The Book of Night with Moon fw-1

by Diane Duane

  “Oh, please,” Rhiow muttered. Early in their work together, she and Saash had been involved in the rescue of an Andorrin climbing expedition that had come hundreds of thousands of lightyears to scale Olympus Mons … not in present time, but while it was erupting, in a previous geological era. The rescue had involved a timeslide that Rhiow and Saash had had to pay for, long walks through endless caves looking for the lost climbing party, much hot lava, and a lot of screeching from the expedition leader when the climbers were spirited out of the mountain just before it blew its top in the final eruption that made it the biggest shield volcano in this or any other known solar system. After days of trekking through those caves, hunting the lost ones by scent and lifesigns, and not a word of thanks for their rescue out of any of the Andorrins’ multiple mouths, Rhiow had come away from the experience certain that wizardry and its affiliated technologies should be confined to the Art’s certified practitioners. But there were large areas in this universe where (in the words of a talented and perceptive ehhif) science had become truly indistinguishable from magic, mostly because they were recognized as merely being different regions of the same spectrum of power, both routinely manipulated side by side by species among whom wizardry was no more covert than electricity or nuclear fusion.

  Rhiow glanced ahead at Arhu, half-expecting some reaction along the lines of “You’ve been to Mars?”—but he was paying no attention. He and Ith were still walking together, talking quietly. The temptation to eavesdrop was almost irresistible. Two wizards on Ordeal, one of them almost certainly the first of his species … what was going on? Impossible to tell, but their body language had not warmed in the slightest. The brains holding this discussion might belong to wizards, both part of the same kinship—but the bodies were those of cat and serpent, distrusting one another profoundly. Arhu was stiff-legged and bristling, and looked like he wished he were anywhere else. As for Ith—Rhiow was uncertain what his kinesics indicated, except that his body was leaning away from Arhu while his head and neck curved toward him as they talked. At the very least, the message was mixed.

  Saash was watching them, too. After a while she glanced over at Rhiow and said silently, We’re all going to die down here, aren’t we? It’s not just me.

  No, Rhiow said, I’d say not. Odd, how when it could have been just her, she would almost have welcomed it. But no, Rhiow thought to herself, that’s never really been an opportunity. We’re in conjoint power at this point, “roped together” as the ehhif idiom would have it: what happens to one of us on this job, we’ve always known would happen to all of us… She wanted to laugh a little at herself, except that she felt so dead inside. And here I was so worried about being shy an extra life. It’s going to be a lot more than that, soon.

  Urruah, pacing along with them, looked ahead at Arhu and Ith, and lashed his tail in a meditative sort of way. He wouldn’t eat, he said.

  No. That was interesting. He didn’t sound very happy, either … not like that other saurian we heard talking about their “Great One.”

  Saash looked thoughtful. Neither did the saurians who were watching that one work, she said. They are individuals, Rhi…not everyone has to be completely enthusiastic about whatever’s going on down here.

  All right, I know what you mean. It’s just… it’s hard to think of him as one of us. But he is … he wouldn’t have been given the Oath, otherwise. And he definitely has a troubled sound.

  They walked a little way more. Rhiow was still worrying in mind at the tone of Ith’s voice. Sweet Iau, she thought, I’m so tired.

  “Ith,” she said suddenly.

  He looked at her, as if surprised anyone besides Arhu would speak to him: and Arhu looked, too. “This way,” he said. “A long way yet.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” Rhiow glanced at the others. “Let’s stop and rest a little. I’d like to get the rest of this mess off me; the scent is potentially dangerous. And we can all use a breather…”

  I was wondering when you were going to suggest it, Urruah said, somewhat caustically, as he glanced around them, and then flopped down right where he was. We don’t all have your iron constitution.

  We don’t all constantly load ourselves up with stuff from MhHonalh’s, either. You should try cat food sometime. I know a good dietetic one…

  Urruah made an emphatic suggestion as to what Rhiow could do with diet cat food. Rhiow thought his idea unlikely to be of any lasting nutritive value. But she grinned slightly, and then turned back to Ith, who had hunkered down next to Arhu, by the wall of the long corridor where they sat. Arhu looked once up and down the corridor with a listening expression, then started washing.

