Ancient Light

by Mary Gentle

  The sun leaked whitely in through the breach in the dome, and shone on his sparse, tightly-curled hair; and cast a shadow down over one injured and one bright eye. His head came up, he nodded once, sharply, to himself: ‘I thought there must be more. Good God, what have we done when we came here?’

  And Ruric Orhlandis grins, in that Tower garden; speaking with a macabre humour that is part her, part that old man who was Hexenmeister, and partly a hundred generations of others:

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened! … So long as the body comes living, or newly-dead, to the Tower, the memory-transfer can be made. You ’saranthi would say we need “living cells”. That isn’t accurate, but it’ll serve.’

  And I thought of her voice not six hours ago saying, Take me there anyway.

  ‘I can’t stay here long. I’m taking her body back to the Tower.’ Now I drew my hands away from his, but only so that I could take a grip on his fingers; try to pass through that touch some idea of how critical this is; and I said, ‘Douggie, I want to tell you … I – she and I – we owe you some explanation. And what does it matter what you know now?’

  Analgesics kill pain but not weakness. Knowing even the smell of food would sicken me, I choked down protein-supplements; buoyed up on the impatience of waiting for the shuttle to power up. Two more F90s came in during that time. I couldn’t stand to listen to comlink-nets, but when I limped outside and listened, I could hear distant engines, but no explosions. No firing.

  Carrick’s Star hung on the rim of the sea.

  All the clouds in the vast dome of the sky glowed lilac, and ash-white. I turned my face up to the sky. The line of light is invisible, except where it strikes the upper limits of the pall of black smoke, drifting infinitely slowly to the east; glowing amber in the upper sunlit atmosphere.

  I wish that I could see her face. There was a discarded crate on this edge of the landing field, and I eased myself down on to it, leg sticking out straight; and rested the strut on the sparse mossgrass. The F90 shuttle rested on the earth fifty yards away. I wish I could talk to you again.

  There is grit on the earth at my feet. Each pebble has its own precise shadow. There are things I would sooner think of than the way you died: choking, in agony, without dignity, without hope. You will have seen such deaths before, being a soldier. And that’s no comfort. Something broke in me when you died; and if I hadn’t turned my back on this world, I should always have known that it would.

  Take me there anyway.

  I raised my head and looked past the shuttle, past the edge of the rocks and out to sea. Lines of currents curve to the estuary here; but my back is turned on that devastated city, on the telestres, on whatever fighting there still may be. Out there, sea meets sky. And beyond that, far to the south, is a desert coast and a desert city, and a Tower that has stood these five thousand years.

  And the Elansiir and the Barrens and the Glittering Plain. Because there was a city seen in mist and mirror-light …

  And the sea is quiet.

  ‘You should rest,’ Doug’s voice said from behind me. He walked to where I could see him.

  ‘I have to go to Kasabaarde.’

  The sea took his gaze. After a moment he put his hands behind his back, absently tapping his fingers together; and I couldn’t help but smile: that’s Doug. As he turned he saw my expression, and frowned.

  ‘I’d feel easier –’ He hesitated. The sun was at his back and I couldn’t see his face, and squinting was painful. He repeated, ‘I’d feel easier … Lynne, you ought to grieve.’ That said all in a rush: then he added, ‘God knows this is a disaster, but if you go as well, I don’t think I – well, it doesn’t matter. I know you well enough to know this isn’t shock or grief, and I don’t like it.’

  Blinking into the light, I said, ‘I can hold it together – just – because I’ve got this that I have to do; and then I’ve taken a decision.’

  He came and squatted down on his haunches beside me, this middle-aged man in envoy’s uniform; and the sunset put his long shadow on to the crate and the mossgrass. Sparks danced in the air: a handful of kekri-flies.

  ‘Lynne, I didn’t persuade a Company ’thopter to land out at that refugee camp and fetch you, just to have you commit suicide on me.’

  His tone was rallying, serious enough to let me know he thought it a real possibility, and I looked at that round face; no humour at all in it now, and thought how she would have laughed, and said too serious to be solemn about. And so it is, I thought, so it is …

  ‘In a way, yes. Just that.’

