“Point us toward Aldovar,” P’al said. “We’ll go toward the place where something fell yesterday.”
“It’s beyond two full mountain ridges.”
“We’ll go. Gratitude for your food and hospitality.”
“You plan to go so far on foot?” ’Dward asked.
“As we came to Monosilla, we shall go,” P’al said ambiguously.
“Wait until I have consulted with the valley’s Truth-Sayer,” ’Harles said.
“It won’t be necessary,” P’al assured him. “We are travelers. We travel.”
“But last night I had a dream!” ’Harles said. “In my dream you two spoke to my son ’Nton, who was taken by the Gods. In my stomach I know it means you will encounter him.”
“If so,” P’al reasoned, “little good it will do ’Nton or us. For we will all be kidnapped.”
“No! You met in freedom.”
“But ... a dream!” P’al began.
Ay’r interrupted, partly because he was a Spec. Eth. and wanted to meet their Truth-Sayer, their local holy man or woman. “We’ll go with you to your Truth-Sayer, to discover if yours was a true dream.”
It turned out that the Truth-Sayer of Monosilla Valley lived a good way off, in fact, at the foot of the valley, which ’Harles insisted was too far to trudge. They would ride Colley. ’Harles, P’al, and Oudma astride its back, Ay’r and ’Dward in the wingfolds, where they might be hidden instantly, “although the Gods have not yet been bold enough to immobilize an entire village to kidnap,” ’Harles said.
The ride was long enough for Ay’r to note that the landscape altered slightly as the big beetle swerved its way down what at times was a treacherously steep path. The dense dark green succulents grew more abundantly. The tall stands of cloud-reaching trees he had noticed growing in circular and elliptical clumps before, now showed themselves to be the stalks of enormous fungi, their tops not the leafy boughs he had imagined earlier, but instead large globules, some cracked open to reveal boulder-sized black spores that spilled out onto the ground and – almost weightless – rolled with every apparent light gust of wind. From above and partway down, these fungal patches seemed to be shorter than Ay’r had thought, until Colley scampered into a level clearing at the foot of one clump and they proved to be thirty meters high.
The lichenlike grass grew more thickly in meadows, some surrounding a series of terraces whose levels were determined by curved irrigation ditches. When Ay’r wondered what grew there, ’Dward hopped out of the wingfold, dashed across the grass, and splashed into a ditch, grasping a handful of wet, almost-transparent stalks. He returned and, once back inside Colley, shook the stalks into Ay’r’s hand. The large, transparent grains were lovely to look at: a wild rice of some sort, Ay’r assumed, and following ’Dward’s example, he bit into one. It cracked between his teeth, exuding a nutty liquid flavor.
“When fermented, it makes mead. When it’s baked, it provides flour for bread,” ’Dward explained. All of which confirmed the Drylanders’ advanced agriculture.
They had been passing more of the double-shelled dwellings on the horizon. Now Ay’r noted that the habitations were closer together on any good-sized level plot and, furthermore, were triple, quadruple, even quintuple shelled. Larger families, he guessed, or extended kin-groups, which Oudma verified. “After our bonding, I would live with my bond-mate’s family. But ’Dward’s bond-mate would move into our house.”
Although his knowledge of geology was fairly limited, Ay’r knew enough to see that the few places of sheer rock or escarpment they passed which were partly uncovered by the omnipresent lichen were of different types: granite, shales, and sandstones. Confirming what the Fast’s topological survey had said – Dryland itself was of very old rock. Once, when Colley stopped to feed on cycads near shalelike cliff walls that must have been at least a million years old, Ay’r thought he saw a familiar foliated form in the rock, ghostlike, a mere tracery. He pointed it out to ’Harles, who had no idea what it might be. And when P’al carved it out of the cliff face with care, on a sheet of shale so thin it was no longer opaque and the erose edging, the stems, and the veins could clearly be made out, none of the three Drylanders could even guess what the fossil object might be, although ’Dward thought it to be part of some insect.
