The Wild

by David Zindell

  For a while, the Hall of the Koivuniemin rang with shouts and calls for war. And, from other Architects such as Leo Tolow and Varaza li Shehn, calls for reason as well. At last Harrah Ivi en li Ede called for quiet. She looked down at Bertram and the many other Iviomils bent on bringing violence into the Hall. Then she reminded the Elders, ‘This is not the time to debate the merits of a facifah. We are here only to speak with Danlo wi Soli Ringess.’

  ‘Then I must ask the Pilot a question,’ Bertram Jaspari said. In the light falling down from the Hall’s glittering ceiling, his face seemed as gaunt and grim as the bones of an old skull. ‘Did any of the Narain call themselves gods? Did any man or woman ever claim to be God, in mockery of all that is holy?’

  Danlo stared at the point of Bertram’s misshapen head pushing up beneath his brown skullcap. It reminded him of the peak of Mount Urkel that towered above Neverness. He remembered, then, the Narain madman who had indeed claimed to be Ede the God. Because Danlo could not help but tell the truth (and because he suspected that Bertram already knew the answer to his own question), he spoke to the rapt Elders of this man.

  ‘Tadeo Aharagni calls himself as Ede the God, truly. But he means only that he and Ede the God are of the same substance. That they share the same spirit. This sharing occurs between all the Narain and the Architects of the Church, yes? I believe … that the Narain of Alumit Bridge have remained true to the spirit of Edeism.’

  ‘You believe this?’ Bertram shouted in outrage. ‘A naman wishes to tell us about the spirit of Ede the God?’

  ‘Spirit … is always truly spirit, yes?’

  ‘But the heretics mock Ede! In trying to make a new religion, they mock the Holy Algorithm!’

  ‘But does not your Church teach that–’

  ‘What can a naman know about our holy Church?’

  Danlo was silent for a moment as he pressed his fist against his forehead. ‘What do you know about your Church, then?’ he asked.

  ‘What! What do you mean?’

  And Danlo told Bertram, ‘If you cannot see what is holy in another’s religion, you cannot see … what is holy in your own.’

  ‘I see a heretic sitting before us in our holy Hall telling us lies!’ Bertram shrieked. ‘That is to say, you would be a heretic if you had ever had faith in the only true religion.’

  ‘And you would … kill all heretics, yes?’

  ‘We would save them from themselves! We would cleanse them of their negative programs. As fire burns away fungus in a diseased face.’

  ‘Is this the same fire … that has fallen out of the murdered stars?’

  Bertram stood staring at Danlo. Then he said, ‘We shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose, that a naman is concerned over the fate of other namans doomed to die.’

  ‘They were people!’ Danlo, who rarely evinced anger towards other men, felt the beginnings of black wrath as a pounding of his heart and a terrible heat behind his eyes. ‘Mothers and fathers … children who played with flowers in the sun.’

  ‘No, namans, only namans.’

  ‘But they of Alumit Bridge – they are not namans! They are your far-cousins! They are your granddaughters and great-grandsons!’

  ‘They are heretics and apostates.’

  Danlo looked at Bertram for a long time. ‘How is it that you hate so deeply … people who seek only love?’

  ‘I’m afraid that you could never understand how we Iviomils feel towards the heretics who have betrayed us.’

  Danlo, who knew almost all there was to know about hatred, said, ‘No, it is just the opposite.’

  I understand too well, Danlo thought. The orthodox always hate prophets and new revelations. The godless always hate the godful.

  ‘Please, tell us, Pilot, what you think you understand,’ Bertram said in his most mocking voice.

  Danlo bowed his head slightly, and said, ‘If you’d like. You Iviomils … are like merchants who have hoarded gold for a thousand years and set a guard around your wealth. But all your coins are cold in your hands. You seek the true gold – everyone does. This is the gold of flowers and sunlight. It shimmers inside all things. It is just life itself. The wild joy of life finding ever greater life within itself. It is … as warm as a newborn child. It is as splendid and rare as a blue giant star. You look across the stars at Alumit Bridge, and you see the Narain dancing in that loveliest of lights. Do you fear that they have found what you most deeply desire? Truly, you do. And so you covet their gold. And so you hate them, and hating, you speak so easily of making a holy war. But even if you call a facifah, you cannot make their treasure your own. All you can do is to destroy it. All you can do is to hate – and in the end you will only hate yourselves for killing that which was most precious to you.’

