The Day Of Their Return

by Poul Anderson

  Nomi moved soft-footed across the clay floor, poured from the pot she had made ready, and sat down opposite Ivar in a rustle of skirts. She had been beautiful when young, and was still handsome in a haggard fashion. If anything, her gauntness enhanced a pair of wonderful gray eyes, such as Jaan had in heritage from her. The coarse blue garb, the hood which this patriarchal society laid over the heads of widows, on her were not demeaning; she had too much inner pride to need vanity.

  They had made small talk while she prepared the bitter Orcan tea. She knew who he was. Jaan said he kept no secrets from her, because she could keep any he asked from the world. Now Ivar apologized: "I didn't mean to interrupt your work, my lady."

  She smiled. "A welcome interruption, Firstling."

  "But, uh, you depend on it for your livin'. If you'd rather go on with it—"

  She chuckled. "Pray take not away from me this excuse for idleness."

  "Oh. I see." He hated to pry, it went against his entire training, and he knew he would not be good at it. But he had to start frank discussion somehow. "It's only, well, it seemed to me you aren't exactly rich. I mean, Jaan hasn't been makin' shoes since—what happened to him."

  "No. He has won a higher purpose." She seemed amused by the inadequacy of the phrase.

  "Uh, he never asks for contributions, I'm told. Doesn't that make things hard for you?"

  She shook her head. "His next two brothers have reached an age where they can work part time. It could be whole time, save that I will not have it; they must get what learning they can. And . . . Jaan's followers help us. Few of them can afford any large donation, but a bit of food, a task done for us without charge, such gifts mount up."

  Her lightness had vanished. She frowned at her cup and went on with some difficulty: "It was not quite simple for me to accept at first. Ever had we made our own way, as did Gileb's parents and mine ere we were wedded. But what Jaan does is so vital that— Ay-ah, acceptance is a tiny sacrifice."

  "You do believe in Caruith, then?"

  She lifted her gaze to his, and his dropped as she answered, "Shall I not believe my own good son and my husband's?"

  "Oh, yes, certainly, my lady," he floundered. "I beg your pardon if I seemed to— Look, I am outsider here, I've only known him few days and— Do you see? You have knowledge of him to guide you in decidin' he's not, well, victim of delusion. I don't have that knowledge, not yet, anyway."

  Nomi relented, reached across the table and patted his hand. "Indeed, Firstling. You do right to ask. I am gladdened that in you he has found the worthy comrade he needs."

  Has he?

  Perhaps she read the struggle on his face, for she continued, low-voiced and looking beyond him:

  "Why should I wonder that you wonder? I did likewise. When he vanished for three dreadful days, and came home utterly changed— Yes, I thought a blood vessel must have burst in his brain, and wept for my kind, hard-working first-born boy, who had gotten so little from life.

  "Afterward I came to understand how he had been singled out as no man ever was before in all of space and time. But that wasn't a joy, Firstling, as we humans know joy. His glory is as great and as cruel as the sun. Most likely he shall have to die. Only the other night, I dreamed he was Shoemaker Jaan again, married to a girl I used to think about for him, and they had laid their first baby in my arms. I woke laughing...." Her fingers closed hard on the cup. "That cannot be, of course."

  Ivar never knew if he would have been able to probe further. An interruption saved him: Robhar, the youngest disciple, knocking at the door.

  "I thought you might be here, sir," the boy said breathlessly. Though the master had identified the newcomer only by a false name, his importance was obvious. "Caruith will come as soon as he can." He thrust forward an envelope. "For you."

  "Huh?" Ivar stared.

  "The mission to Nova Roma is back, sir," Robhar said, nigh bursting with excitement. "It brought a letter for you. The messenger gave it to Caruith, but he told me to bring it straight to you."

  To Heraz Hyronsson stood on the outside. Ivar ripped the envelope open. At the end of several pages came the bold signature Tanya. His own account to her had warned her how to address a reply.

