Circle at center sc-1

by Douglas Niles

  “See. I’m not yelling.” Belynda forced herself to smile, coaxing the gnome forward with a gesture. “Now, was there something you wanted to tell me?”

  “What? Oh yes,” Nistel admitted. “The delegates… you know, the elves from Argentian? They’re here. They’ve come to the College to see you. They said you knew they were coming.”

  “Yes, I knew,” Belynda replied, her sigh this time reflecting deep exasperation. The elves were her own people, but even so she had to admit that they spent overmuch time complaining. Of course, in her role as sage-ambassador she was compelled to listen to those complaints, soothing worries as much as possible. No doubt that was why she had begun to find them so irritating.

  “Should I send them away?” asked Nistel, concerned.

  “No, no. Of course I’ll see them. Have them wait for me in the Metal Garden, beside the Golden Fountains.”

  “Very well, my lady.” The gnome bowed stiffly, his rigid formality telling Belynda that he would just as soon have sent the elven delegation hastening back to their homeland.

  He hesitated for a moment, and the elfwoman sensed that something else concerned Nistel. “What is it, my friend?”

  “Just… well…” The gnome fidgeted in a great display of reluctance, but Belynda knew that he wanted to speak. Finally he could contain himself no longer. “A giant came. To Thickwhistle. I just heard.”

  The news was startling. “What would a giant want in a big nest of gnomes?” wondered the sage-ambassador, thinking aloud.

  “No one knows,” declared the gnome. “But it’s pretty strange, and that’s for sure.” The little fellow shivered nervously-strangeness was an unfamiliar occurrence in Nayve, and experience had shown him that it generally presaged trouble and disruption.

  Nevertheless, the ever-dutiful assistant withdrew to carry Belynda’s message to the elven delegation.

  Listlessly she returned to her reading table, but left the massive volume of the Tablets open to the pages of the Cosmic Order. It would be comforting, she hoped, to see those verses before her when she returned at the end of what promised to be a trying day.

  She took her time getting ready, for a while merely wandering through the sumptuous chambers of her ambassadorial residence, eventually pausing long enough to drape a shawl of white silk over her slender shoulders. A word of command whisked a door closed across the entry to the messaging globe’s alcove. The panel matched the deep wood grain of the wall, and was virtually undetectable. Slipping tiny feet into diamond-studded slippers of silver foil, she examined herself in one of the full-length crystal mirrors lining the wall of her reception room. The shimmering gold of her ambassador’s robe rippled over her skin, outlining a figure that might have looked frail to one who did not know her: slender limbs, breasts small and firmly pointed, a belly that was flat and framed by narrow hips.

  Her blond hair-the color maintained by a mixture of herbal dyes-was swept back from a high, unlined forehead. Belynda’s ears were typically small, delicately pointed at the lobe. It was the chin that distinguished her elven face as one of unusual strength and character. Square and stern, it lacked the narrowness common in her race, and many had remarked that it was this straightforward visage that had allowed her to progress to a position of such high honor.

  Examining the serene expression, seeing her cool blue eyes reflected in the flawless glass, Belynda sighed again. She wished that she could actually feel the calm dignity embodied by the image in the mirror.

  Her preparations were concluded as she donned a circlet of silver wire, a control for her long, golden mane. Still, she was in no hurry; instead of taking the direct route through the College halls she decided to take the outer paths to the garden. The glass doors opened soundlessly as she murmured the word of command, and she stepped into the private refuge of her small, walled garden-another mark of the status awarded to a sage-ambassador.

  Trilling songbirds leapt into the air as she came outside. The canaries and bluebirds flew in cheery circles, a fluttering escort ready to herald her crossing of the grounds. Today, however, Belynda decided that she didn’t want the ostentation, and curtly shooed the birds back to their perches in her rose trees. Sulking, they settled to the branches, and she felt even worse than she had before.