  After Danlo had finished speaking, a vast silence fell over the Hall. His words had shocked and shamed many of the Elders. Many of them stared openly at Bertram as if to ask why he had shown the Church so poorly to this pilot and emissary from the stars. But the Iviomils sitting at their curved tables stared at Danlo in silent rage. As did Bertram. His sweaty hands were clenched into fists, his blue-tinged skin flushed red.

  ‘This naman,’ he said, pointing at Danlo, ‘is a dangerous man.’

  There was menace in his voice, rising hatred in his eyes.

  ‘And perhaps something more,’ he continued. He smiled grimly and looked over at cruel, old Jedrek Iviongeon; he looked at Fe Farruco Ede and Oksana Ivi Selow and many of his other friends. ‘Something I am reluctant to put a name to.’

  Danlo sat straight in his chair counting the beats of his heart. All his life he had tried to speak the truth. Only now, as he watched the dark angels of violence pass eye to eye from Bertram to Jedrek and then on to the Iviomils who sat near them, he wondered how well truth had served his purpose. With men such as Bertram Jaspari, would not a carefully-constructed lie be a much more effective tool? He watched Bertram staring at him, and he remembered something that his friend Hanuman had once told him: that bad things always happen to those who think they must bring the truth.

  ‘If I may,’ Bertram said almost softly, ‘I should like to ask the Pilot one more question.’

  From her reading desk at the front of the Hall there came a stirring and a swish of silk as if Harrah had awoken from a bad dream. Slowly she nodded her head. ‘You’ve already asked many questions. But if you wish, you may ask one more – as long as you’re careful of what you ask.’

  ‘Thank you, Holy Ivi,’ he said, bowing. Then he turned to Danlo and said, ‘You seem to have a love of the heretics – have the dreams of the Narain become your dreams? Is it your wish to try to become a god?’

  ‘No,’ Danlo replied immediately. He couldn’t help smiling at Bertram. ‘I wish to become … no more than I was born to be.’

  ‘That is no answer, Pilot. You’ve told us nothing.’

  For a moment, in the light flashing from Danlo’s deep blue eyes, there was everything. And then he said, ‘I want only to be … a true human being.’

  ‘But what does that mean?’

  ‘There is a word that my Fravashi teacher once gave me,’ Danlo said. ‘The … asarya. This is a man who could say “yes” to everything about being human.’

  This answer seemed to satisfy many of the assembled Elders, who nodded their heads and fell with buzzing voices into a hundred separate conversations. But Bertram looked out at the Elders of the Koivuniemin and then turned to Harrah Ivi en li Ede. ‘Our Holy Ivi has said that this Danlo wi Soli Ringess has spoken truly. Has he indeed? If we are to consider all that he has told us, we must be certain that he really is who he says he is. Perhaps we should invite him into a cleansing cell that we might read the truth or falsity of his words. I – or many other Elders – would be honoured to offer my services at such a reading.’

  Bertram’s little mouth puckered as with the anticipation of sucking on a bloodfruit. He looked at Jedrek Iviongeon and several other Iviomils who shared his cruel intentions.

&nb
sp; ‘At this time,’ Harrah Ivi en li Ede said, ‘that will not be necessary.

  ‘But we must know the truth!’

  ‘We, also, desire to know the truth about the Pilot,’ Harrah said. ‘And the truth about all that he has told us.’

  ‘There is only one truth, Holy Ivi.’

  ‘But there are many paths toward this holy place,’ she reminded him.