  "Excuse me," he mumbled, and sat down to gulp it.

  Afterward he was very still for a while, his features locked. Then he made an excuse for leaving, promised to get in touch with Jaan soon, and hurried off. He had some tough thinking to do.

  XIX

  None but a few high-ranking officers among the Companions had been told who Ivar was. They addressed him as Heraz when in earshot of others. He showed himself as seldom as feasible, dining with Yakow in the Commander's suite, sleeping in a room nearby which had been lent him, using rear halls, ramps, and doorways for his excursions. In that vast structure, more than half of it unpopulated, he was never conspicuous. The corps knew their chief was keeping someone special, but were too disciplined to gossip about it.

  Thus he and Yakow went almost unseen to the chamber used as a garage. Jaan was already present, in response to word from a runner. A guard saluted as the three men entered an aircar; and no doubt much went on in his head, but he would remain close-mouthed. The main door glided aside. Yakow's old hands walked skillfully across the console. The car lifted, purred forth into the central enclosure, rose a vertical kilometer, and started leisurely southward.

  A wind had sprung up as day rolled toward evening. It whined around the hull, which shivered. The Sea of Orcus bore whitecaps on its steel-colored surface and flung waves against its shores; where spray struck and evaporated, salt was promptly hoar. The continental shelf glowed reddish from long rays filtered through a dust-veil which obscured the further desert; the top of that storm broke oft in thin clouds and streamed yellow across blue-black heaven.

  Yakow put controls on automatic, swiveled his seat around, and regarded the pair who sat aft of him. "Very well, we have the meeting place you wanted, Firstling," he said. "Now will you tell us why?"

  Ivar felt as if knives and needles searched him. He flicked his glance toward Jaan's mild countenance, remembered what lay beneath it, and recoiled to stare out the canopy at the waters which they were crossing. I'm supposed to cope with these two? he thought despairingly.

  Well, there's nobody else for job. Nobody in whole wide universe. Against his loneliness, he hugged to him the thought that they might prove to be in truth his comrades in the cause of liberation.

  "I, I'm scared of possible spies, bugs," he said.

  "Not in my part of the Arena," Yakow snapped. "You know how often and thoroughly we check."

  "But Terrans have resources of, of entire Empire to draw on. They could have stuff we don't suspect. Like telepathy." Ivar forced himself to turn back to Jaan. "You scan minds."

  "Within limits," the prophet cautioned. "I have explained."

  Yes. He took me down into mountain's heart and showed me machine—device—whatever it is that he says held record of Caruith. He wouldn't let me touch anything, though I couldn't really blame him, and inside I was just as glad for excuse not to. And there he sensed my thoughts. I tested him every way I could imagine, and he told me exactly what I was thinkin', as well as some things I hadn't quite known I was thinkin'. Yes.

  He probably wouldn't've needed telepathy to see my sense of privacy outraged. He smiled and told me—

  "Fear not. I have only my human nervous system, and it isn't among the half-talented ones which occur rarely in our species. By myself, I cannot resonate any better than you, Firstling." Bleakly: "This is terrible for Caruith, like being deaf or blind; but he endures, that awareness may be helped to fill reality. And down here—" Glory: "Here his former vessel acts to amplify, to recode, like a living brain center. Within its range of operation, Caruith-Jaan is part of what he rightfully should be: of what he will be again, when his people return and make for us that body we will have deserved."

  I can believe anyway some fraction of what he claimed. Artificial am
plification and relayin' of telepathy are beyond Terran science; but I've read of experiments with it, in past eras when Terran science was more progressive than now. Such technology is not too far beyond our present capabilities: almost matter of engineerin' development rather than pure research.

  Surely it's negligible advance over what we know, compared to recordin' of entire personality, and reimposition of pattern on member of utterly foreign species....

  "Well," Ivar said, "if you, usin' artifact not really intended for your kind of organism, if you scan minds within radius of hundred meters or so—then naturally endowed bein's ought to do better."