  “Arhu?” Rhiow said. “Anything coming?”

  “Not for a while yet,” he said, not looking up from washing his white shirtfront, now mostly pink.

  “All right.” Rhiow looked over at Ith. “You are hungry, aren’t you?” Rhiow said.

  Pause. “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you eat, back there?”

  A much longer pause. Arhu, in the middle of a moment’s worth of washing, glanced up, watching thoughtfully.

  “Because there was no one to force me,” Ith said. “Workers are not given food often … but when it is given them, they must eat; if they are reluctant, they are forced… or killed. Warriors, also, are forced … or killed. If one will not eat and do one’s work, whatever that might be … one becomes food.”

  “And you were about to…”

  A very long pause, this time. “I looked about me,” Ith said, very softly, “and realized I did not wish to be food.” He stopped, and actually suited action to words, glancing around him guiltily as if afraid someone would hear; the sentiment was apparently heretical. “It seemed to me that there should be another way for us to survive. But if ever one spoke of such possibilities, one was found mad … and immediately sacrificed. People would say, “The flesh tastes better when the mind is strange …’ And they would laugh while they ate.”

  Rhiow looked at Saash, who shuddered, and Urruah, who simply made a face. “But I wanted to live my own life,” said Ith, “not merely exist as meat in some warrior’s belly.” Another look around him, guilty and afraid. Rhiow found herself forced to look away in embarrassment. “A long time I kept my silence … and looked for ways to come away from the depths, some way that would not be forbidden. There were no such ways; all roads are guarded now, or sealed… Finally I thought I would even try to go to the Fire and end myself there, rather than be food. I was going to go … I knew the ways; like many others I have gone out to gaze at the Fire, never daring to creep close… Then the voice spoke to me.”

  “ ‘All roads are guarded,’ ” Urruah said. “How did you get out, then?”

  “I—” Ith hesitated. “I stepped—between things, I went—”

  “You sidled,” Arhu said. “Like this.” And did it where he sat, though with difficulty.

  Ith’s jaw dropped. Then he said, “Even here, it is hard.”

  A second’s look of concentration, and he had done it, too: though, as with many beginners, his eyes were last to vanish, and lingered only half-seen in the air, a creepy effect for anyone who didn’t know what was causing it. Then he came back, breathing harder, and folded his claws together, possibly a gesture of satisfaction.

  “Down here, yes, it’s tough,” Rhiow said. “It’s the presence of the Fire down below us, and of other lesser ones like it. They interfere. It will become impossible, as we go deeper.”

  “But I did it there,” Ith said, looking at her suspiciously. “My work is down deep; I fetch and carry for the warriors who are housed in the delvings some levels above that Fire. To come away I had to come by the guards who watch the ways up out of the greatest depths. It… was hard, it hurt…”

  “The cheesewire effect,” Urruah muttered. “Too well we know. But you got out anyway.”

  “I passed many guards,” Ith said, looking sidewise at Urruah. “None of them saw me. Finally I came up
here, where no one comes except workers who are sent under guard; they all passed me by. And I went where the voice told me to wait… and you came.”

  “Great,” Urruah muttered. “He can sidle where we won’t be able to. This is so useful to us.”

  “It might be,” Rhiow said softly. “Don’t laugh.” But she looked at Ith uneasily. If we needed proof, we’ve got it now. A saurian wizard…

  Saash looked at Ith, then glanced at Rhiow. You’re thinking he’s responsible for what’s been going on with the gates? It’s crazy, Rhi. Ith hardly knows anything. He barely seems to know as much about wizardry at this point as Arhu did when we found him.

  If that’s possible, Urruah muttered.

  No, Rhiow said. The problem’s not just Ith. I want to find out more about this “Great One.”

  I don’t, Saash said. I’m sure I know exactly Who it is.

  Me too, said Urruah, growling softly.

