The Night Land, a Story Retold

by James Stoddard

  "Master, I must go," I said quietly.

  "No. No. I won't allow it. You cannot go. Tomorrow we will look into the Records. We will find—"

  "No!" I cried. "No more Records. I am going!"

  "You are not! I forbid it. I am the Master. I forbid it. Do you hear me?"

  For perhaps the first time in my life I had raised my voice to this man—a man whose commanding presence had always compelled me to obedience. It terrified me to have done so. We stood glaring at one another.

  "You are the Master," I managed, in a lower tone, "but you cannot prevent me from doing this. I am of age. I have the right."

  For an instant I feared that he could prevent me, that he would call the City Watch and have me restrained. He possessed great authority within the pyramid. But he only sat, defeated, his face haggard in the dim light.

  When he spoke his voice was gentler. "This is not a story, Andros, where all turns happy in the end. The task is too great. You will be lost, like the others. You mustn't go."

  "How can I stay? Has anyone ever lived and loved in one life, and awakened in another to find his love alive? Do the Records report such a thing?"

  He shook his head. "No. I have searched the accounts since you first told your story, but have found nothing."

  "Then this is my destiny. Can't you see?"

  He sat silent, marshaling his thoughts. "Who am I to say if you are destined or not? But I don't want you to go, Andros, out there, into the dark." He suddenly drew his hands to his face and sighed into his palms. "Even before your parents died, I knew you were different. I was so proud of you when you showed signs of the Night Hearing. But this—this, dear Andros! I do not want you to leave. I do not want to be without you." Tears suddenly filled his eyes, and his voice broke. "The night will be darker with you in it."

  "I know," I said, patting his ancient hand, scarcely able to control my own voice. "You have been as much my father as any I can remember. You took me in, taught me. I can't begin to repay all I owe you. Let me go. Don't make this more difficult."

  In that moment I think he saw my resolve, but the young, caught up in their own will, can never understand the full measure of their elders' pain.

  He wiped the tears from his eyes. "But you've lost weight. How can you go into the night without your full strength? You should wait, to regain your vitality."

  "I will go as I am," I said gently. "I may be lean, but I have never been stronger. It will help protect my soul—aren't the Three Days of Preparation intended to harden the spirit against Evil Forces? I have prepared longer than anyone."

  "The physical is only part of the Preparation. You will also be told the full dread of the Night Land. There are horrors—oh, Andros, there are horrors not told to the young—mutilations, abasements of the soul that shake the heart if but whispered. They are kept in books few men have read, books locked in the chambers of the Master of Preparation. Even I do not know all . . ."

  I rose. "Tomorrow, I intend to find out. I will send a message to the Master of Preparation this evening. Will you accompany me to the rite?"

  He turned his head down into the shadows, his face stern once more. "I have . . . much to do tomorrow. There are charts to study. We are reviewing our survey of the Giants' Kilns. Let us say farewell and be done with it."

  "Very well," I said, stiffly. "Goodbye, then."

  He did not escort me to the door, and I left feeling like a traitor.

  ***

  When morning came, if I may refer thus to the brightening of the lights within the Great Pyramid, I woke to find the Master Monstruwacan standing by my bed.

  "Cartesius! I thought—"

  "Shhh. Do not say it. Only forgive an old man who thought to spare himself pain. I have spoken to the Master of Preparation myself. Dress quickly and we will go."

  I cannot express my surprise and joy at finding him there. If I had been more than half-awake, I would have wept. I did as he commanded, and we soon found ourselves standing before the door to the Room of Preparation.

  "This is farewell," he said. "When next I see you, you will be holy, untouchable."

  "Cartesius, I'm sorry if—"

  He suddenly hugged me fiercely. "I love you, Andros. God protect you in the night."

  Only then, I think, did I realize what I was about to do, but I put on a brave face and entered the chamber, leaving him alone outside, an old man, watching me with troubled eyes.

