by M. A. Foster
He answered cautiously, trying to maintain some semblance of neutrality, some little vestige of secrecy, a futile task, he knew, in the face of this arch-keeper of secrets. He said, “Little enough. I have been searching for an image of her who we must find, so that we would know the better to look and where. I was on my way home, caught in the rain, and happened on this lodge.”
“You did not find her for whom you search.”
“Hardly. We did not expect to. Just understand who she is, what she is. Or rather, was. Fellirian is exploring down the other way, about the Institute with her friends there. We think she is still alive. At the least, we are proceeding as if she were.”
“You will go out for her?”
“Of course.”
“Why? When you find where she is, you can report to the Perwathwiy and that will be the end of that.”
“Why? An honor thing, I suppose. We said that if we could, we would find her and return her. There is much, though, which we do not know yet. If she lives, her condition.” He changed the subject, feeling an oppressive weight about the subject of Maellenkleth. “And you, Sanjir, what do you here, in this place of silences? Are you perhaps out of the rain, as I?”
She did not answer immediately, but looked off into space with the old blank gaze of hers, gradually turning it toward Morlenden. Yes, the eyes, dark, heavy-lashed, wine-dark; they still had that eerie scanning quality, but there was a controlled directness in them as well now, flashing with lightning and fire when she concentrated upon something. But for now, they were faraway, seeing something Morlenden did not know. She said, after a time, “We met here, often, our group. It is an excellent place to discuss secret plans, for they who lodge here will not speak of what they hear or see. . . . Over the years, I have grown fond of it, of this place, and come alone betimes. And I was troubled, and so I came to seek solitude, peace. To learn peace, Morlen. I know I do not have it in me, but would like to see it once, if but to refuse it.”
She fell silent again, chewing the inside of her lower lip. Tonight her lips were pale and colorless, lighter than her face, which lent her an odd, ghostly quality. The lighter pink of her mouth against the dark olive of her face. Then suddenly she turned to him and fixed him with an intense and uncomfortable regard, saying, “You are thorough in this, indeed. And why so? I know you well enough and know that you never cared a whit for the Game or its Players. You have been no Gamefollower, always at the exhibitions. . . . You have no side, no color, no pennant to wave, neither a red nor a blue.”
“It is as you say . . . I am no Gamefollower, nor have I supported one against another.”
“But you must know of the rivalry between our Braids, and that Maellenkleth and I were exemplars of that traditional rivalry?”
“Indeed. I knew that before you spoke of it.”
“So why pursue this girl to the very end? You need only determine it and report.”
“It would appear,” he said after a moment’s reflection, “that there are many intrigues about the house of Perklaren, some of which I must needs unravel as I go along. It appears extremely complex, just as does Maellenkleth.”
“Maellenkleth was to the contrary; she was simple-minded and onesided. I know her well, saw her often.”
“So much have I learned. And that also she was reputed to be an excellent Player.” Morlenden felt the necessity to be on his guard here, but he felt a greater need to needle Sanjirmil into revealing something more. He was right: she reacted immediately, although she covered it well.
She said, her voice unsteady, “Ah, who was it told you that? They also said, most likely, that she was a better Player than I. Well, I think not better—merely different. For my view Maellenkleth was overly concerned for matters of style, elegance, finesse, little internal codes. But I believe in results, that they tell the true story. And I get them, too.” She added, “As a Player.”
Morlenden felt reckless, and pursued the topic. “And I had also heard that she was possibly to be allowed to reenter the Game—the Inner Game, whatever it is—again as a shartoorh Dirklaren, of the first generation of Dirklarens.”
Sanjirmil’s face became darker, flushed, stormy. She responded immediately. “That was foolishness, stupidity, a nuisance! She—they, that out-Braid hifzer—hoped to change the inevitable by little hearthroom children’s games and plots and scheming. But I tell you that it could not and did not have any effect upon me. For the law of the Game, arbitrated by Pellandrey himself, says that only a woven Toorh may be Huszan, master of the Game: I am woven, a Toorh and Klandorh to add to it, and the present parent Terklarens have already retired in my favor, voluntarily. Therefore by the law I am the master of the Game, to say who may and who nay. The Perwathwiy and the others, they may advise, but likewise, the responsibility is mine and I may ignore. And I will be Huszan and Klandorh until our Toorh children weave in their turn. Now we are talking, Morlen, about another thirty years, more than a span.” She repeated the number, emphasizing it: “Two fourteens and two! And the Revens may manufacture all the Braids they wish; in the end only I can admit her into it, her and her outsider. So what should I care about Dirklarens, Beshklarens, Nanklarens40?”
“Technically, you are not woven until, for example, I say that you are. I, or Fellirian, or Kaldherman, or Cannialin.”
“But of course I am! I am fully initiated! Oh, yes, indeed, am I ever initiated!” And here, Sanjirmil laughed, involuntarily, as if at some irrepressible private joke.
“And you quote the law to keep Maellenkleth out of the Game, but you do not wish to hear the same law applied to you yourself.” Morlenden allowed an edge to come into his voice, as if correcting a child. “There is no record; no Deren witnessed.”
