“You don’t look even a mere six years older.”
“You’re gallant, but I read a mirror as well as a screen, and I don’t look nearly so well-preserved as you.”
“Farhkan surgery and translation errors.” He lifted the plate of cakes to her. “So what do I do? Disappear?”
“You don’t have to. No one knows that Commander Desoll was the Prophet. I’ve got your uniforms.” She appraised him. “You’ll certainly still fit in them. You change before you leave the office. You take early retirement with the incredible compound retirement you earned and deserve, and you use that and that trust you set up—we know everything—to grow flowers, teach, do anything you want.” She shrugged. “And keep your mouth shut.”
“Or I disappear?”
“That could happen, but most probably the Coalition would just brand you as harmless and mentally unhinged by excessive translation—a poor sad veteran.”
“And if I persisted—an institution?”
“Probably … but what would be the point? To prove the hypocrisy of religion when every thinking individual understands that hypocrisy and when those who don’t think wouldn’t ever understand?”
Trystin nodded slowly. Ulteena had always made sense. “What about you?”
“I grow old in the Service—if they let me.”
“Maybe you should retire?”
“Is that a proposition?”
“Right now it’s a suggestion. I’m in no shape to make propositions … and I don’t know … where you … I’m still in shock.”
“Good. Formalities first. Always first,” she added sardonically. “You need to change into your uniform. I took the liberty of adding all your combat decorations, plus the full commander’s silver triangles. You’ll look impressive. You do have one last job before you head to Cambria.”
“What?”
“Just parade around the station in full dress uniform and talk a little about the old days and the Maran battles. If anyone asks you about what you were doing, just smile and shake your head. Add a few words about how high-speed angular translations add up to fifteen years in a hurry. That’s it. Then we’ll send you home on a fast courier.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Disappointing, isn’t it? Your uniform is in the adjoining room. I won’t peek.” She smiled. “In fact, I’ll be out in the corridor laying some groundwork.” The commander stood.
So did Trystin, watching as she left, enjoying the sight of her, realizing he had missed her—and not known how much he had. He shook his head slowly, and took a deep breath. So he wasn’t done yet?
Would he ever be done? Not if Rhule Ghere was right.
He looked at the door, but Ulteena was gone. Once again, the important things had gotten lost in the details—Ulteena was important, and he hadn’t even told her, and, with her reluctance, it was up to him, if she ever let him get close enough.
74
“Not always will the Lord be at your left hand, or your right. I was here to save a child, but I will not always be with you.”
“All are children and friends under the Lord and the Prophet, for the Lord is our Father. And all who share His bounty should be His children. For when one has seen the endless stars in His mansions, then one must realize how mighty is all creation … .”
“I am what I am. The Lord has seen what I have seen, and I have seen brothers and sisters killing each other. The Lord has said to bring His word to those who do not believe, yet how can someone who is dead hear the word of the Lord? Even Toren the Prophet wrote ‘do not say, better my cousin than my neighbor, for all men and women are neighbors in the eyes of the Lord.’”
“The Lord has His own plans for you and for me; we are to be molded for His use, whether we will or not.”
“Does a name mean that it is so? Does calling a knife a lily make it one? Arguments are but words, and the logic of the scholars often bears little truth, only fine structure, like a well-built palace of sin.”
“Be of good courage, and deny me not, for what will be is the will of the Lord. Cast down this Temple, and the Lord will rebuild it, almost before your eyes.”
“You know the Lord, and the Lord knows you in your hearts. Judge not, lest you be judged, and yet, I say unto you, even as He will raise this Temple in less than three days, yes, even in the quickness of time, will He also give me for you, for someone must speak for you, you who would not speak for love. For you, someone must speak. For you, someone must offer forgiveness. Someone must atone for you—both now and in the fullness of time.”
“I am what I am. I claim nothing. All too often men claim. What matters a claim to the Lord? You have claimed you do the will of the Lord when you slaughter others. An older prophet said to consider the beam in your own eye before the mote in your brother’s.”
“Those who seek to destroy with fire can themselves be destroyed by fire. Destruction of those who could be brothers and sisters is not a demonstration of love. And the Lord has always been a God of Love.”
“I was sent to deliver a message. The Lord does not beg, but He will instruct. I have done what I was sent to do, and those who have eyes to see and ears to hear may learn more of the will of the Lord.”
“I am as real as you. Is this arm not flesh? You saw the fire, did you not? The ashes, did you not? All men must burn, sooner or later. I have come to do what I was charged with, and now I must return. For a time, I will go as others do, and then I will return to my place in the Lord’s mansions.”
Most Quoted Excerpts
The Book of the Prophet
(Revised and Annotated)
75
Under the gray skies of late afternoon, Trystin set his bags beside the closed gates. A stiff cold wind whipped through the limbs of the Norfolk pines. A single adult heliobird fought the gusts, finally streaking down into the garden and out of Trystin’s sight.