  I stayed in the Room of Preparation for three days and nights. I saw things there that made me wonder why anyone ever willingly entered the Night Land. Still, the natural inclination of youth is to seek adventure. I cannot regret this trait; it would be a terrible grief if humanity ever lost it.

  On the fourth day the Master of Preparation brought my armor. He set it on a table, then stepped back in silence, for with the Full Preparation done, it was forbidden for anyone to either speak to me, or even approach.

  I dressed myself, first in a special, close-knit body vest designed to protect me from the bitter cold of the Night Land, and then in the armor. Over this I wrapped a heavy gray cloak around my shoulders and across my hip. I carried a scrip of food and drink designed to sustain me though many weeks, with a Mark of Honor stitched upon it.

  Once dressed, I picked up my diskos and silently bowed to the Master of Preparation as he opened the door of the chamber. To my surprise, I discovered a crowd waiting beyond the door, in violation of the laws of the redoubt. Only then did I realize how my story had spread throughout the cities.

  The Master of Preparation signaled for the masses to stand aside, so I could walk untouched among them. The crowd parted in eerie silence, and as I stepped through the door I saw the halls filled with people all the way up to the main lifts. I entered a massive lift alone, while everyone watched me through its clear walls. It felt strange to have so many eyes upon me; literally thousands massed around the shaft as I descended the long miles. Though they remained silent, I felt the ether surging with their sympathy and good will.

  At last I reached The Portal, where I found the Master Monstruwacan waiting, dressed in his full armor, his diskos in hand, surrounded by the Full Watch. We stared into one another's eyes in silence, and I bent my head in respect. I do not think I ever loved him more than in that moment. He raised his diskos in salute, and then I passed toward the door.

  The lights dimmed to prevent their glare from shining in the Night Land once the door opened. As a final honor, they did not open the Eye Gate which stands within The Portal, but swung wide The Portal itself, through which an entire army could have passed.

  I will never forget the silence and the eyes of the two thousand of the Full Watch upon me, their diskoi raised in salute, as I lifted my own diskos, reversed in answer, and entered the night.

  VI

  THE NIGHT LAND

  As I walked away from The Portal, not even the rigors of the Rite of Preparation could steel me against the shock of finding myself, for the first time in my life, outside the pyramid. My feet had never trod bare earth before, save in the safety of the Underground Fields; my eyes had never gazed, unhindered by embrasure glass, upon the bleak horizons. I began trembling uncontrollably and broke into an icy sweat. I cannot describe how deeply I was affected, for until that moment, entering the Night Land had seemed more dream than reality.

  I suddenly longed to return to my place beside the Master Monstruwacan within the Tower of Observation. Of all the millions, I would miss him most; truthfully, I missed him already.

  Between my homesickness and fear, I dared not look at the redoubt, not while the ether stirred all around me with the hopes and blessings of the millions at my back.

  I glanced around, half-expecting to be immediately attacked by a monster, an irrational fear, since I still stood inside the protection of The Circle. When an assault did not come, I took several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. The cold night air tasted sharp on my tongue and burned my lungs. It was heavier than the air in the One Thous
andth City, but this was not surprising since the atmosphere of every city was slightly different, with more contrast between the higher and lower levels. People often migrated from city to city for health reasons, and in some extreme cases, even dwelled in the depths of the Underground Fields.

  I soon reached The Circle, which lay a mile out from the pyramid. From a distance, its haloing brilliance had made it seem much larger that it actually turned out to be—a clear tube slightly flat on top and less than two inches thick. Though I knew it conducted enough power to generate the Ether Barrier which kept the monsters from reaching the pyramid, it looked dreadfully fragile curving around the redoubt.

  How often as children had my comrades and I watched from the embrasures, each hoping to be the first to spy some creature peering from behind The Circle, competing with one another to see who could spot the most gruesome beast of all. Such brutes often came there, only to slink back into the night, driven away by the radiance and the barrier's invisible vibrations. What a strange game we played, shuddering behind our jests, quaking inwardly beneath our laughter, secretly grateful for the protection of the metal walls.