“Oh, but there was a ceremony. Even Mael attended. . . .”
“And carried flowers as well, I suppose?”
He did not wait to hear her answer, but continued, “And there was no notification to those who would legitimize your place and position. Not even a courtesy call, a letter by messenger.” Here he also reminded her of their past, for it had been Sanjirmil who had so often insisted upon writing, but after the promises, had never done so. “But in the scale of all things, rights and wrongs, I suppose after all it doesn’t really make any difference, either way. You need our approval: you have it, now, this minute. Write down the full-names of your Braid members, and I will enter them in the records. Done. I would not, in any event, obstruct what is obviously already accomplished. . . . I could only go to the Revens for arbitration, but I can gather from all that I have seen that they already know about it.”
“Morlenden, you do not know all the reasons. . . .”
“Reasons, are they? The tyranny of reasons, so it is said; we can always find a zhan of them to explain things we shouldn’t have done in the first place. And of course we can reasonably project that Maellenkleth is done for anyway.”
“She was told of the danger long ago! Clearly, no tricks and nothing hidden! Still, she elected to soldier for us, we did not make her. She was of a valiant heart and could not be denied, but allowed to the very front of the battle, as it were. She pushed it that way . . . thus she gained obligations from those of us who could not go out, as I, even as I. That was not my issue to judge.”
“And you say that you are Huszan, master of the Game, but chlenzan, too, prisoner of the Game.”
“Prisoner, yes! So it is with all mastery! I am not so unique! And I do not regret what I have given up to get it, the trade of the one for the other. Any other. If you knew as I did, you would take it thus as well, and if it were within your grasp, you too would reach for it.”
“I cannot speak of temptations I have not faced.”
“But you could face them and gain thereby if you would but listen to me.”
“How is it that I reach for that which has not been offered?”
“I have always offered it, just as long ago.”
“To cleave to you as an elder when we could not otherwise?
To make with our minds in the future that which we made with our bodies in the past?”
“Why not, then? I say of it that it was the best and sweetest of my life; and for one time, one only, I was free, just myself, and I forgot my name. I know it would be the same; you have reserves and perceptions you do not know. . . .”
“Even were I to agree to such a thing, so I would have to wait for you....”
“As I have waited. But it is as nothing; something we of the longer sight see over, beyond. I never forget those days of the autumn. It is true that we all carry the obligation to the people, to the body, to bring forth and ever keep the line that was given us. Nevertheless the heart and mind know their needs as well.”
“Neither have I forgotten. But we were skin-drunken, kiss-drugged, and it was done and left behind ages ago. You must have thought along the way that we were badly unsynchronized in time: we had our moment, but both of us have had to walk along unique ways.”
“But I have heard that you do wish for something more to be in your free years. And they are free, yours to ask for. And have; that I can offer, that, and more.”
“I remain skeptical. From what I have learned of the Game I am not so sure I would wish such an adventure. We are simple folk of field and forest, remember; accordingly we have essentially modest ambitions. Because I have spoken unguardedly of learning new things—for example, to swim—should not be taken to mean that I wish to swim the Green Sea all the way to the land Yevrofian. Do you offer the Game, or will you accept what elderhood I offer?”
“I am not offering the Game; for the one, I cannot. Maellenkleth did thus, for Krisshantem, but they were children. It is too late for that. Too much to learn, reflexes, Morlenden, reflexes. Knowledge of that is not enough. It’s the speed you use them with, and it takes almost a full span to get them right. Action, decision, foresight, and the sense of timing. Too late, I must say.”
“Then what is it you wish me to take?”
“Just myself. What more can I offer you?”
“I know only one part of you . . . and even now, I cannot know how well I know even that part. Things change, and I know even less of what things have passed in your life.”
Sanjirmil shook her head. “Little of that, to be sure. I have not known another with whom I would have my elderness. Could I speak plainer? You shame my essence evading me thus.”
“It cannot be a thing I would say easily, or on the moment. At the least, I would like some time.”
“Time, is it? The fifteen years until Pethmirvin weaves? The twenty until Pentandrun and Kevlendos are invested with the records of the Derens? We do not have twenty years! We do not have fifteen years!” She had allowed her voice to gain in volume and presence, but now it dropped abruptly to almost a whisper, as she added, “We do not have even five.”
“Of course we do. We have until the end of time.”
“We do not! Within the . . .” Sanjirmil stopped. “I say we do not, and there I speak as Huszan, because I know it as Huszan of the Inner Game. Believe me.”
“With no reasons for this unseemly haste, save ‘believe me’?”
“You are as bullheaded as you ever were!”
“It is not bullheaded to ask why. You must tell me how it is you can be so sure of the time—so sure that you almost gave me a date. What is it and what is to happen?”
“I cannot. . . . It is true that I read the law lightly, as you say, when it comes to my own actions, but even so, I could not initiate you until I was sure you were committed. To me.”
“Those kinds of assurances do not come easy; the requirement is as difficult to satisfy as to fill a bottomless pit with stones. So, after all, this is just another case of Maellenkleth and Krisshantem? She would not initiate him either.”