He used the key from the Pilot’s Trust to open the wrought-iron gates, wincing at the squeaking of the hinges. Then he picked up the two bags and walked a good dozen paces along the stones covered with the thinnest film of soil.
The sage still remained, if tattered, in the stone bed he had built more years ago than had passed for him. His eyes crossed the gardens, and he looked up the winding walk, pausing to study the bonsai cedar in the circular planter where the walk split around it. The cedar had grown—far too much—even though the limbs were perhaps only twenty centimeters out of place from when he had last visited the house.
But the symmetry was wrong, somehow. Were there still pruning shears in the garden shed? Time to prune? He would have that, too much time to prune and think. He had decided to say more to Ulteena before he had left Chevel Alpha, but she had disappeared, and no one could tell him where. He’d left a note with his address, and a comment that he wasn’t below begging.
Now, he wondered if it had been too flippant … but it was as though she were embarrassed that she’d ever confessed to caring. He took a deep breath. If the note didn’t work, he did have the time and funds to find her—if she were interested in a retired commander and prophet—and he would ask her. He grinned. After all, they were both commanders now.
His eyes dropped to the dull stones of the walk, and the smile disappeared. They had always been polished before, as a family custom, often for disciplinary reasons, but the professional gardeners hired by the Pilot’s Trust to take care of the house and grounds didn’t polish stones.
Trystin couldn’t put it all back the way it should be, not all at once, but he’d certainly have the time. Yes, he was going to have plenty of time. Perhaps he should follow his mother’s example and go back to school for another degree—a doctorate. He had more than a little thinking to do—about a lot of things.
He carried the bags up to the front porch. The keycard worked, and the lock clicked. After opening the door, he set the bags on the polished tiles of the hall floor—the inside of the house was clean, lifeless, like a museum.
Leavi
ng the bags, he walked toward the kitchen. His boots clunked.
On the center of the kitchen table was a folder sealed in plastic—the first time Trystin could recall plastic around the house. He rummaged through the drawers to find the scissors, then neatly cut the sealed envelope along the edge. Inside was a short computer-generated note.
17 octem 795
Trystin,
As we promised, everything will be kept for your return.
Prophets always do return. That is something we consultants know, but I must admit I never thought I’d father a great religious figure.
All my work remains in the system, for you to use or dispose of as you see fit. I can tell—im—plants are good for some things—that my days are limited, and, if you find this, obviously, my diagnosis was correct. I will have the master suite cleared. To come back to that would be asking too much of you, and you need a fresh start, at least in the bedroom.
Enjoy the gardens, and your thoughts, and whoever you find to share them with. Do find someone. I have faith that you can and knowledge enough to insist you should.
I could wax long and sentimental, a weakness of age and frailty, but I will not. You know how I feel. I am proud of you, and I always have been. Our thoughts and love are with you, and may the gardens give you the pleasure they have given me.
The words “love” and “Father” were scrawled under the printed words. Trystin’s eyes burned, and he could barely swallow.
He left the folder on the table and walked toward the window, pulling back the shades and sliding open the glass, letting the cool dampness of the late fall slip into the house.
After a moment, he walked down to the office, standing in the archway and looking at the silent systems, the blank screens, and the row of old-fashioned wooden cases that held antique bound paper books even more dated than the cases. For a time, he just looked, then turned.
He did not look into the room that had been Salya’s.
The master suite was empty, as his father had written. He shook his head. His father had lived by his word. Trystin only hoped he could manage as well.
The great room seemed unchanged—the old chess table was still in place, and Trystin ran his fingers over the smooth wood. Maybe it did really date back to old Earth. He slid open two more windows, enjoying the damp chill.
A buzz sounded.
Trystin paused, then hurried to the kitchen where he fumbled with the console on the faintly dusty counter. “Yes?”
“This is Ulteena. May I come in?”
Trystin swallowed, then answered, “Of course. The gates are open.”
“Thank you.”
Even through the speakers, her voice sounded formal, and Trystin found he didn’t like that. Then, he had sounded formal. And he liked that thought even less … far less.
He hurried out the front door and down the path to find her looking at the bonsai cedar.
“It needs work,” he explained.
She turned. “You look so young.”
“I don’t feel young.”
“I shouldn’t have come.”
Trystin looked at the one woman who had always anticipated everything. He smiled. “Yes you should have. I need you.”
She glanced toward the cedar as if she had not heard his words. “I’m glad you kept the house and the garden.” Her voice floated more lightly than the faint fall breeze, coming to him with the mixed scents of the last miniature yellow roses of the year, the rysya, and the ancient pines.
Abruptly, she turned to him. “What did you say?”
“I love you, and I need you,” he repeated, his eyes blurring again.
