedrus saw with pleasure that although she was not pretty, when she smiled there was a warmth in her face that was genuine. “Yes, so I do, or at least so much as I remember.” She looked shyly at the ground for a moment. “There is an abandoned cabin down there, and a little creek that flows down from the hills and falls into the sea at the cliffs. The land is covered with grassopant, and the sun shines on the land and the water. A nice place. Of course, there is no food, but we can manage. You are, for the time, a gatherer. I will show you.”

  Phaedrus asked, “Is there more?”

  “There is a matter I would take up where it left off, when you were another.”

  Meliosme led them up a steep path, that wound upward, and farther upward, until at last it emerged on a ridgeline where there was nothing higher to the west. The sun was sinking, near the horizon, which was a ruled line of darkness, straight, upon which there was a golden trail shimmering.

  Phaedrus stopped and looked long across the openness that lay before him. At the distant horizon was the sea, and somewhere beyond that, the harsh and bare mountains of southern and eastern Clisp, that faced this bay. But here were rolling hills and ridges slanting down gently to the sea. He turned to Meliosme and asked, “Where shall I go when you have finished?”

  To which she said, “I will not be finished.” And took his hand. Hers was hardened and tough from years in the wild, but it felt right, and he took what was offered, and together they walked down the first of the slopes that led down to the sea. They had not gone very far when they began to hear bosel calls, liquid, trembling wails, first from behind them, seemingly in the very place they had paused, but also down the slope in front of them, and some more to the north and south, Phaedrus listened carefully, and said that he thought there were six. Meliosme listened and agreed, and also pronounced them not dangerous.

  “When they call like that, they’re just curious. Actually, it’s a good sign that we picked up some like that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it means that they haven’t seen anyone like us for a long time coming this way. We’re odd, and new, to them. Or so it seems to me.”

  “You know them as well as anyone I have known.”

  “You are kind. But no one knows bosels well, and after we live here for a time, you will know them as well as I—maybe better.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The young one we saw before—he is with this group. And it was you he was interested in. They are following you, not me. At least, I have never heard them make that sound while watching me or following.”

  “Is this group dangerous?”

  “I don’t think so. Let us go straight ahead, and mind our own affairs; when they can anticipate what we are going to do, they will form a looser group, and move off. If the calls change otherwise… well, we will worry about that, then.”

  — 15 —

  Final Focus

  There was a small building, far down the long slope, which was much longer than it seemed when they had seen it from the top of the ridge that properly divided Zolotane from Crule the Swale. A long walk, which totally sapped their endurance. And the building; that wasn’t much either. Abandoned for years to the airs of the coast, come whatever would, one could not tell now whether it had been a house, or a shed, or a small barn, or none of these. And it was the only place in sight, more, the only one Meliosme had ever known along this part of the coast.

  They had walked all of one night and all of the following day to get there, and in the late afternoon light, the wind came off the sea and made a whispering among the grass-plants and the old ruins.

  Phaedrus asked, after drinking long and deep at the shallow stream that watered the place, “Do you know who was here, who built, and why, here?”

  “No. I never knew. I never came to this place before. I saw it from afar. And I heard there was an abandoned place here, the only one down this far. This is only Zolotane if you make natural borders; actually, it is no one’s. Its style seems to me to be more Crule, but an old Crule not seen in our lives, mine or yours.”

  Phaedrus chuckled. “We do not know how long mine is; I was born only a little ago.”

  She made a face at him. “Even that much, however long it is. This is an old place, and-the owners long gone. They came for something, and did not get it, and left, or got so much of it they wanted nothing else and so became one with it.”

  Phaedrus looked around for a long time, saying nothing. He took in the empty sweep of the coast, the expanse of grass-plant that tossed to the coast wind and gave it fleeting suggestion of shape; he saw the open sweep of the sky, the dark water westward of them. He inhaled deeply and tasted the world-ocean. Finally, he said, “Can we live here? Is there enough for us?”

  Meliosme had been squatting, looking at the ground as if studying it. Now she stood, and also looked about, slowly. “Yes. A lot of searching and scrabbling, but it will be possible. In time…”

  He looked at her directly. “I remember you. You have not changed.”

  She said, “In you there is something which did not change, that I remember.”

  “Well… let us make of this ruin a house of sorts.”

  She laughed easily. “I do not need one.”

  “Your wandering days seem to be over.”