  As I remembered the beasts peering from behind The Circle, their heads thrusting out of the darkness, I instinctively stepped back, where I remained for several moments, calming myself, recovering my courage. Then I turned toward the pyramid to bid a final farewell.

  I gaped when I saw it, for it is one thing to live within a vast edifice and another to see it from outside. I understood at last why it had attracted the attention of so many monsters, for it spread before me, a mountain stretching measureless into the night. In school I had learned that each of the four sides contained three hundred thousand embrasures, but looking upon those windows for the first time, I realized the scope of the architect’s design. The lowest tier started a half-mile up, with multiple tiers running, row upon row, above those. The light shining through them made them visible for many miles, distinguishable at first as individual windows, then blurring together with distance, merging in the upper reaches as a constant, glimmering fire, a shining peak dwindling into the heights of the black heavens.

  I soon recognized the shadowy shapes clustered around the embrasures as the countless inhabitants. I could see them clearly in the lower levels, though they looked minuscule compared to the windows themselves.

  My eyes roamed back up the great slope of gray metal toward the Tower of Observation, where a star of light crowned the pyramid's summit. I could picture Cartesius already returned to his place, bending the Great Spyglass upon me. I raised my diskos to him in farewell.

  A dim murmur filled the night. Seeing the people in the lower embrasures moving back and forth, I realized they thought I had meant my salute for them. As they shouted and waved, their combined voices resonated through the walls of the sanctuary.

  I felt small and unworthy standing there. As foolish as it may sound, after so much being made of my leaving I suddenly pictured how ridiculous I would look if some creature killed me the moment I left The Circle, and I vowed to at least be out of sight before I died. Realizing that the longer I stayed the more I increased my danger, I raised my diskos again, this time reversed, which was more respectful, and turned my face up toward the Tower of Observation, so my friend and mentor would know I thought of him in those last moments.

  Perhaps the invisible millions in the upper cities thought my gesture intended for them, for a faint, far murmur, as of a distant wind, flowed down from the heights.

  As I lowered my diskos and turned away, the voices fell silent. I felt a slight twinge of pain in my forehead as I stepped across The Circle and passed through the Ether Barrier into the solitude of the Night Land. I decided not to look back for a long time, for fear of weakening my resolve. The ether surged all around me with the good wishes of the multitudes, so that it seemed as if they journeyed with me. This both comforted and concerned me, for I feared it might alert a Force of Evil to my presence, but there was no way to stop them. Neither could they prevent it themselves, since so many people concentrating on a single event always caused such a disturbance.

  I hurried into the darkness without considering my direction, until I came to myself and remembered my plan of travel. I wanted to avoid the region where the youths had gone, since its occupants would probably be on the alert. Instead, I intended to journey northwest, to circle behind the back of the Northwest Watcher, past the Plain Of Blue Fire, and then straight north, keeping a significant distance between myself and the House of Silence. Despite making my trek longer, this seemed the most prudent course.

  As my first fears of being in the Night Land subsided, I began to notice my surroundings, which took on a new perspective now that I no longer saw them from the pyramid's heights. I journeyed across an enormous plain, bare in some places and covered in others with the gray, rush-like vegetation we called moss bushes, which grew from one to five feet high and smelled dank and rotten. Scattered fires dotted the area. It amazed me how little I could actually see. The Road Where The Silent Ones Walk had vanished beneath the horizon. I thought the red glow lighting the eastern sky must be from the Giants' Kilns, though both it and The Headland From Which Strange Things Peer were hidden. Behind me, to the southwest, the Pit Of Red Smoke loomed beside the Great Pyramid, its fires turning the face of the redoubt crimson, the smoke of its burning billowing high into the air. For the first time, I realized the sheer size of the valley where the Pit lay. Even the word, valley, does not begin to describe it, for though we called it the Deep Valley, it was actually an enormous rift.