  Passing under the arched gateway that gave egress from her garden, she faced the Center of Everything, and here, at last, her mood lifted-at least slightly. The Silver Loom dominated the view, rising toward the sky from the center of the circular, verdant valley. Mounted in a broad dome of crystal that was surmounted by a higher dome of gold, the argent spire lofted every bit as tall as the summit of a great mountain, and symbolized the unchanging purity of the Fourth Circle.

  For a few moments Belynda was content to know that within those domes the Goddess Worldweaver was busy at her weaving, and that her labors would assure the continuity of halcyon Nayve. Hearing a deep thrumming, a sound of power that she felt in the pit of her stomach, the elven sage knew that she had emerged just in time to witness the casting of the threads. She held her breath, as awestruck now as she had been the first time she beheld this daily ritual.

  The songbirds grew still and it seemed that the very wind held its breath as a bright glow came into view at the base of the spire. The illumination flared into a ring of fiery intensity nearly equal to the brightness of the sun. Then, slowly at first, the glow began to ascend the lofty spike of silver. Faster and faster it climbed and, as always, Belynda found that she was holding her breath as the casting approached its climax.

  Racing to the top of the spire, the bright glow reached the end and exploded into the air, sending balls of sparking fire crackling and weaving upward. A hundred or more of these fiery globes hissed into the air, each trailing smoke, spiraling upward and gradually vanishing into the corona of the sun. Only the smoky trails remained, and even those swiftly dissipated in the light breeze.

  Belynda inevitably felt cleaner, knowing that a few more of the wild impulses, the untamed forces of the chaotic world, had been spun away from Nayve by the casting of the Goddess Worldweaver. Those threads would form the lives of a different place, affecting only an outer realm that held little importance for the halcyon Fourth Circle.

  Only with reluctance did the elfwoman’s eyes lower from the majestic spire to behold the worldly manifestation of the Circle’s perfection: Three great institutions formed a broad ring around the dome of the Worldweaver’s Loom. The palatial edifices of the College, Senate, and Grove occupied the ridge of hills surrounding the bowl-shaped valley at the Center of Everything. Each of the three great structures was a teeming center of living, learning, and debate, and each, too, formed a portion of a ring, between them encircling the great Loom. Broad avenues, one oriented to each of the three directions, passed between the edifices, cutting through a trio of notches in the surrounding hills. The College, Senate, and Grove, in turn, all looked inward toward the shallow valley, in the center of which rose the Worldweaver’s Loom. The entire valley was more than a mile in diameter, well-watered and beautifully verdant. And with that spike of silvered steel pointed straight toward the sun, the scene possessed a magical symmetry that could soothe one’s spirit even when nothing else availed.

  But Belynda could only reflect on this grandeur for so long. Slowly she started along the bark-paved pathway meandering through stands of flowering trees, past gardens, and over arched bridges. She paused on one of these-it seemed that she could never tire of watching the rippling streams flow toward the myriad pools in the valley. Starting off again, she wandered vaguely in the direction of metal, comfortable in the knowledge that the delegation from Argentian would be awed and intrigued by the wonders of Circle at Center. Surely they wouldn’t mind waiting a few extra minutes.

  All too soon, however, she passed beneath a bower of blooming dogwood to find eight of the sylvan folk, her people, clustered in a small knot in the Metal Garden. The delegates included a mix of male and female, ranging in age from soft-skin
ned adults to elders, hair dyed a metallic gold in the fashion of Belynda’s. The visitors wore silk ceremonial robes, and she was glad to see that they had taken time to bathe and rest after the long journey from Argentian-not because of any offense to her genteel sensibilities, but since this was an indication that their complaints lacked any real urgency. Probably just the usual litany, Belynda reflected glumly.

  The visiting elves stared in awe at the fluted spires of the Golden Fountain, which pointed straight at the sun and reflected the light in dazzling prisms. As if in honor of Belynda’s arrival, these gilded pipes suddenly spumed with a spray of sparkling water. Soft noise washed over the onlookers as the arcing froth first outlined the image of a swan with wings spread wide, then gradually settled, furling the wings into a steadily maintained simulacrum of a stately bird resting upon the water. The sound of the splashing fountain muted to a gentle shower in the background.