“It’s a leaf.” P’al said, retrieving it. “Something like a sycamore leaf, I’d say,” he added, before pocketing the rock carefully. He exchanged a glance with Ay’r and said quietly, “See, the ecology here has changed, even this high up. Once, tall angiosperm trees grew here. Now it’s all succulents and fungi.”
Finally they arrived at the edge of a plateau commanding a spectacular view of an enormous flat basin half a kilometer below, extending endlessly ahead of them, and for scores of kilometers on either side. A deep black river meandered aimlessly throughout, looping back on itself to form an occasional cutoff segment now become an oxbow. Despite the presence of the river, the plain seemed to be dry and brown compared to the lushness of the growth up on the plateau.
“Monosilla Village is ahead.” ’Harles pointed west along the plateau. “There we shall find the Truth-Sayer.”
No path, but a real road track had been formed well in from the very edge of the plateau. Colley could only occasionally scuttle now, for while the road widened, multishelled dwellings set within enclosures became frequent on both sides of the more-frequented road. ’Harles was forced to rein in the creature so that it could only lumber by, stopping occasionally to wave antennae at another giant beetle tethered in someone’s homestead. Within minutes, the road divided and they were within a village: a small bazaar, the noise of people buying and selling, greetings called out to the Drylander family, stares and questions tossed at Ay’r and P’al.
Beyond the ragged bazaar, beyond what seemed to be the center of the village, they rode on, until the shelled homes were sparser, the lichen vegetation thicker all around. At last they stopped at a simple double-shelled house, in front of which some oddly shaped long beams had been crossed to make the front skin opening smaller.
’Harles hopped down and went to the skin doorway. He picked up what might have been a large dried insect leg and began to tap rhythmically at the house shell. He stopped and repeated the pattern. He was about to begin again when Oudma spotted a tall old crone emerge from between the two shells. She staggered forward, her long white-blonde hair grown on either side into braids so long she wore them wrapped around her waist, in effect belting the otherwise shapeless skin garment that covered her, throat to ankle.
“Is that the Truth-Sayer?” Ay’r asked.
No one answered.
“Cease your noise!” her voice croaked.
’Harles stopped rapping, and turned to her. “We’ve come to consult the Truth-Sayer.”
Ay’r saw her eyes, so pale they were almost white.
“What novelty have you brought?”
“Strangers! Legend-Collectors from the land of ice in the north.”
She looked at Ay’r and P’al, came over and touched them, as though inspecting them before purchase. “Yes, yes. We’ve heard of their arrival in the valley. We’ve heard of many strange things of late, the Truth-Sayer and I.”
“Have you heard of our companion?” P’al asked.
“No. Only that three arrived. And one was separated.” Then, to ’Harles: “They are not that much of a novelty, although they are certainly fatter of flesh and duskier of skin color than we of the mountains.” She seemed to be bargaining with ’Harles.
“I had a dream,” ’Harles said. “I must know if it was a true dream.”
The crone drew back in fear, a hand over her eyes.
“In the dream, these strangers and my son taken by the Gods conversed. They were not in bondage.”
“The Truth-Sayer will see you,” she said finally and swept open the oddly bone-crossed skins, ushering them into a small, dim, pillow-covered room. As they all sat, she vanished.
“If some paymen
t is needed ...” Ay’r began.
“You are payment,” ’Harles said.
“We? But –”
“Your presence. The Truth-Sayer craves only novelty,” Oudma explained. “If your presence is new enough, he will truth-tell for all of us.”
The old woman reemerged into the pillowed chamber. In her arms she held a neonate, a boy child, possibly three local years old, who evidently had been sleeping and wasn’t yet awake. The crone dropped the boy onto pillows in their midst and called for them to move closer to him.
“I don’t understand,” Ay’r said. “Who’s this?”
The little boy with his cherubic pink face and his pudgy limbs immediately turned to Ay’r. He got up from his sitting position with a bit of difficulty and stumbled directly into Ay’r’s arms, so that Ay’r had to hold him.
“I don’t understand,” Ay’r said again. “Aren’t we going to see the Truth-Sayer?”