  So saying, she turned to look at Danlo sitting alone at his long plastic table. Her face was thoughtful, provocative and sad – but otherwise wholly unreadable. Danlo watched the eyes of a thousand Elders looking back and forth between Harrah and him, and he sensed that he was about to be tested yet again.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Prophecy

  A similar problem concerns the Doctrine (or Program) of the Halting. This is the teaching that the halt state of the universe will occur when Ede has absorbed and become co-extensive with the universe. But according to the ancient mathematics, there can be no universal algorithm for deciding whether or not a Turing machine will ever reach its halt state. Therefore it is impossible to know scientifically that Ede will in fact become the Universe-as-God. There can be no proper reconciliation of this vital doctrine with scientific theory unless God is seen as an infinite being outside space and time. The cybernetic theologians usually have seen God in this way. When Ede becomes God at the end of the universe, time will stop and Ede will exist in eternity. In some sense, Ede already is eternal, and thus He exists in all times at once. Since this is so, he is privileged to foreknow the halt state of the universe and all states leading to this singularity in time. Thus his pronouncement, ‘I am God’, can be seen not merely as a prophecy of the future and a visualization of the halt state, but as a present validation of Ede’s eternal being in the omniscient and the divine.

  – Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1,754th Edition,

  Tenth Revised Standard Version

  While the world of Tannahill turned slowly on its axis and Danlo sat patiently watching Harrah Ivi en li Ede, she bowed her head to one of the keepers who stood ready to minister to her desires. The keeper – a handsome young man who might have been her grandson – bowed his head in return. Then he left the dais and walked over to the rear door by which Harrah had entered the Hall. With the strong, crisp motions of one who is certain of his body, he opened this door, beckoned to the two men who waited in the anteroom behind it and led them out into the Hall, right over to the table of honour where Danlo was watching them with all the intensity of a thallow searching the skies for a brother bird. Although the sudden appearance of these men caused the assembled Elders to crane their necks and gasp in astonishment, Danlo remained clear-eyed and calm. He smiled at these newcomers and bowed his head in acceptance of the logic of their presence. For he knew these men. They were, of course, Sivan wi Mawi Sarkissian, the renegade pilot, and the warrior-poet, Malaclypse Redring of Qallar. They had followed him thousands of light years across the stars, and Danlo watched with great amusement as the keeper pulled out their chairs and sat them at the table of honour almost next to Danlo.

  At least one of the Elders, however, was not even slightly amused. The Elder Bertram Jaspari jumped up from his chair, astonishment and outrage upon his face.

  ‘Who are these men?’ he demanded. He pointed at Sivan. ‘Namans, obviously – this one is dressed as barbarically as the Pilot! From what world do they come? Why weren’t we informed that they had made planetfall? How is it that they are brought into the Koivuniemin’s Hall, and no mention of this event is made on today’s agenda?’

  The other Elders shifted in their chairs to look at Sivan and Malaclypse. Danlo looked, too. In truth, he never took his eyes off the warrior-poet, who, in turn, stared deeply into Danlo’s eyes as if to say: ‘No matter where in the universe you may journey, Pilot, no matter how far you fall, your fate is joined to mine.’ According to the warrior-poets’ ways, Malaclypse wore a long kimono in honour of the Architects’ style of dress. But because he was a warrior-poet of great accomplishment, this singular garment was not white, but rather woven of scarlet, sapphire and gold – and a hundred other hues. Everything about the warrior-poet fairly shimmered with colour. He wore a red ring on the little finger of either hand. His eyes were the same deep and vivid violet that Danlo remembered so well. With these marvellous eyes, the warrior-poet searched the room, looking first at Danlo, then at Bertram and moving quickly over to Harrah Ivi en li Ede poised so mysteriously behind her reading desk. As always, there was death in the warrior-poet’s gaze, as he waited ever ready either to die himself or to bring any man or woman whom he must assassinate to his moment of the possible.

  These Architects fear the warrior-poet. Danlo thought. But they do not truly know why they fear him.

  With a wave of her hand, Harrah Ivi en li Ede motioned for Bertram to sit down. Then she introduced both Sivan and Malaclypse Redring. Although she apologized for not informing the Elders that she had called these two namans to the Hall of the Koivuniemin, she clearly did not regret her decision. Danlo understood immediately that this was a display of her power.

  ‘It would seem that Malaclypse Redring of Qallar comes to us on a mission, as does the Pilot,’ Harrah said to the Elders. ‘The Order of Warrior-Poets, it seems, desires to re-establish relations with our Church. What an extraordinary coincidence that representatives of two such venerable Orders should find our world at the same time after fifteen hundred years of being lost to us! What a coincidence that the warrior-poet seems to know this pilot! We have asked Malaclypse Redring into our Hall that you may explore these coincidences. Here they sit, at the table of honour, so that you may honour them by asking them questions. As Our Eternal Ede has said, there is always a way toward the truth.’