  “For now. But who knows? I may someday wish to take them up again.”

  “Can you see this time?”

  She paused, as if deep in thought. Finally: “No. I cannot. We will rebuild.”

  “And make some new things.”

  She added, “Some new things are actually older than humankind on Oerlikon.”

  “Some are older than humankind itself.”

  As the light fell, they went into the building and moved a few things around and also searched for whatever they could find. Among their finds were a few plain, worn, and much-rusted tools such as one would have about a home in an empty land. B
ut by then the light was almost gone, and so they did not do more than make a shelter for themselves against the wind, which was still cold, and some protection from bosels, should any approach, although for once the dark seemed curiously free of them. As they became quiet, they could hear short calls, but from very far away, and there was no urgency in those. Phaedrus and Meliosme lay close together for warmth, and presently they became closer, and very warm, and afterward they lay together, wrapped in their collection of odd pieces and scraps, and slept soundly, untroubled by dreams or desires.

  The next morning they awoke late and were very hungry. Meliosme led him down to the sea and along the shore, pointing out what was edible, what was not, and what was endurable should the occasion arise. She said, “We have water, we have the sea, and there is grassplant, and farther back, fleischbaum.”

  “Everything except clothes.”

  She laughed, a soft chuckle. “If it will hurry up and get a bit warmer, we will not need those. There is no flow into the great bay from the north, and so the water will be warm.”

  He said, “And then winter again.”

  She answered, “We will rest here for the while, and then go forth, to get some things. We can always take a load of fleischbaum with us. I think people will be hungry, and will trade with ragamuffins, when their values have changed somewhat.”

  Phaedrus looked out across the water, now more at ease, that Meliosme had caught a few things for them. During the night, the wind had shifted some, and although waves were coming in onto the narrow beach, on the brown sand, the wind from the land was lifting their crests back gracefully. He said, “Yes. But I do not want to leave this place any longer than I have to.”

  “We won’t.”

  And they returned to the little creek, climbed back up to the golden plain, and set to rebuilding the house. During the afternoon, Meliosme set off on an exploring trip, back into the higher country back of them, for fleischbaum and groundnut which had survived the winter, and returned near evening with her skirts full of things. As she neared the house, which was even now looking more like a house and less like a ruin, she saw Phaedrus’s slender figure climbing about on the roof he was rebuilding. Not so far away from the house, south of it, in the slanting, marvelous light of the west, stood quietly three large bosels, of the appearance of elder bucks of great age and sagacity, who stood and watched, without comment, without gesture, hoot or grumble. Phaedrus, although she could see by his actions that he was aware of them, ignored them and went on with his work. When they saw her approaching, they turned and stared solemnly at her, and moved off, a little farther south, but they still stayed and waited for a long time, until darkness fell. After that, in the night, lying together in their shelter inside the walls, the couple heard the flow of boselcall rippling about them, intermittently, like distant summer lightning.

  Their life now flowed much like the sea winds that flowed over the golden shoals of grass which covered the flat lands between the seaside cliffs and the hills in the east. The long days of Oerlikon drifted slowly past them, and with more days, the imperceptible change of the seasons, always subtle and delicate. Phaedrus did not question Meliosme closely about her recent past, but he noticed a change in his own life which was immediate and demonstrable. He could not remember any period save the present when he had not measured events around himself (or herself ) by devastating, calamitous events, either things he knew were to come, or those which had passed. Now was different. There was no measure. They slept at dark and arose at light, and in between, without haste, rebuilt the house and made up their stores. It was a simple, life of survival thousands of years in tradition, and soon he stopped considering who he had been and worried little over who he might become. It was enough to be as he was at the moment.

  In between times when they were working, Meliosme spoke of the things she knew of the world Oerlikon: the texture of sky, the feel and smell of the wind, the quarter it came from. She spoke of the colors of the sky, and the meaning of each; of bosels, and rarer creatures native to the planet. Of plants, harmful, beneficial, medicinal, toxic, and consumable. She added, “It’s silly, but this really is a good, easy world. No one need starve, or live badly. But like anything else, you have to understand it. Most of our people who came here brought rigid ideas from elsewhere, and applied them against the wind with great resolve.”

  He said, “You sound as if you approve of what Rael did.”

  “It was wrong here, and getting no better. Sometimes cures are not pleasant. Rael, or someone else; it needed doing—something, to break them loose. We who wander knew that the folk inside the cities were all closed in in their minds; they hadn’t an enemy on the whole planet, but they were exiles in their minds.”