“He’s funny!” The little boy squeezed Ay’r’s arm and touched his face with tiny exploratory fingers. “No Ib’r he, but from very far away,” the little boy added. “He will be in sixty-nine days where once he was. But not in the very same place. No, instead,” the little boy prattled on, “he will be in another place. A better place. Very far away. Very pretty place.”
The child squirmed out of his arms and into P’al’s, where once again he touched and pinched in an exploratory fashion. “He’s funny-funny!” the little boy squealed with delight as P’al tried embarrassedly to hold on to the child. “No Ib’r he, but from very far away. He will be in sixty-nine days where he once was. From the very same place. Same place as him!” – pointing to Ay’r.
“But already he knows this. He knows much. He is. He isn’t. Only he knows how he is. And isn’t.” Suddenly the boy turned quiet and thoughtful, as though he were receiving a message. He stared at Ay’r with surprise in his bright blue eyes, then moved toward him, hugging Ay’r around the middle and saying, “Father!”
Ay’r looked at the Drylanders, none of whom seemed at all surprised by the child, although from the frown on the old crone’s face, he supposed the child was not normally so effusive.
“Great Father!” the boy went on, thumping Ay’r’s chest lightly. “Greatest Father of All! Ever! All-Father!”
Ay’r glanced at P’al as though asking confirmation that all this was some sort of absurd hoax, the old woman and child playing parts in some farce. But P’al’s face had taken on an oddly meditative cast and he was staring at the ground.
“What?” P’al asked the boy sharply, grabbing his small arm to get his attention. “What of our companion?”
“The one you seek is no more.” The child remained in Ay’r’s embrace. “Another – alike-seeming – you will find. But you must travel far.”
“Are you saying our companion is dead?” P’al insisted.
“Two days!” The child held up two pudgy fingers. “Your companion sleeps.” The boy pulled loose of the two and rolled onto the pillows, curling up in a fetal position and pretending to sleep, yet winking to show he was awake.
“My son ’Nton?” ’Harles now asked. “What of my son, Truth-Sayer?” ’Harles repeated his dream to the seemingly inattentive little boy.
Before he was done speaking, the little boy interrupted to say, “Go with these, Ib’r father!” pointing to Ay’r and P’al. “To the end. There lies your fortune and that of the Ib’r house.”
“My son is well? Alive?” ’Harles asked.
The boy shrugged. “Your lost son shall be bonded to a great prince. He shall be the contented mother of a great and powerful house. And you shall bond again, to one you have not met, though all your issue exists now.”
Now all of them looked at one another, wondering what he could mean.
The child had gotten to his feet again. He hit his biceps at ’Dward. “Bold feats, Ib’r son!” he said. “Soldier-mother! Mother of ruler of stars without number! Be glad!”
Then he touched Oudma’s cheek. “Bonded before initiation. Bonded once more in true troth. But no shame in that.” He smiled. “Double issue shall cleave the heavens. Yet when it unites! Ah! Who can question it!”
He could not resist turning to Ay’r again, and once more hugging and even kissing him, before the old crone got to her feet and in a most irritated tone insisted that the boy must sleep and began pulling him away.
“Don’t forget Lorin, Father!” the little boy pleaded to Ay’r as he was pulled away. “When all is wet. Don’t forget, Father!”
After some minutes, the old woman returned alone and showed them out of the pillow-covered chamber.
Ay’r took P’al aside. “What sort of silliness was that? Usually at least the –” Noticing the look on his companion’s face, he stopped. “What? What is it?”
“He knew who we were!” P’al said fiercely. “Where we were from! He told us that we would be back where we were in sixty-nine days. He knows we’ve traveled backward in time by coming to Pelagia.”
“Surely you don’t believe that? He said we would return to another place! What other place? And why? Not to mention all that about me being the Great Father. I’ve never sired anyone. It’s nonsense. First he says Alli Clark is no more, then that she’s sleeping. He called ’Dward a soldier-mother. He said that the other boy would be a contented mother! How can you take any of his childishness seriously?”
P’al remained unpersuaded by Ay’r arguments. “He knows who we are and where we come from,” he repeated.