  At this, Danlo locked eyes with Sivan wi Mawi Sarkissian. Sivan was dressed as Danlo had first seen him at Mer Tadeo’s party on Farfara, in plain grey garments of no distinctive cut or style. Years ago, when he had forsaken the Order, he had surrendered his pilot’s robes. But he had not surrendered his black diamond pilot’s ring; a pilot and his ring, as the saying goes, are forever. With this almost indestructible ring Sivan now rapped the edge of the table. He bowed his head to Danlo, an acknowledgement of Danlo’s great feat in piloting his lightship through the Vild and finding Tannahill. In turn, Danlo touched his own ring to the plastic table. He smiled and bowed to Sivan. For Sivan to have followed him halfway across the galaxy was an almost impossible accomplishment. The two pilots stared at each other for a long time. Between them there was an immediate understanding. They shared memories of the terrors of the manifold as well as the spires and the icy streets of Neverness. They were both strangers and outsiders on this lost world. And yet, despite their strange camaraderie, Danlo could never forget that this renegade pilot served Malaclypse Redring – the great warrior-poet who was his nemesis, his shadow, his enemy.

  ‘I should like to question the warrior-poet.’

  This came from an Elder Architect named Nashota ivi Astaret, a big, stern woman well-known to the Koivuniemin for making long and boring speeches as to the duty of all women fulfilling the obligations laid down in the Logics. She was also, as everyone knew, a prominent Iviomil, the confidant and mouthpiece of Bertram Jaspari. ‘I should like to ask him how he knows this pilot.’

  At first it was not easy for Malaclypse to make his responses understood. Although the warrior-poets are noted for their silver tongues, Malaclypse had only learned the language of the Architects in preparation for his journey into the Vild. Unlike Danlo, who had absorbed this language from living men and women on Alumit Bridge, the warrior-poet had learned the ancient Church Istwan spoken at the time of the Long Pilgrimage. Over fifteen hundred years, this language had changed greatly and so Malaclypse’s speech was stived with misinflections, malapropisms, and archaic terminology. His accent was very thick. However, as Nashota ivi Astaret continued to question him, he listened carefully. He was very quick, very smart. Moment by moment, it seemed, the words f
lowing out of his mouth like liquid silver were articulated with more modern rhythms and a shift in the sounds of the vowels. He abandoned such locutions as ‘Holy Exalted Elder’ in favour of more proper forms of address. With both charm and aplomb, he spoke of many things to the Elders of the Koivuniemin. After he had told of Danlo’s and his meeting on Farfara, he told of his Order’s ancient enmity with the Order of Mystic Mathematicians, of how the warrior-poets had once sided with the Old Church against the Reformed Cybernetic Churches in the War of the Faces and implied that the warrior-poets had indeed aided the Old Church in designing the virus that had caused the Great Plague. This news caused near-havoc among the Elders. From dozens of curving tables came cries of disbelief and outrage. At last – and yet again – Bertram Jaspari pushed his chair back and took the floor. He pointed his finger at Malaclypse and said, ‘We must ask the warrior-poet a question.’

  Harrah Ivi en li Ede nodded.

  ‘By your own words, your Order has been the enemy of the Pilot’s Order for thousands of years. Why should we believe what you say?’

  At this, Malaclypse let his marvellous violet eyes play across Bertram’s face. And then, in a deep, clear voice vibrating with utter certainty, he said, ‘We warrior-poets are taught three things: how to kill; how to die; and how to tell the truth.’

  The Elder Architects sat quietly in their chairs, and no one moved.

  ‘Why have you come to our world?’ Bertram asked softly.

  ‘The simple answer is that my Order would like to renew its ancient relation with your Church,’ Malaclypse said.

  ‘Is there a more complicated answer?’

  ‘As with an onion, there are always layers of complication,’ Malaclypse said. ‘The universe is infinitely complex.’

  He comes to make enemies between my Order and the Church, Danlo suddenly knew. That is the first of his purposes.

  ‘Perhaps we could peel back these layers to uncover the truth,’ Bertram said.