by Gene Wolfe
Pig had caught his shoulder, causing Oreb to flee with a terrified squawk. "Had een, yer said." Questing thumbs found them and pressed gently. "Read, yer said."
"Yes, sometimes. Not lately."
"Gude een, yer got." Fingers and thumbs traversed his cheeks, found the corners of his mouth and the point of his chin under his beard. "Snog clock, bucky. Liked ther girls, dinna yer? When yer was younger?"
"Only one, actually."
The tapping of the leather-covered brass scabbard resumed. "Them that can winna, an' 'em that wad canna. 'Tis a hard grind fer ther h'axe, bucky."
"A hard life, you mean. Yes, it is."
"Een noo. Yer lookin' fer een, yer said."
"Eyes for a chem. I have a friend-a chem who was a co-worker when I was younger-who's gone blind."
"Like auld Pig."
"Yes, precisely, except that she's a chem. Her name is Maytera Marble, and before I left Blue I promised I would find new eyes for her if I could. She gave me one of her old ones to use as a pattern, but I no longer have it."
"Yer lost it?"
"Not exactly. I was forced to leave it behind. I remember how it looked, however, or at least I believe I do; and I'd like very much to find replacements, if I can. Maytera was my teacher when I was a child, you see. I mean-"
"No talk!"
"Dinna fash auld Pig, H'oreb. Bucky, would yer make mock a' me fer h'offerin' me fin'ers ter help yer look?"
"Certainly not."
"Dinna think h'it. Yer nae ther kind. Yer lookin' fer a mon, yer said. Silk's ther name?"
"Yes, Calde Silk. Or Patera Silk. I intend to find him, and to bring him to Blue. That's what I swore to accomplish, and I will not break my oath."
"Ho, aye. An' Silk's cauld?"
"Dead? Then I'll find new eyes for Maytera Marble and return home, if I can."
There was a silence.
"Pig? Is that what you want me to call you?"
"Aye."
"Pig, would you mind if I walked closer to you? If-if I touched you, sometimes, as I walked?"
"Shuttin' yer h'in, h'is h'it? Touch Nall yer want."
"The darkness. This dark. Yes. Yes it is."
"Like dark!"
"I know you do, Oreb. But I don't. Not this, particularly. At home-on Blue, I mean. May I talk about the way it feels, Pig? I certainly don't mean to be offensive, but I believe it might make me feel better."
"Blue's h'outside, bucky?"
"Yes. Yes, it is. It has a-the Short Sun. A round gold sun that walks across the sky during the course of the day, and vanishes into the sea at shadelow. At shadeup it reappears in the mountains and climbs up the sky like a man climbing a hill of blue glass. But before it begins to climb, there's a silent shout-"
Pig chuckled, the good-humored rumble of men rolling empty barrels.
"It's a silly phrase, I realize; but I don't know another way to express it. It's as though the whole whorl, the whorl that we call Blue and say we own, were welcoming the Short Sun with tumultuous joy. I'm making myself ridiculous, I know."
Pig's hand, twice the size of his own, found his shoulder. "Dinna naebody but yer hear what dinna make nae noise, bucky?"
He did not answer.
"Partners?"
"Surely. Partners, if you don't object to having a fool for a partner."
"Yer misses yer Short Sun."
"I do. It would be a relief, a very great relief to me, to see a light of any kind. A lantern, say. Or a candle. But most of all, the sun. Daylight."
"Aye."
"You must feel the same way. I should have realized it sooner. And if we were to encounter someone with a lantern, I would see it and see him. Even now, even in this terrible darkness, I remain singularly blessed. I should pray, Pig, and I should have thought of that much sooner."
Far away, a wolf howled.
"Yer got 'em h'on yer whorl?" Pig inquired.
"Yes, we do. Ordinary wolves, such as you have here, and fel- wolves, too, which have eight legs and are much larger and more dangerous. But, Pig…"
"H'out wi' h'it."
"That whorl, Blue, had people living upon it long before we came-people who may still be there, some of them at least. One seldom sees them. Most of us never have, and we call them the Vanished People, or the Neighbors, and children are taught that they're wholly legendary; but I've seen them more than once, and even spoken with them. I don't believe I will again, because I've lost something-a silver ring with a white stone-that was left behind with Maytera Marble's eye."