  I wouldn’t be too sure, Rhiow said. Our own certainties may trip us up, down here… After all, how certain were we that there were no such things as saurian wizards? And now look…

  “What will you do with me now?” Ith said.

  Rhiow sighed, wishing she had the slightest idea. She could feel the weariness coming down on her more swiftly every second. “Look,” she said to the team, “if we stay still too much longer, we’re going to need to sleep, I think. I could certainly use some. Arhu, you’re sure nothing’s coming for a while?”

  He got a faraway look. “A couple of hours.”

  “We’ll sleep a little, then,” Rhiow said to Ith, “and try to work out what to do later.”

  “Who’ll sit guard?” Saash said, lying down with a look of unutterable relief, and not even bothering to scratch. Rhiow felt extremely sorry for her; she was not really built for this kind of stress.

  “I’ll take it,” Urruah said. “I’m in pretty good shape at the moment… and I’m not hungry. Unlike some.” He looked thoughtfully at Ith and settled himself upright against the wall, leaning a little on one shoulder, gazing down the long dark gallery.

  Rhiow lay down and tried to relax. At least a rest, if not sleep, she thought; but neither seemed terribly likely. Her thoughts were going around in small tight circles, trying to avoid the image of Hhuha… From off to one side, already, came the sound of Saash’s tiny snore. She never has trouble sleeping, Rhiow thought with a touch of envy. She confines her anxieties and neuroses strictly to her waking hours. I wish I could manage that.

  Over Saash’s little snore came the sound of Arhu and Ith talking. It got loud sometimes.

  “I was hungry, too,” Arhu said. “All the time. Until I met them. Then things got better. They gave me fh’astrramhi.”

  This is all we’re going to need, Urruah said. A dinosaur with a pastrami craving…

  Don’t think I don’t hear your stomach growling. You’d go for it just as fast as he would, and five minutes later you’d be telling him where to find the best pastrami on the Upper West Side.

  “Come on, you two,” Urruah said, “half the lizards in the place are going to come down on us if you don’t shut up. Sorry, Ith, no offense.”

  They paid no particular attention. Urruah had to shush them several more times, and finally Arhu started staring at Ith in the fixed way that suggested he was trying to teach the saurian to speak silently. Rhiow wished him luck and put her head down on the stone, in the dark, and courted sleep…

  It declined to be courted. She kept hearing, in her head, one part or another of the saurian version of the Oath. The Fire is at the heart: and the Fire is the heart: for its sake, all fires whatever are sacred to me… I shall ever thrust my claw into the flames.

  Rhiow sighed and rolled over. It really is our idiom… and the language is very like what’s in the “Hymn to Iau,” and the “First Song.” All the references to fire and flame used the Ailurin “power” words, the auw-stems and compounds, which had passed into the Speech as specialist terminology.

  But why should this child be using our words?… For any species’ Oath always has to do with the form of it originally taken by the wizards among the Mothers and Fathers of a species, after Choice. Its form is set in their bones and blood, so that wizards of that species find it impossible to forget, and it is most specific to their own kind and mode of existence, as it should be. Even nonwizards of many species know parts of their own species’ Oath in one form or another, often restated in religious or philosophical idiom.

  Rhiow smiled a little at herself then. What do I mean, “this child”? Who knew just how old Ith was? Rhiow got a general feeling that he wasn’t out of latency yet, but who knew how long these saurians’ latency period was? Though there were supposedly some dinosaurs who mothered their hatchlings for years at a time. Long latency-to-lifespan ratio makes for the best wizards, Ffairh would always say.

  But I still don’t get it. Why Ailurin?

  She rolled over again, disturbed by the puzzle. The connection between the feline world and the reptilian world was an ancient one, easily summed up in a single word: enmity—the Great Cat with the sword in his paw, sa’Rrahh the Tearer with her fangs in the Serpent’s neck. Now Rhiow found herself thinking: Is there something else to this connection? Something that got lost? Do we have some old history together?

  And how could that be? The saurians passed away long before felinity evolved into even its most archaic forms or became sentient.