“You’ve never …” She shook her head, as if in disbelief.
“I’ve always … I just was afraid … because you were always so competent. I told you that, on the outer orbit station, remember?” He let the tears stream down his face, as he saw the matching dampness streak her cheeks. He laughed roughly. “And you were always senior. You didn’t let me forget it, that first time.”
“That was stupid.” Her eyes met his.
“That was a long time ago, and I was always stupid about you. I thought you didn’t care.”
“I almost didn’t come,” she insisted. “If you hadn’t left the note …”
“I would have found you—this time,” he answered, taking her hand firmly as they stood in late fall and the long twilight.
Tor Books by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Note: Within series, books are best read in listed order.
——
THE IMAGER PORTFOLIO
The continent of Solidar—once Lydar—is home to a strange and rare breed of magic user. Imagers can bring into being almost anything they can imagine…but their power is dangerous to themselves as well as to others, and their life expectancy is short. Because they are both feared and vulnerable, imagers must live separately from the rest of society. Some are exploited by ordinary people with political and economic power…while others are wise enough to build a future when their powers may put to the service of the common good.
Imager
Imager’s Challenge
Imager’s Intrigue
Scholar
Princeps
Imager’s Battalion
Antiagon Fire
Rex Regis
Madness in Solidar (forthcoming)
THE COREAN CHRONICLES
Corus today is a world of contending countries, of struggling humans, strange animals, and elusive supernatural creatures. It is still a place of magical powers, but only a few people are Talented enough to use them. Alucius is one of those people. With Corus changing again, Alucius and his Talent will have a central role to play.
Legacies
Darknesses
Scepters
Alector’s Choice
Cadmian’s Choice
Soarer’s Choice
The Lord-Protector’s Daughter
Lady-Protector
THE SAGA OF RECLUCE
L. E. Modesitt, Jr.'s bestselling fantasy novels set in the magical world of Recluce are among the most popular in contemporary fantasy. Each tells an independent story that nevertheless reverberates though all the other Recluce novels to deepen and enrich the reading experience.
The Magic of Recluce
The Towers of the Sunset
The Magic Engineer
The Order War
The Death of Chaos
Fall of Angels
The Chaos Balance
The White Order
Colors of Chaos
Magi’i of Cyador
Scion of Cyador
Wellspring of Chaos
Ordermaster
Natural Ordermage
Mage-Guard of Hamor
Arms-Commander
Cyador’s Heirs
Heritage of Cyador (forthcoming)
THE SPELLSONG CYCLE
When Anna Marshall is transported from her boring and frustrating life in Ames, Iowa, to the very different world of Erde, she finds out that for the first time in her life she’s uniquely powerful. In Iowa Anna was a music instructor and small-time opera singer, but on Erde her musical ability makes her a big-time sorceress.
The Soprano Sorceress
The Spellsong War
Darksong Rising
The Shadow Sorceress
Shadowsinger
THE ECOLITAN MATTER
Follow the conflict between the corrupt interstellar Empire and the Ecolitan Institute of the planet Accord. The Institute must fight—first for their independence, and then to prevent the worst disaster in human history.
Empire & Ecolitan (comprising The Ecolitan Operation and The Ecologic Secession)
Ecolitan Prime (comprising The Ecologic Envoy and The Ecolitan Engine)
THE FOREVER HERO TRILOGY
Modesitt’s first major work. In the future, Earth is a desolate ruin, until its degenerate human outcasts kidnap a boy of immense native intelligence and determination—who grows up to b
ecome the force behind a plan to make Earth flower again.
The Forever Hero (comprising Dawn for a Distant Earth, The Silent Warrior, and In Endless Twilight)
THE GHOST BOOKS
In this alternate history world, the United States never came into existence, Russia is still ruled by the Romanovs, and ghosts are not mere superstition but have a literal physical reality—and political implications. Your crimes can haunt you, and the ghosts of your crimes are visible to others.
Of Tangible Ghosts
The Ghost of the Revelator
Ghost of the White Nights
Ghosts of Columbia (comprising Of Tangible Ghosts and The Ghost of the Revelator)
OTHER NOVELS
The Hammer of Darkness
The Parafaith War
Adiamante
Gravity Dreams
The Octagonal Raven
Archform: Beauty
The Ethos Effect
Flash
The Eternity Artifact
The Elysium Commission
Viewpoints Critical
Haze
Empress of Eternity
Timegods’ World (comprising Timediver’s Dawn and The Timegod)
The One-Eyed Man
——
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The Science Fiction of L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
The Parafaith War
“Modesitt has created a meticulously detailed military-sf adventure that confronts the ethical reasons behind war but maintains a strong focus on the warrior-of-tomorrow’s daily life.”
—Library Journal
The Parafaith War Page 48