"Huh! "
"But once when I did-when I spoke with the Neighbors-I asked what they had called the whorl we call Blue, what their name for it had been. And they said, `Ours.' "
"No cry!"
"I'm sorry, Oreb." He tried to dry his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic, then clamped the knobbed staff beneath his arm to search himself for a handkerchief. Pig's elbow brushed his ear, and he cor rected his position slightly and began to tap the roadway before him as Pig was.
"When Pig had een," Pig rumbled, "Pig dinna never have nae thin' ter look fer. Dinna tell yer sae?"
"No. Tell me now." He had recalled the bloody tatters of the handkerchief that the woman had discarded in the farmhouse kitchen, and was dabbing at his own eyes with his sleeve once more. (Remora spoke in the recesses of his mind. "No, um, place of permanence for us, eh? For we mortals, no-ah-possessions. Own it, eh? But in time, hey? Another's, and another's. Do you take my meaning, Horn? We've nothing but the gods, in the, um, make a final reckoning.")
"Muckle lasses, prog an' grog." Pig mused not far away, less visible than Remora in the dark. "Nae thin' h'else ter look fer, an' thought h'it livin'."
"No talk."
"Ho, Pig can bake h'it, H'oreb, an' yer can take h'it."
"No talk. Thing hear."
"Somethin' ter hear? What's fashin' him, bucky?"
He had already stopped to listen, his head cocked, both hands grasping the knobbed staff. No wind had blown, or so it seemed to him, since he had been returned to the Long Sun Whorl; but a wind touched both his cheeks, warm and moist and fetid. Hoping Pig could hear him, he whispered, "Something's listening to us or for us, I believe."
"Huh!"
"Where is it, Oreb?"
From his shoulder, Oreb muttered, "Bird see."
"Yes, I know you see it. But where is it?"
"Bird see," Oreb repeated. " 'Bye, Silk."
Feathers brushed the side of his head as Oreb spread his wings. Clawed feet pushed against his shoulder, those wings beat loudly, and Oreb was gone.
Pig said, "Yer corbie's right, bucky. 'Tis a godlin'. Pig winds h'it. H'in ther road h'up h'ahead, most like."
Something hard tapped his shin, and Pig's hand clasped his shoulder, feeling as big as his father's when he himself had been a small child-a sudden, poignant memory. That big hand drew him to one side. At his ear, Pig's hoarse voice muttered, "'Ware ditch, bucky."
It was shallow and dry, although he might easily have been tripped by it if he had not been warned. A twig kissed his hand; he forced himself to close his eyes, although those eyes wanted very badly to stare out uselessly at the utter darkness that wrapped him and them. "Pig?" he breathed; then somewhat more loudly, "Pig?"
"Aye."
"What are they?"
There was no reply, only the big hand drawing him deeper among whispering leaves.
"Oreb wouldn't tell me. What is a godling?"
"Hush." Pig had halted. "Hark." The hand drew him forward again, and for an interval that seemed to him very long indeed, he heard nothing save the occasional snap of a twig. Trees or bushes surrounded them, he felt sure, and from time to time his questing staff encountered a limb or trunk, or some motion of Pig's evoked the soft speech of foliage.
A faint and liquid music succeeded it, waking his tongue and lips to thirst. He hurried forward through the blackness, drawing the towering Pig after him until gravel crunched beneath their feet and he sensed that the water he heard was
before him. He knelt, and felt a gracious coolness seep through the knees of his trousers, bent and splashed his face, and tasted the water, finding it cool and sweet. He swallowed and swallowed again.
"It's good," he began. "I'd say-"
Pig's span-across hand tightened upon his arm, and he realized that Pig was drinking already, sucking and gulping the water noisily, in fact.
He drank more, then explored the stream with his fingers, trying to keep their movements gentle so as not to stir up mud. "It's not wide," he whispered. "We could step across it easily, I believe."
"Aye." There was a hint of fear in the deep, rough voice.
"But the godling-whatever that is-shouldn't be able to hear us as long as we remain here. Or so I think. The noise of the water should cover the sound of our voices."