  "There are no nonhumans in Orcan territory," Yakow said.

  "Except Erannath," Ivar retorted.

  Did the white-bearded features stiffen? Did Jaan wince? "Ah, yes," the Commander agreed. "A temporary exception. No xenosophonts are in Arena or town."

  "Could be human mutants, maybe genetic-tailored, who've infiltrated." Ivar shrugged. "Or maybe no telepathy at all; maybe some gadget your detectors won't register. I repeat, you probably don't appreciate as well as I do what variety must exist on thousands of Imperial planets. Nobody can keep track. Imperium could well import surprise for us from far side of Empire." He sighed. "Or, okay, call me paranoid. Call this trip unnecessary. You're probably right. Fact is, however, I've got to decide what to do—question involvin' not simply me, but my whole society—and I feel happier discussin' it away from any imaginable surveillance."

  Such as may lair inside Mount Cronos.

  If it does, I don't think it's happened to tap my thoughts these past several hours. Else my sudden suspicions that came from Tanya's letter could've gotten me arrested.

  Jaan inquired shrewdly, "Has the return of our Nova Roma mission triggered you?"

  Ivar nodded with needless force.

  "The message you received from your betrothed—"

  "I destroyed it," Ivar admitted, for the fact could not be evaded were he asked to show the contents. "Because of personal elements." They weren't startled; most nords would have done the same. "However, you can guess what's true, that she discussed her connection with freedom movement. My letter to her and talks with your emissary had convinced her our interests and yours are identical in throwin' off Imperial yoke."

  "And now you wish more details," Yakow said.

  Ivar nodded again. "Sir, wouldn't you? Especially since it looks as if Commissioner Desai will go along with your plan. That'll mean Terrans comin' here, to discuss and implement economic growth of this region. What does that imply for our liberation?"

  "I thought I had explained," said Jaan patiently. "The plan is Caruith's. Therefore it is long-range, as it must be; for what hope lies in mere weapons? Let us rise in force before the time is ready, and the Empire will crush us like a thumb crushing a sandmite."

  Caruith's plan— The aircar had passed across the sea and the agricultural lands which fringed its southern shore, to go out over the true desert. This country made the Dreary of Ironland seem lush. Worn pinnacles lifted above ashen dunes; dust scudded and whirled; Ivar glimpsed fossil bones of an ocean monster, briefly exposed for wind to scour away, the single token of life. Low in the west, Virgil glowered through a haze that whistled.

  "Idea seems . . . chancy, over-subtle. . . . Can any nonhuman fathom our character that well?" he fretted.

  "Remember, in me he is half human," Jaan replied; "and he has a multimillion-year history to draw on. Men are no more unique than any other sophonts. Caruith espies likenesses among races to which we are blind."

  "I too grow impatient," Yakow sighed. "I yearn to see us free, but can hardly live long enough. Yet Caruith is right. We must prepare all Aeneans, so when the day comes, all will rise together."

  "The trade expansion is a means to that end," Jaan assured. "It should cause Orcans to travel across the planet, meeting each sort of other Aenean, leavening with faith and fire. Oh, our agents will not be told to preach; they will not know anything except that they have practical bargains to drive and arrangements to make. But they will inevitably fall into conversations, and this will arouse interest, and nords or Riverfolk or tinerans or whoever will invite friends to come hear what the outlander has to say."

  "I've heard that several times," Ivar replied, "and I still have trouble understandin'. Look, sirs. You don't expect mass conversion to Orcan beliefs, do you? I tell you, that's impossible. Our different cultures are too strong in their particular reverences—traditional religions, paganism, Cosmenosis, ancestor service, whatever it may be."

  "Of course," Jaan said softly. "But can you not appreciate, Firstling, their very conviction is what counts? Orcans will by precept and example make every Aenean redouble his special fervor. And nothing in my message contradicts any basic tenet of yonder faiths. Rather, the return of the Ancients fulfills all hopes, no matter what form they have taken."