  Shock spread over his face. He protested inarticulately.

  ‘Don’t, Douggie. I shan’t die – but I shan’t go back to Earth, either.’

  It was an effort to get up unaided, even with the stick, but I made it, and stood sweating for a moment; grinning at the pain. Pain is sometimes the only sensation you can bear. Now I could see him without having to look up at him: Doug Clifford, envoy. And see (however he tries to hide it, out of respect for grief) how much he disapproves.

  ‘You’ll stay on Orthe.’

  ‘Yes.’

  And once you said to me, There are so few who can live with an aeon of memories. But I can. He made me apprentice, that old man the Hexenmeister, though he never intended it for this. Would your Tethmet Fenborn approve, if he still lives? I think he wouldn’t. But I know I can live with the Tower’s memories, I have done just that for the past eight years – if not (and I hear how you would laugh) if not very well.

  To Doug, I said,’ It’s the only way that I can handle this. Please. Understand that.’

  A change to something unimaginable … Is that what it means: to be named for Her, for Orthe, to become all of Orthe? And if, when, I take her memories, will I have Ruric with me again? Can I bear it, to see me as she saw me!

  I thought, But I know one thing. If I go into the Tower again, I shall not be Christie after that happens; not Lynne Christie, and certainly not Christie S’aranth.

  39

  The Child of Santhendor’lin-sandru

  A low hum filled the air. One YV9 shuttle came over the northern edge of the island, hovered, and then sank down on to the landing field; another followed; and then an F90, settling to earth almost silently, and I felt the ground vibrate underfoot. The sunset shone on the white hulls, now stained with smoke and soot. As I watched, the ramps extruded and the crews came out on to the field.

  Doug Clifford said, ‘There’s an hour or so of light left. I’m going to take a ’thopter out to the Oranon River valley …’ He sighed heavily. ‘If the T’An Suthai-Telestre is alive – or the Earthspeaker Cassirur – or any of the takshiriye …’

  ‘How will you find them?’

  That urbane self-mockery returned for just a moment. He said, ‘Lynne, I shan’t, but it eases me to look.’

  The powering-up must be almost complete, I thought, keeping my gaze fixed on the further shuttle. Pain made a nagging ache in my hip. I clasped both hands on the metal strut and leaned it on the earth between my feet.

  ‘You won’t find any of them.’

  Cassirur and Nelum Santhil, Bethan T’An Kyre, Khassiye Reihalyn … Romare Kerys-Andrethe and Hildrindi hiyek-Anzhadi … the names bring faces to me: they are suddenly real. If Hal is still alive – and I left you by the wall of the Citadel in the early morning light; left you there. It comes to me now that I won’t see you again.

  Douggie gave me a concerned look: the one name between us is Meduenin.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said.

  ‘It’s several hours across the Inner Sea; the pilots are most unwilling to fly at night without a navigation-WEB –’ He broke off, glancing over his shoulder.

  Ottoway came out of the comlink-dome, squinting at the level light. It shone on his florid face. Aware only of irritation, I waited until he strode up to us, and said:

  ‘Is the shuttle powered?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Representative. Commander Mendez won’t authorize the flight.�
��

  I laughed. Looked at this man in Peace Force uniform and laughed, and then said, ‘But I’m going anyway, you know that.’

  ‘Commander Mendez won’t authorize it yet.’ He shot a glance at Doug that was almost an appeal for help. Run ragged, I thought. It’s all fallen apart and even you know that. I said nothing.

  Ottoway said, ‘She’s in the Rimnith-Keverilde area. When we reported you’d been found alive, she – Representative, she wants you there, wants you with her; she says a matter of the utmost urgency –’

  ‘Commander Mendez isn’t in a position to give orders now.’

  Curious, to stand here arguing. This is trivial … The warm air soothes my skin, and back-blasts of heat come from more shuttlecraft as they land; and it is easy to look across the earth to the shuttle where her body lies. I won’t be long about it; we’ll be gone soon. Tomorrow –

  How do I know that I have a day’s grace to get her to the Tower? And then I thought: Listen to the memories. I already know a little of what she knew. That means I know what to do.

  ‘– Representative!’