  I felt some relief that the House of Silence also lay beyond my sight, but in the distance the distorted head of the Northwest Watcher peered above the horizon, its twisted features seeming to stare right at me over the glow of the Red Pit. Every time I looked at it, tremors of fear ran through me, beginning at my chest and passing through my body. With the heightened perception of my Night Hearing I sensed the Watcher's presence brooding over the land in unsleeping vigilance. Whenever I could find cover, I slipped from moss bush to moss bush to conceal myself from its eyes.

  Although the Red Pit and the Plain Of Blue Fire were also hidden, their lights intermingled across the northern horizon, creating hues varying from silver to crimson. Where their illuminations met, they turned the sky the color of blood. A line stretched across to my right, radiating from the Vale Of Red Fire. Farther right of that, many miles away, I could see the upper torso of the Watcher of the Northeast.

  Far behind me, I heard occasional shrieks from the Country of Wailing. These maniacal cries had been terrible enough when heard from the safety of the pyramid. Now, they were almost unbearable. More than anything, my new perspective filled me with awe for the sheer vastness of the land, and I dared not think about it too much, lest my fear overwhelm me.

  I began passing some of the scattered fire-holes—pools of bubbling, burning liquid of various sizes and shapes, lighting the surrounding rocks in circles that narrowed and widened with the rise and fall of the flames—but I avoided approaching any too closely for fear of what might lurk around them.

  Since I assumed the journey would be a long one, I decided to walk at a moderate speed, keeping a regular schedule in order to maintain my strength. I hoped such caution might also prevent the monsters and beasts from noticing me. To this end, I decided to eat every six hours, three meals per cycle, and sleep from the eighteenth to the twenty-fourth hour.

  But I broke my own rule immediately, for I was far too excited to sleep until the exhaustion of creeping and hiding from the eyes of the Northwest Watcher forced me to halt at the twenty-first hour. Neither did I eat in all that time, for the thought of food nauseated me. Only when I began stumbling in fatigue did I look for a place to rest.

  Eventually, I noticed a small fire-hole similar to those I had passed earlier. Despite the protection of my armor, the chill of the night had seeped into my bones, and I longed for a bit of warmth. I soon reached the hole and found it desert
ed and comparably cheerful, a circle only a few paces wide, full of a dull, bubbling fluid emitting a sulphurous smoke that drifted straight up into the windless night. A hot spring steamed a few feet from the fire, its waters heated by the flames.

  I sat beside the hole and placed my diskos on one of the flat rocks surrounding it. My weariness fell upon me all at once, and for a time I simply sat and stared, too tired to either eat or drink.

  During my journey, except for my brief glimpse at the Pit Of Red Smoke, I had not dared to look back at the Great Pyramid. When I finally did, I was both cheered by the sight of it and discouraged by its proximity, for it seemed to have scarcely shrunk, as if I had hardly traveled any distance at all. The hopelessness of my task momentarily overwhelmed me, but my despair eventually passed, leaving me to ponder the sight of the redoubt towering into the night sky, as formidable as any of the monsters besieging it. The crimson light from the Pit Of Red Smoke reflected off the gray metal of the southwest face, making it look like molten iron.

  Sitting there, I suddenly remembered that in my former life there had been stars in the sky. The recollection struck me with the full force of a revelation; I could scarcely understand why I had never thought of it before. This sent me into a flurry of speculation; even with the death of the sun, I could not think of any reason for the loss of the stars. The only explanation I could conceive was that something in the upper atmosphere blocked our sight. This, in turn, made me wonder if the sun had truly gone out, or if, dimmed by age, its light hidden by whatever concealed the stars, it still shed a little heat onto the world.

  My weariness kept me from dwelling on this for long. Instead my mind turned to all the millions watching me. I made no sign to them, for it seemed absurd to be constantly waving farewell, but it was odd, feeling so alone with so many eyes upon me.