“So much you have heard of Kris? But he did not know Mael as well as he thought: so she told him she would not do it. But she told me that she would initiate him anyway, permitted or not! She promised, she did, although I should prefer the word ‘threaten.’ ”
“Had she actually done that?”
“So she said. But we were at least spared that embarrassment by her departure on this last mission instead.” (How convenient, Morlenden thought, if any of what she was saying was even half-true.) “It would have come, though, never fear.”
Morlenden observed, coolly, “This Game and its Players grow more interesting with every Player I meet.”
Her reply came in a low tone, and she peered at him from under her heavy eyebrows, so that the lower whites of her eyes showed. Although the words were mild, the effect was menacing, and Morlenden felt it was intended to be. “Be careful that you do not gain too great an interest before your time.”
“I do only what we have been paid to do by the Perwathwiy, and Pellandrey Reven as well. Go to them for comfort; I will even go with you. But as soon as we are a little more knowledgeable, we are going for Maellenkleth, and whatever it takes to do it, knowledge or arts, rest assured we will attain it. Understand me: I would not pay so much as a thimbleful of the yield of our outhouse for one word of the Game or its Players, in themselves. But it is a matter of a missing girl who departed under the oddest of circumstances, and it needs uncovering. And to determine where she might be, we must learn what she was.”
“If you find her, what will you do with what you find?”
“Bring her back, if she lives.”
“And if she lives disminded?”
“As you know, she can be restored, slowly over the years, or quickly via Multispeech, each as circumstances warrant. She has intrinsic value in several ways, not the least of which is that she is a person. And as one of us who I think was caught in something quite beyond her; and as a future parent, who will have to bear the future with the rest of us. And the beauty and the spirit I have heard so much of? Surely it would be a waste to let it all go so casually, lose it without further thought. Not all of it was memory—some of it must reside at the cellular level, and thence to us through the children.”
“But she has no family that can take care of her, that can take the time and trouble to rebuild her. You know that rebuilding a forgetty is much harder than raising the original child, for with a forgetty the instinctual cues and programming for learning readiness are gone.”
“She is of such an age that if all else failed we Derens would take her in. Or perhaps the Hulens. I am not so sure that would be to Kris’s liking, for he would still lose her, but even so . . .”
“Hulens? Ragamuffins, hooligans, wanderers, tramps, nomads!”
“I cannot speak of their methodology, but as much of it as they passed to Kris seemed to be effective enough. True, he is withdrawn and solitary, but he is competent and practiced in the basic social graces. He had to learn from someone, and with his tenuous contact with the Hulens, their way must have some values.”
“Morlen, what have we lost that I cannot reach you now?”
“Now? We cannot lose what we never had, Sanjir. As for the rest, we lose no more than others have done, gracefully and tactfully, in somewhat similar circumstances. Do not misunderstand: I cherish the time when we were together. I can in truth compare that with no one else. But time has passed and conditions changed. You and I alike are Toorh, and we have debt to others, no matter what we feel. Not to mention other emotions that may have become operative in us. You for yours and likewise I for mine. Would you have me run off willy-nilly into the forest as some moon-child?”
“Then you will persist in this folly?”
“Even if I were disinterested and wholly mercenary I would proceed. Word is word. But there is far more. This Maellenkleth has obviously been ill-used by the very people who should have shielded her from the terrors of the wider world, whether she desired it or not. She was a child—she had no business being a spy. That is not the business of the young and zealous, but of the seasoned and calm. I know there are high stakes outside, worlds won and lost. Perhaps inside as well. But I have my own values, my own interests. An
d there seems to be much too much afoot to allow it to remain hidden for no other reason than that it may be sensitive cult-dogma! I owe the truth at least to myself, since now I apparently risk that person. And of course the Perwathwiy deserves what she paid for. So I would learn how Maellenkleth came to be where she is.”
“Even though you know you are on the edge of things you may not be a witness to yet?”
“Indeed, there. Just so. But have no fears; I am discreet by nature and will retain any secrets I uncover.”
“You expect to find them along the way, like stones in a path?”
“Of course! An excellent choice of words! I could not have put it better. For I have already, hardly looking, turned over several interesting stones of such a nature, things I imagine people would not have left casually strewn about.”
“Morlenden, Morlenden, I urge restraint, I caution you! We are not a riddle to be solved, a puzzle for the curious to decipher . . .”
“. . . but a mystery cult of which to stand in awe? While you stand serene and secure above the rest of us? Then explain it!”
“I cannot, I simply cannot. I would lose much, starting with you. You may see that in time, and why, although I wish with all my heart that you do not.”
“Well enough,” he said, almost grimly. “Well taken, all your warnings. But I continue.”
“How far?”
“Until the end.”
“I cannot be responsible, then. Not in your debt.”
“For what?”
“For what may happen . . . it is suspected that Maellenkleth fell into a clever trap, the like of which has not been set before. It may be set even now for you, should you go to it.”
“I will take that chance and rely upon ingenuity. She had hers and went, clean-eyed; I can do no less, with the less that I have to lose.”