  “It’s the sage-ambassador!” cried one of the elves, suddenly catching sight of her. The delegation hurried forward as one, reminding Belynda of chicks scurrying toward the shelter of a mother hen.

  “Greetings, Tamarwind,” she offered, recognizing an elf, taller than the others, who wore the green mantle of scout. “It has been many years.”

  “Indeed, my lady Sage-Ambassador.” The lean, wiry delegate from the forested uplands of Argentian looked at Belynda closely, and she was surprised to feel herself blushing. Her time with this male had been so long ago, and for such a brief interval in her centuries of life, that she’d assumed any such frivolous responses would have been long out of her system.

  He continued: “You look very well. I trust your life is unchanging?”

  “As unchanging as peace. And yours as well, I hope?”

  “Certainly, my lady Sage-Amb-”

  “Please, you remember that my name is Belynda. You should call me that.”

  “Of course, my-that is, Belynda.” Tamarwind smiled, and an element of tension seemed to flow from his body as he relaxed. “Lady Belynda Wysterian, as I recall.”

  Again she blushed, unconsciously responding to ancient memories: After all, this was the elf who had joined her in the conception of her two offspring. Of course, that fact was of little consequence to their continuing lives-but still she felt uniquely, surprisingly, awkward.

  “This is Wiytstar Sharand,” Tamarwind said smoothly as a mature male, head crowned by a stiff mane of metallic hair, stepped forward. The elf wore the gold mantle of leadership. “He is the spokesman for the delegates.”

  “My lady Sage-Ambassador.” Wiytstar bowed gracefully. “I trust your life is unchanging?”

  She replied with the ritual words, but as soon as the formalities of introduction were concluded the elder frowned. Belynda knew that the complaints were about to begin.

  “We seek constancy, the elven ideal, and the perfect stasis of the Circle-but in truth, there have been some changes at Argentian-disturbing developments, to be sure.”

  “Yes?” Even though Belynda was fairly certain she knew what was coming, she added: “Please elaborate.”

  “Most significant, the rains of the past three intervals have left us nearly an inch short of our quota!”

  “Yes… there was a report of this in the Senate. Sage-Astrologer Domarkian spoke to the issue, declaring that the reduction in water has occurred throughout Nayve. But he has learned that there is no danger.”

  “But-will this continue through the next intervals? Will it always be different?”

  “Domarkian could not say for sure, though he indicated that the chances are good. However, as I said, the effect has been noticed in many parts of the Circle. The same reduction has apparently been experienced everywhere.”

  “It’s the same? Everywhere?” Wiytstar seemed to find this news comforting.

  “Yes. And there is no perceived harm in the effect. Now, were there other matters that brought you here as well?”

  “There is something of a mystery we thought we should bring to your attention,” Tamarwind reported. “At least, I did.”

  “And?” Belynda was curious-mysteries were altogether unusual in her serene, sedate world.

  “Over the past years, ten or twenty or more, an increasing number of young elves have departed Argentian. They are mostly male-individuals who reportedly have been quite normal throughout their upbringing. The pattern is the same: The elf makes no announcement to kin or companion; he merely boards a riverboat in the city and rides to some point down the Sweetwater. They debark at any of a hundred villages and towns along the water, and then simply disappear.”

  “Of course, the fact that they make no announcement doesn’t mean much-we all know how private our people can be. Still, to disappear, with no word, no sign?” The sage-ambassador frowned. “How many of them have gone?”

  “There is really no way to tell, of course. But it would seem to be upward of twoscore, just in the last year alone.”

  “I will take this up with the other ambassadors,” Belynda decided. “First we will try and determine if this is a matter affecting just Argentian, or the other realms as well.”

  “Has it happened here, in Circle at Center?” Tam wondered.

  Belynda could only shrug. “It has not been reported. Of course, there are so many elves here-something like twelve ten-thousands’ worth-that it would be difficult to notice a small change in numbers.”