  Time, though, was a dangerously inconstant medium… and it was always unwise for a wizard to automatically assume mat any two events were unconnected. The structure of time was as full of holes and slides and unexpected infracausal linkages as the structure of space was full of strings and hyper-strings and wormholes—

  “But why not?” Arhu suddenly said aloud.

  “I can see you looking at me,” Ith said.

  “Of course I’m looking at you—”

  “Not that way. With the other eye.”

  Rhiow flicked an ear in mild surprise.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It sees too much. It makes me see… you.” No question about it: Ith’s voice sounded actively afraid. “Your kind.”

  “You scared?” Arhu’s voice was louder.

  “I do not wish to see this,” Ith said. “The things—the pain my kind have, that I have, it is enough. Your pain as well—”

  “I told you, do it in your heads,” Urruah said, “or I’m going to come over there and bang those heads together. You two understand me?”

  Arhu and Ith—half a ton of moon-and-midnight panther, a ton and a half of patterned hide—glared at Urruah together, and then turned away with an identical eye-rolling teenagers’ look, and locked eyes again.

  Rhiow sighed and lay back again, thinking with slight amusement of Arhu saying, just the other day, I don’t want to know this about them; it’ll only make it harder to kill them when the time comes.

  So now you hear it from the other side. Well, probably do you good to see things from his point of view. Do us all good, I suppose, if there were more of that…

  She sought back along the interrupted train of thought. The nature of the old saurian Choice … she wondered if it was less simple than the Whisperer might initially have indicated. Not just a straightforward choice between good and evil, or obedience to the Powers and disobedience … but something more difficult: perhaps multipartite. And prophecy and the serpentine kind had long been associated in various species’ myths. Did they look ahead then, Rhiow thought, during the Choice, and see their possible futures? The meteoric winter would have been part of what they saw; the Powers would have looked ahead in time and known it to be an inevitable consequence of the Lone One’s involvement with this species. And at least a couple of the fates springing from it were easy enough to imagine. One would be the fate of the saurians in Rhiow’s universe—almost all their species killed, except for a few of the most rugged survivors, who would forget their former greatness and dwindle into the modern reptil
ia; mere animals, shadows of what was … Another would have been this scenario: the saurians retreating down here into the darkness to save themselves, remembering what they once were, but also longing eternally for what once had been, and hating what they had become, and the Choice they had been forced to make … I wonder, Rhiow thought, whether the saurians in our universe got the better of the deal. Better to be animal than to live like this.

  But it wasn’t my Choice. It’s theirs… they’re stuck with it.

  It’s a shame you can’t trade in a Choice after a test run, though, and say to the Powers That Be, “Sorry, the Lone One fooled us, this Choice is defective, we want another chance.”

  The silence that fell in Rhiow’s mind in the wake of the idle thought was so profound that it practically rang. It was familiar, that silence: the Whisperer suggesting that you might just have stumbled onto something…

  Rhiow’s eyes widened as she reexamined the thought.

  The Choice offered to the forefathers and foremothers of the Wise Ones … could it be that it was defective? Flawed, somehow? Incomplete?

  Ridiculous. Whoever heard of an incomplete Choice before? There’s a pattern. The Lone One turns up … says, “Would you like to live as the Powers have told you you must, or take a gamble on another way that might work out better?” And you gamble, and fall: or refuse…

  And then Rhiow stopped.

  But the saurian Choice had to be incomplete. There had been no wizards there. And there had to be wizards: the whole spectrum of a species’ life, both natural and supranatural, had to be represented for the Choice to be valid.

  Or… She stared at the stone between her paws. No. A species’ Choice is its own.

  Or was it? If the species was linked to another…

  …did the other have to be there, taking part, as well?

  Taken together with Ith’s Oath, with the Ailurin words in it…

  …the thought shook Rhiow. The People were their own. They were utterly independent. That some other species would have been involved in their Choice was unthinkable … a challenge to their sovereignty over themselves. That they should be ancillary to some other species’ Choice…