  “Do you think they will be any better, now? They could well be worse: doubtless terrible deeds have been done, and back there are the survivors, who are now sharpening their knives and Saying under their breath, ‘Never forget! Never forgive!’ There is no end to revenge.”

  For a long time, they were alone and untroubled by visitors, but they knew that someday some would come, and after a time which seemed short to them both, wanderers and refugees began to appear, footsore and bedraggled, generally walking northwest out of Serets Solntsa and the torment of Marula, or otherwise out of the southern parts of Crule the Swale. The most of these were dispirited and broken, blown by the wind, and after some kind words, would work a little for some rest and some food, after which they would go on their way. Some of the children stayed, the orphaned ones who knew nothing and who told plain tales in simple language that chilled the soul. Others also came, looking in the confusions of the times to carve out a little place and secure it. Some of these they reasoned with; others they threatened. The most desperate and hostile ones were, in a matter-of-fact manner, either run off or killed, either by Phaedrus, or Meliosme, or, by them all together.

  Phaedrus told Meliosme that the changes wrought upon him in the bowels of the Mask Factory had removed his ability to sire children, but she had shrugged, as if it were no matter, and gestured at the collection of children of all sizes which sat at the table with them, and said, “We can have as many of these as we want.” And that was all was said of the subject.

  Phaedrus and Meliosme did not inquire of the world they had left behind, nor of the people in it; nevertheless they heard tales, and from them they could make up a picture of what things were happening across the hills. In general, it could be said that anarchy reigned, with early alliances, fissioning down to the village level, save in the area dominated by Clisp, and what was left of Lisagor, which was now effectively limited to a strip along the great river and the northern parts of Marula. Symbarupol had been abandoned, sacked, vandalized, and burned, and no one seemed to have any inclination to re-inhabit the site. It was out of the way.

  A year passed. Winter into spring, spring into summer, summer into fall, and winter again. The tales circulating into their small world from the east described the dissolution of what remained of Lisagor by the fanatics of Crule, for lack of doctrinal rigor, and of the recovery of Crule, at least in part. The flow of wanderers from the east over the hills stopped, and that from Marula slowed, but they now sighted crude ships on the sea, always sailing northwest. Some of these wrecked on the foreshore reefs, and sometimes only parts of boats floated in on the waves.

  In the meantime, some of those who had stayed wandered off a little and built places of their own, thinking only that this place was half wild and rude, but no warlord wanted it, and so they were left alone. Others came and went between there and Zolotane proper, and there was a small trickle of trade. And of rumor. The trade was simple, things coming down they could not make for themselves, and what went north was mostly food, and people who had been stopped in their fall into despair. And the tale began circulating, first in settled Zolotane, then along The Serpentine, and in Clisp, and in the provinces facing the grey-green northern seas, that in the far south of Zolotane sojourned a wise woman
and an enigmatic wise man, who claimed no authority except over what was properly theirs, but who helped those who came to them, in quiet and unassuming ways, and sent them on, ready to rebuild their lives. And some little bit of what really passed there actually reached those settled places, but what little bit it was, it did some little good, and in the west of the continent Karshiyaka, a semblance of order began to come back into shape, and people breathed a little easier.

  One day, in the summer, Phaedrus was teaching some children by the edge of the cliffs, when he looked up and saw offshore a sleek and splendid gray ship approaching, moving south down the coast, and now angling closer to the shore. This was, he observed, no refugee sailboat, patched together of packing cases, but a ship of metal, and powered, for a low droning noise came from it as it slowed, and stopped, and anchored, not far offshore. Presently, a small boat was lowered, and people could be seen embarking for the shore. Phaedrus sent the children back inland, more for precaution than anything else, but as the boat approached, he could discern no hostile gesture, and so he waited, watching the people make their way across the water to the shore, and when they drew near, he went down to the beach to meet them.

  The men in the longboat, operating some kind of motor, guided the craft to the shore, where they drew it up on the beach a little, so their leader could step out. This was an individual who was dressed neatly and impressively in pants, a stiff gray tunic with a roman collar, and a soft cape which waved in the wind. He alighted on the sand, placing his feet carefully so as not to wet his boots, and observed Phaedrus.

  The stranger announced, “I am Casio Salkim, Acting Viceroy of the Southern Expeditionary Flotilla.”