  Ottoway stepped into my field of vision, blocking out the shuttle and the sea beyond. I brought my gaze back from the horizon, that line that is unique in nature, being straight; and stared at the man.

  ‘Commander Mendez has a prisoner,’ he repeated. ‘She told me to give you the name of Calil bel-Rioch –’

  That name, stumbled over by this man, spoken with a Sino-Anglic accent – he doesn’t know what he’s saying, I thought; and Douggie’s hand closed on my good shoulder, and I felt his tension.

  ‘She’s alive?’ he demanded; then shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know. Lynne, I’ll see you before you leave.’ He let go of my shoulder and abruptly walked off.

  A precipitate flight … he vanished into the entrance of the comlink-dome; a small, neat figure. And Ashiel Wellhouse will always be with him, I thought; and Sethri’s death, and a cold heathland telestre, and the blindness and the fear.

  ‘I can speak more openly, Representative, now that the government envoy isn’t here. Commander Mendez wishes your help in interrogating the prisoner,’ Ottoway said, with a kind of self-satisfied pleasure in this remnant of Security routine.

  ‘She doesn’t need me. The shuttle –’

  ‘Commander Mendez won’t pass a message in clear, except that she needs your specialized knowledge. It concerns the discussions you had here two days ago; and the research-report made by Dr Rashid Akida.’

  I clenched both hands on the metal crutch; and suddenly realized how fragile a balance I held between control and collapse and I can’t take this: Ruric, what do I do?

  The sky is blue and daystarred, but I have been where Orthe’s sky is acid-white. Where a city stands without walls, where there are rooms without doors; and I remember the Voice of the Emperor Dannor, and how we stood together in Kel Harantish, Calil and I, and called up a vision of the past aeons; and I remember her face in the throne-room saying, Your Molly Rachel is dead.

  Doesn’t she know her bluffs been called? I thought caustically. Doesn’t she know there’s no weapon she can threaten us with now?

  Lost, momentarily; I have no grip on the Tower’s memories. I was conscious of being worn to the edge of exhaustion. The noise of shuttles landing battered at my ears; on the earth and sparse mossgrass, under a sky still shrouded with the smoke of burning.

  ‘Get the shuttle ready,’ I said. As Ottoway protested, I added, ‘Contact Cory. Tell her I’ll be landing in Melkathi inside the hour – and that I’ll be leaving again immediately afterwards.’

  In the few minutes before the shuttle was readied for flight, I limped up the slope to where I could look out across Kumiel Island to the north. And I could see across the straits and the estuary, to Tathcaer.

  A summer wind began to blow, now that the sun was setting. The stink of burning grew strong enough to catch in the throat, and in eyes; is it possible, across six miles, to hear the crackle and roar of burning?

  The silhouettes of the hills were ragged, no forts visible; and on Westhill, Westhill-Ahrentine would be there – no, too distant to make out one telestre-house. I strained my eyes, seeing alleys choked with rubble, smashed-open courtyards and buildings; half-sunk jath in the harbour … Smoke rolled down Easthill, obscuring the view. From here you can’t see people, can’t see the long trails of refugees. The blue hills are quiet, the river valley peaceful, even the pall of smoke hangs still and delicate in the golden air … pain and misery invisible now, and I thought Blaize.

  How could I explain to him what I’m doing and why? I couldn’t bear to see the look on his face – I never want to see you again but I want to know you ’re living!

  And some caustic inner voice, that is no one else’s but mine, observed, You’ll find that out eventually, the Tower has its agents and ways of knowing. You will discovery in the months to come, who has lived and who has died: all of them.

  And by then, maybe I won’t care.

  A voice hailed me from the field, and I went back, slow and awkward, to the ramp of the F90 shuttle; and went aboard.