  "I know, I know. Sorry, I keep on bein' skeptical. But never mind. I don't suppose it can do any harm; and as you say, it might well keep spirit of resistance alive. What about me, though? What am I supposed to be doin' meanwhile?"

  "At a time not far in the future," Yakow said, "you will raise the banner of independence. We need to make preparations first; mustn't risk you being seized at once by the enemy. Most likely, you'll have to spend years offplanet, waging guerrilla warfare on Dido, for example, or visiting foreign courts to negotiate for their support."

  Ivar collected his nerve and interrupted: "Like Ythri?"

  "Well ... yes." Yakow dismissed bis own infinitesimal hesitation. "Yes, we might get help from the Domain, not while yours is a small group of outlaws, but later, when our cause comes to look more promising," He leaned forward. "To begin with, frankly, your role will be a gadfly's. You will distract the Empire from noticing too much the effects of Orcans traveling across Aeneas. You cannot hope to accomplish more, not for the first several years."

  "I don't know," Ivar said with what stubbornness he could rally. "We might get clandestine help from Ythri sooner, maybe quite soon. Some hints Erannath let drop—" He straightened in his seat. "Why not go talk to him right away?"

  Jaan looked aside. Yakow said, "I fear that isn't practical at the moment, Firstling."

  "How come? Where is he?"

  Yakow clamped down sternness. "You yourself worry about what the enemy may eavesdrop on. What you don't know, you cannot let slip. I must request your patience in this matter."

  It shuddered in Ivar as if the wind outside blew between his ribs. He wondered how well he faked surrender and relaxation. "Okay."

  "We had better start back," Yakow said. "Night draws nigh."

  He turned himself around and then the aircraft. A dusk was already in the cabin, for the storm had thickened. Ivar welcomed the concealment of his face. And did outside noise drown the thud-thud-thud of his pulse? He said most slowly, "You know, Jaan, one thing I've never heard bespoken. What does Caruith's race look like?"

  "It doesn't matter," was the reply. "They are more mind than body. Indeed, their oneness includes numerous different species. Think of Dido. In the end, all races will belong."

  "Uh-huh. However, I can't help bein' curious. Let's put it this way. What did the body look like that actually lay down under scanner?"

  "Why ... well—"

  "Come on. Maybe your Orcans are so little used to pictures that they don't insist on description. I assure you, companyo, other Aeneans are different. They'll ask. Why not tell me?"

  "Kah, hm, kah—" Jaan yielded. He seemed a touch confused, as if the consciousness superimposed on his didn't work well at a large distance from the reinforcing radiations of the underground vessel. "Yes. He ... male, aye, in a bisexual warm-blooded species ... not mammalian; descended from ornithoids.... human-seeming in many ways, but beautiful, far more refined and sculptured than us. Thin features set at sharp angles; a speaking voice like music— No." Jaan broke off. "I will not say further. It has no significance."

  You've said plenty, to
lled in Ivar.

  Talk was sparse for the rest of the journey. As the car moved downward toward an Arena that had become a bulk of blackness studded with a few lights, the Firstling spoke. "Please, I want to go off by myself and think. I'm used to space and solitude when I make important decisions. How about lendin' me this flitter? I'll fly to calm area, settle down, watch moons and stars—return before mornin' and let you know how things appear to me. May I?"

  He had well composed and mentally rehearsed his speech. Yakow raised no objection; Jaan gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "Surely," said the prophet. "Courage and wisdom abide with you, dear friend."

  When he had let the others out, Ivar lifted fast, and cut a thunderclap through the air in his haste to be gone. The dread of pursuit bayed at his heels.

  Harsh through him went: They aren't infallible. I took them by surprise. Jaan should've been prepared with any description but true one—one that matches what Tanya relayed to me from Commissioner Desai, about Merseian agent loose on Aeneas.