He bent and drank again. "I pumped water for a woman who had bandaged my wrists not long ago. It was good, cold well water, I believe, and I almost asked her for a glass. But we were about to eat so I thought, at least-and I told myself I wasn't really so thirsty as all that. I must learn to drink when I have the opportunity."
He recalled Pig's chance remark about drinking, and added, "Drink water, I should say. I thought I had learned that on Green, where there was rarely any water that was safe to drink except for what certain leaves caught when it rained."
"Bird find," a harsher voice even than Pig's announced.
"Oreb, is that you? It must be. What have you found?"
"Find thing. Thing hear."
"Did you? Good. Where is it?"
"No show."
"I don't want you to show it to me, Oreb, and I couldn't see it if you did. I want you to tell me how to avoid it. We were going to Viron, or at least I certainly hope we were. Is this thing, this godling, standing in the road waiting for us?"
"No stand. Thing sit."
"But it's in the road? Or sitting beside it?"
"On bridge."
Pig broke in. "H'oreb, me an' Horn's partners. You an' me, H'oreb, why, we're partners ter, h'ain't we? Yer Wallow such?"
"Good man!"
"Not too loudly, please, Oreb." He drank again.
"So, H'oreb, Pig needs yer ter tell where we're h'at. Will yer? 'Tis h'another road, wi' this trickle across?"
"No road."
"A medder, H'oreb? Might find coos hereabouts, would yer say?"
"No cow."
"Huh!" Pig sounded impatient. "How can Pig get him ter tell, bucky? Yer know him."
Oreb answered for himself. "Say woods."
"'Tis where we h'are, H'oreb? H'in a wood? Canna be."
"In woods," Oreb insisted. "Silk say."
"My name is Horn, Oreb-I've told you so. I believe he's correct, Pig. We're in a wood, perhaps on the edge of a forest." He paused to search his memory. "There was an extensive forest north of Viron when I lived there. A man named Blood had a villa in it, as did various other rich men. This may well be the same forest."
"Felt yer trees h'all 'round, bucky. Could nae touch 'em, an' such could nae touch me, h'or would nae."
"No doubt they're large trees, widely separated."
"Ho, aye." Pig's rough voice contrived to pack an immense skepticism into the two words. "Big trees hereabouts, H'oreb?"
"No big."
"Not close, they be? Ane here an' h'other h'over yon?"
"All touch."
"H'oreb can tell where they're h'at an' where they hain't. Do yer h'object ter lendin' him h'out, bucky?"
He rose. "I suggest we follow this stream instead. Streams frequently go somewhere, in my experience. Are you coming?"
"Bird come. Go Silk." Oreb settled upon his shoulder.
"Pig ter, H'oreb. We'll gae h'along wi' Horn."
He heard the big man's knees crack, and said, "Then let us go in silence, if you won't tell me about the godlings."
"Dinna hae naethin' ter tell yer, bucky. 'Struth. Pas sends such ter make folk gae ter yer h'outside places."
For some time after that they walked on without speaking. Now and then the tip of the knobbed staff splashed water; now and then the end of the leather-covered brass scabbard rapped softly against a trunk or a limb; but for the most part there was silence, save for the rasp and rattle of gravel beneath their feet and an occasional warning uttered sotto voce by Oreb, who at length offered, "No see."
"The godling, Oreb? Are you saying you no longer see it?"
"No see," Oreb repeated. "Thing watch. No watch."
Oreb's voice had sounded strangely hollow. The tip of the knobbed staff, exploring left and right, rapped stone. "We're in a tunnel of some sort."
"Aye, bucky." Those words reverberated slightly as well.
He stared into the darkness, half convinced he could make out a lofty semicircle of lighter black before them. "There are tunnels everywhere, do you know about them, Pig? Tunnels of unimaginable length and complexity underlying the entire Long Sun Whorl."
"Huh." Nearby in the darkness, Pig's softly re-echoing voice sounded understandably doubtful.
"I was in them long ago. One must pass through them to reach the landers, which are just below the outside surface. The first Oreb was down there as well, with Auk and Chenille."
"Bad hole!"
"Exactly. But I certainly hope you're right when you say the godling can't see us in here."
"Dinna harm folk," Pig muttered, "h'or nae h'often."