  Second twilight darkened to night over Melkathi’s heath-land. I walked from the shuttle to Ashiel Wellhouse, feeling the cold night breeze; and paused on that hill slope to look down to the east – the land was dark. Some things it is better not to want to see. The Peace Force officer fussing at my elbow came back, waiting impatiently; and I rubbed at my hip, at the top of the plastiflesh casing, and took a pain-tab from my belt-pouch. Chewing the bitter analgesic, I gripped my stick and limped across the courtyard – the domed building loud with lights and voices and then I saw why: Earthspeakers went between groups of wounded, lying out on the warm earth; gave ataile-juice for sleep; and when s’aranthi passed, ignored us as if we had no existence. A child sobbed, over by the low wall, and They’ll hate us more for the wounded than for the dead; death is the lesser penalty, I thought. And then, ironically, And when did we become the enemy? One young, still face I didn’t recognize until I had passed by; and then thought of a Freeport quayside and Rakviri food-ships – Pellin Asshe Kadareth, all threats silenced now.

  ‘Commander, the Representative is here.’

  Corazon Mendez stepped from the entrance of the Wellhouse, out into the torch-lit courtyard. Flickering yellow light shone on her rumpled uniform, on that sleek short-cut white hair; and I saw a CAS-IV holstered at her belt, a comlink held in the hand that now seemed suddenly thin; silver rings loose on those liver-spotted fingers.

  ‘No one else on the shuttle?’ Her voice was sharp.

  ‘No, Commander,’ the young officer said hastily.

  ‘I’ll have no WEBcasters travel on Service ships; I want none of them out here – Lynne, will you come inside.’

  As I limped past her, I glanced into her face. It had a vague, almost blurred look; in sharp contrast to her speech. The pupils of her blue eyes were pinpoints; and she shut her eyes and squeezed the lids together, and casually dismissed the young officer.

  ‘Glad to see you made it, Lynne.’

  The bathos of that made me stop, in the curved inner room, and stare back at her; my hip ached and my leg was numb and I held self-control on a very fragile thread: ‘Is that all you can say!’

  ‘I don’t want any of that nonsense.’

  She walked past me, heading towards the inner rooms. They looked, through the round-arched entrance, to be deserted; I wondered why, and then saw the armed Peace Force officers there. In a Wellhouse – but there are worse things, now, than that.

  ‘I’ll see Calil bel-Rioch and then go,’ I said.

  ‘I thought … she’s threatening us with Witchbreed Technology; nothing in it, of course, but one has to cover every eventuality. Seems to know a lot about it. God alone knows how much black-market arms trading the Ishida girl did; don’t have to worry about alien technology …’

  Corazon Mendez hesitated. A torch in a wall-cresset flickered, and her shadow s
hifted on the brickwork; and the wind brought the smell of many people crowded into close quarters: musk and sweat and dirt and sickness, and I tasted pain, metallic in my own mouth. Cory still stood as if she listened for something. Almost inconsequentially she said, ‘There’s still fighting going on. There’ll have to be mop-up operations.’

  Not with you, I thought. Anyone involved in this will be crucified at home, because PanOceania will have to make themselves look good; and so there have to be villains to pillory. You, and me if I were here, and That also is not my concern; in a way what I’m doing is cowardice.

  As I followed Mendez through into the next room, I was suddenly hit by a memory – I have thought of Wellhouses, and of what I once said: to be marked for Her is not a privilege but a responsibility. Not all cowardice; I am going where the responsibility calls me. And if there are other apprentices in the Tower better suited, then I’ll come back to Earth and take that responsibility there.

  But I think I will not leave Orthe again.

  ‘See if you can get anything out of the woman,’ Cory Mendez stood back from a door-arch for me to go through. ‘I don’t – haven’t the time.’

  As she turned away I realized, She’s given up. A kind of sadness touched me briefly; and vanished. I know very well that when the shock passes, she will have justifications that even she will believe, for what’s happened here – for what we have done.

  I stepped through the arch, into the main Wellhouse dome; and without knowing how I thought or sensed it, realized Danger and then is Mendez right; is there nothing to be concerned about? and a sudden fear twisted in my stomach: it isn’t over until it’s over. And it isn’t over yet.

  One of the Peace Force guards took my CAS-IV as I went in. The stone floor was hard underfoot, and the metal strut I used as a crutch skidded slightly; I put my weight down on my cased leg, and hissed as pain shot through my hip. I crossed the floor of the inner dome in a few limping steps, and lowered myself down to sit on the raised rim of the Wellmouth.