  Tamarwind nodded, apparently satisfied. Belynda noticed that the other elves had been fidgeting nervously, waiting for this seemingly trivial matter to be resolved before they continued with the litany. “And what is the next matter?” she inquired politely.

  “It’s the children!” declared another delegate, a wiry woman nearly as petite as Belynda. Her hair was short, but spiked stiffly outward in a series of golden spurs. “I have joined this delegation, made this arduous journey only after a series of events so outrageous that I was left with no alternative but to seek ambassadorial intervention.”

  “I understand.” Belynda was not surprised by the complaint, though she knew that the route between Argentian and Circle at Center consisted of good roads and a placid river ride. “Though of course you realize that the sage-ambassador’s role is to provide wise counsel, not action. But please, outline your complaints.”

  “These young elves today-they’re… they’ve gone beyond any reach of control. They lack all semblance of respect!” The elfwoman shook her head in exasperation.

  “It has been noted, without rebuttal, that they universally lack the discipline necessary for serious study!” claimed Wiytstar. “Why, there’s a painting class that is supposed to meet in the village hall every day at the Lighten Hour-and they have never visited their classroom!”

  “It’s taught by that young firebrand, Deltan Columbine,” another elf maintained. “He says that walls aren’t conducive to art!”

  “He takes those youngsters all over the place!” clucked the still-exasperated female. “Sometimes to the shore, or to the aspen groves. Wherever it is, they can be counted on to be loud and disruptive.”

  “I see,” Belynda murmured calmly.

  “And they have no manners.” Wiytstar resumed the litany, and Belynda assumed that he had expanded the topic to include elven youth as a whole. “They tease and laugh, and can be counted on to make noise even on the most solemn of occasions! Why, we had to have a funeral last year when Kime Fallyerae faded-and everyone there could hear children rustling the curtains behind the choir!”

  “The offspring today are much worse-behaved than when we had our own children,” sniffed a third elf, a stout female with a hint of silver in the combed wave of her hair. “They have no respect, no appreciation for the greatness of our race-and their parents have no notion of proper control!”

  Belynda did her best to look concerned as, inwardly, she sighed once again. Children, weather, or dogs: It was almost always one of these, and often two or all three, that brought complaints to the sage-ambassador of the Senate from the va
rious elven homelands. It had been so ever since she had held her post, and no doubt before, as well.

  Unfortunately, the topic of children made her rather squeamish. Of course, as a dutiful elf, she had given birth precisely twice in her early life: once, when she had reached nine hundred years of age, and then again fifty years later. Both of her offspring had matured and reached independence before her thousandth birthday, freeing her to spend her time on more important and interesting duties.

  Such as listening to the complaints of these elves, she thought, forcing her mind to return to the present.

  “-digging up the gardens with impunity!” the silver-maned Wiytstar was saying.

  “And-and they’re breeding in the woods!” declared the matronly elf indignantly, speaking up for the second time.

  “The children?” gasped Belynda, shocked into emotion by the unthinkable declaration.

  “No! The dogs,” Tamarwind declared solemnly, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his amusement.

  “Oh. Of course.” Drawing a breath, Belynda tried to restore her dignity; clearly her mind had wandered as the recitation of complaints shifted topic. Yet she was shaken just the same, for she had allowed her mind to wander in neglect of her duties. Sternly she resolved to pay careful attention.

  “Hah-woof.” The polite, dignified bark came from another of the arched entries into the garden. A large dog regarded the elves from there, brown eyes warm and moist over a sharp and pointed muzzle. The dog was pure white, long-legged and slender of body, fluffy with a coat of cottony hair. That fur puffed into a crown atop the creature’s head, while the ends of its long ears bore with regal dignity cascading tails of pure white. The animal stepped forward slowly, long tail wagging as the elves of the delegation looked askance.

  “Hello, Ulfgang. Thank you for coming,” Belynda said, secretly relishing the consternation among the delegates. She addressed the elves serenely. “I had an inkling about some of the problems we might be addressing today, and I have asked my friend Ulfgang if he would join us.”