"We may be in those tunnels. If so, we're approaching a cavern such as the sleepers were in. Look up ahead. I can see something there, I swear." Without waiting for Pig, he hurried forward-then halted, stunned with wonder and terror.
To the north and south, the skylands spread in splendor far greater than he recalled. Against their magnificent display, above the bridge under which he had passed, he saw silhouetted shoulders like two hills, a smooth, domed head that might have filled the farm woman's kitchen and sundered all four walls, and bestial, pointed ears.
3. JUSTICE AND GOOD ORDER
Nat has sent troopers from Dorp, who have arrested us. Dorp it appears has a standing horde (as Soldo did) which it calls its leger. There are three legermen and the sergeant. I gave him two silver cards, and although he will not let us go, it has put us on a friendly basis. I am paying for our rooms at this inn as well, one in which the sergeant, a legerman, and I are to sleep tonight, and another in which Jahlee is supposed to sleep, with Hide and the other two legermen.
Dinner and a bath! The sergeant-his name is Azijin-has been given money with which to buy provisions; I told him he might keep it, at least for tonight. He and his men, I said, could join us at dinner. There was wine, and food that seemed very good to Hide and me.
Nat is a person of importance in Dorp, it seems. We are likely to be fined and whipped. I have tried to convey to my daughter that it might be well for her to leave us, but I am not sure she understood. If she did, she may not agree; and if she tries to escape now, she may be shot.
I will not stand idly by and see her stripped, no matter what some judge in Dorp may say.
As I was writing, she came in to ask for a larger fire. The innkeeper wanted an additional payment for the extra wood, and we began to bargain over the amount. Sergeant Azijin told him to supply it, cursing him and pushing him into the corner. Jahlee got her fire and went away satisfied. I looked in on her just now, and her appearance has improved greatly.
During our argument, the innkeeper stated that he "always" made an extra charge for extra wood. I asked him how long his inn has stood here, and he said proudly, "For six years." We are so new to this whorl that we have not worn out the clothes we brought from the other, some of us; yet we talk and act as if it has been ours from time immemorial. Once I wept when I told Pig what the Neighbors had said. He must have thought me mad, but I was only tired and weak, and oppressed by the stifling darkness. A sorrow, too, pressed upon my heart. It is still there; I feel it, and must keep busy.
Azijin lets me write like this, which is a great relief to me. I have worried that he m
ight read it, but he cannot read. So he says, and I think he is telling the truth. He seems ashamed of it, so I assured him that it is not difficult, and offered to teach him, making large letters on the same paper I took from the bandits and use for this journal.
The wounded bandit Jahlee drained told us we might take whatever we wanted if only we would spare him, which I rashly promised to do. I can see him still: his thin mouth below its thin mustache, and his large, frightened eyes. Jahlee said she had never killed before, but I know it is a lie-she killed for me when we fought Han. We flatter ourselves with our horror of them, but are we really much better?
Rereading that above, I was aghast at my candor. What if the judge in Dorp should read it? I might destroy it (perhaps I should) but what about the other two accounts? How much labor I expended on them, dreaming that someday Nettle might peruse them, as she yet may. I must hide them.
I have done what I could, but the best solution would be to see to it that our baggage is not examined. I must question the sergeant about legal procedures, and ask his men as well-for all I know, they may have more and better information, or be more willing to part with it. Although we chatted together at dinner, I do not recall their names.
Before I sleep I ought to record the notable fact that I have bathed, for which I-and all who come near me, no doubt-am most grateful. On Lizard we washed in summer in the millpond or the sea. In winter, as I washed myself here after dinner: by heating water in a copper kettle hung over the fire and scrubbing everything with soap and a rag.
When I was a boy in Viron, we had tubs for it like washtubs, but longer. Those of the poorest class were generally of wood, those of the middle class, such as my mother and I, of iron covered with enamel. In Ermine's and the Calde's Palace, and I suppose in the homes of the wealthy generally, they were stone, which seemed very grand. Still I have washed myself in them, and it is a finer thing to bathe in the millpond. I intend to pray for an hour or so when I lay down my quill. But if the Outsider were to grant my every wish, I would bathe always in our millpond; and whenever I wished to bathe, it would be summer.