Ay’r was about to continue the argument when he became aware that the Drylanders were coming toward them.
’Harles spoke first. “We don’t know who you strangers are, or what your purpose may be, but we shall do as the Truth-Sayer told us and travel with you, to the end. Therein lies the fortune of our name.”
“You will find your companion in two days,” Oudma said. “Sleeping.”
“And I will perform bold feats!” ’Dward said proudly.
“We shall all three go with you,” ’Harles said.
“The child was prattling,” Ay’r argued. “What he said made little sense.”
“Truth-Sayers seldom speak what we know of as sense – until later. The truth is too mysterious for our understanding, at first,” ’Harles countered.
The old crone appeared again and walked up to them quietly. Ignoring the Drylanders, she came up to Ay’r, dropped to her knees, and kissed his hand.
“Lorin has long told me of your coming, All-Father. Bless ... me!”
Ay’r thought: This is beyond bizarre. He mumbled something and lifted the old woman up.
“Lorin asked me once again to have you promise not to forget him, when all is wet.”
Ay’r had no idea what she or the child had meant, but once again he promised not to forget him. He doubted he would in any case, following this performance.
She handed him something in a tiny skin pouch attached to a thong. “Lorin wanted you to have this for when you are at the Great Temple. He said you would know how to use it. No!” She stopped him from opening it. “Not until you are at the Great Temple. Then open it. Wear it around your neck,” she said and gestured for him to bend his head so she could place it there, hung by the looped thong. “Gratitude for coming and for blessing,” she said, and backed away in curtsies.
When Ay’r turned to the others, they were staring at him.
“I don’t know what any of this is about, believe me.”
“We will return to our homestead for the journey’s supplies,” ’Harles said. “We will borrow another Colley. We will leave at canopyrise tomorrow. Our path lies over the plateau edge into New River Valley. We shall locate your sleeping companion, then go on to the Great Temple, where my son and daughter will be initiated and you will do what you must do. From then on, we are your lieges. We shall go where you go, to the end, so that my son ’Nton will be found.”
Ay’r asked himself what it was that had happened back in that tiny pillowed chamber with that ch
ild? Had all of them but he undergone some mass hypnosis, some group illusion? Even the imperturbable P’al? It certainly seemed so.
Without another word, they all mounted Colley. None of them spoke as the creature clutched and ambled back up the steep mountain path, all of them seemed to be thinking about what the Truth-Sayer had foretold for them – even the skeptical, disbelieving, baffled Ay’r.
Chapter Four
Captain North-Taylor Diad discovered he had never seen what Hesperia could truly offer until he had set foot inside the transparent globe at the very tip of the Kell tower, which itself was at the tip of the O’Kell UnLimited complex, on one of the longest and least-populated “girders” in Commerce Sector Six.
The half of the globe facing the City was usually kept opaqued, unless there was some event to be watched from Mart Kell’s apartments: the monthly Thwwing race, say, that went right past and usually featured one of Kell’s mounts.
But the half facing outward was kept transparent, and it seemed to hang right in the middle of space. As the complex itself was far enough from the center of Hesperia that the pseudolight and atmosphere hardly interfered, stars were visible from anywhere in the globe. And the globe was large enough that one seldom had a sense one was in a spherical structure. Except of course for the top room: an ordinary-enough-looking multibillionaire’s lair, with, of course, the extra view – of everything!
North-Taylor Diad had never heard of a hauler captain being invited to the Kell’s apartments. But then, he’d never before heard of a hauler captain sitting in on a Quinx meeting before several weeks ago. Since that historic meeting, a great deal had happened to Diad, very quickly. He had taken private Fasts to local and distant star systems on errands for the Quinx; he had formed connections with various officials who were considered “unsympathetic” to the Matriarchy on both MC- and Hesperian-dominated resort planets. To some, he gave carefully worded accounts of what the Quinx was up to, and of exactly what the MC was hiding from them. To those who already knew, he confirmed the knowledge and resoldered any possibly shaky loyalties to the Oppos. Movement.
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