Denner's Wreck

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Geste was thinking aloud. “Khalid, O, Brenner, Sheila, Rawl..."

  A face appeared in the air before them, a dark weatherbeaten face, half-hidden behind a bristling black beard and shoulder-length grey-streaked hair. It seemed to glow fiercely in contrast with the darkness of the protective field. Bredon started, but realized quickly that this was not an actual head floating unsupported, but an apparition or illusion of some sort.

  “What do you want, Geste?” the face demanded.

  Geste's relief at the sight of this forbidding visage was ludicrously obvious.

  “My apologies for disturbing you, Grey, but I am inordinately glad to see you there. It appears that we may have a problem developing."

  Lord Grey's disembodied head eyed the Trickster suspiciously. “What sort of a problem?"

  “I don't really know—at least, I don't know what started it. Thaddeus appears to be attacking Brenner—seriously attacking him. Take a look for yourself."

  Lord Grey seemed to glance away, then looked back at Geste and Bredon. “Is this one of your stunts, Geste? Where would Thaddeus get all those drones? You've been playing with images again, I suppose. Well, I'm not interested."

  “No, Grey, I haven't..."

  Geste was speaking to empty air.

  “Damn!” he said. “Get me Leila."

  “The intelligences at the Mountain of Fire tell me that Leila does not wish to hear anything you have to say,” the floater replied.

  Bredon wondered who Leila might be. Another Power, presumably, but one he did not recall ever having heard of. This was all proving very educational; when he got home—if he got home—he would have stories to tell for the rest of his life. He might well become a storyteller without even trying.

  He listened with interest as Geste continued calling.

  Chapter Eight

  “...still he refused to give up. He chased her ever deeper into the forest, never gaining a centimeter, but never quite losing sight of her, either.

  "At last he collapsed, exhausted, beside a river. He lay there gasping for breath, dipping his hands in the water and cooling his face with them. And the mysterious woman appeared among the trees on the far side, calmly watching him.

  "'Hello,’ she called to him. ‘Were you looking for me?'

  "He just stared, too tired to call out to her, and nodded weakly.

  "'Well,’ she said, ‘here I am. Come and get me.'

  "'Witch,’ he called, drawing strength from his anger, ‘you know I haven't the strength to swim the river!'

  "'Then I suppose I must come to you,’ she said, and she rose up into the air and transformed herself into a bird. And in that form, she flew across the stream to him, and then transformed herself back into a woman.

  "When he saw this magical shape-shifting, Harlen knew that this was no mere witch-woman. Even the most powerful witches in legend needed spells and chants and potions for the very simplest of transformations, and surely, to take the form of a bird cannot be simple. Harlen knew that he faced either a Power or a demon. And when she knelt down over him, her long red hair brushing his chest, he was afraid, and called out, ‘Get away, demon!'

  "'Demon!’ she said, as she stepped back in surprise. ‘You think I'm a demon?'

  "'What else could you be?’ Harlen asked.

  "She laughed, and said, ‘Oh, I can be anything I please, anything at all. Shall I be a demon for you? Do you want a demon lover?’ And she was suddenly a demon, three meters tall and scaly black, her eyes pits of fire and her fingers curving talons. ‘Or something more comely?’ And she was a woman again, but a different woman, tall and slender, no longer naked, but wearing a gown of spun silver embroidered in gold. ‘Or would you prefer a simple companion, and not a lover at all?’ And suddenly a man much like himself stood there, clad in buckskin, smiling down at him.

  "'Who are you?’ he asked, terrified.

  "She did not answer immediately, but returned to her own shape, naked once more, and looked down at him. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘if you're too tired to swim the river, then I can't hope for much from you as a lover, can I? And if you think me a demon, you probably don't want me at all. I suppose I should just go and leave you alone, shouldn't I?'

  "Before he could answer, she vanished, disappeared into the empty air.

  "Her voice lingered, though, and said, ‘As for who I am, I'm called Imp, but I'm not a demon at all.’ And then she laughed, and her laughter gradually faded away until there was nothing left at all.

  "And although he was tired he got to his feet and ran after her, first one way, then another, looking for some trace of her. But he found nothing, and he never saw her again, though he looked for her many a time, spending many, many wakes and even whole seasons wandering through the forest in search of her..."

  —from the tales of

  Atheron the Storyteller

  * * * *

  Geste's calls were not going well. Bredon watched and listened closely, but said nothing.

  Gold the Delver said that Brenner deserved anything he got and it was all one of Geste's pranks, anyway. This said, he broke contact.

  Lady Tsien giggled and flirted and refused to take Geste seriously, until at last Geste broke the connection himself. Bredon was fascinated by her appearance; although she looked human, she had small folds at the corners of her eyes, and an odd color to her skin.

  Hsin of the River said that it was none of his business if Brenner had finally aggravated Thaddeus beyond bearing. His skin was an interesting shade of brown, and his image was accompanied by a flock of tiny, vividly blue birds.

  The Nymph was not home, and could not readily be located; Bredon regretted not getting a look at the legendary beauty. She was thought to be visiting the Skyler, but the Skyland did not answer.

  Before them the battle still raged, though darkness had fallen. The weapons used by both sides lit the skies in intermittent flashes, and in that flickering, polychrome glow Bredon saw several of the flitting silver drones tumble from the skies. Others were blown to fragments as he watched. Whenever their numbers seemed to be diminishing, though, a dozen more arrived to take the place of those that had been lost.

  When Geste asked for Aulden the Technician a young woman's heart-shaped face appeared, framed in red hair and wearing a brilliant grin. Bredon noticed that despite the darkness she appeared to be in full sunlight.

  “Hello, Imp,” Geste said. “Could I speak to Aulden? I need his help."

  Bredon had assumed that the woman was a servant of some sort; hearing Geste address her by the name of another Power was disconcerting. He looked more closely.

  She was unquestionably beautiful, without a blemish of any sort, but she lacked the radiant glory that marked Lady Sunlight as something beyond mortal flesh. Her face was that of a lovely little toy, not a goddess.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, Geste,” she replied with a comical pout. “He's not here. Is there anything I can do? I'd love to help you, whatever it is.” She smiled fetchingly.

  Geste smiled back, but only for an instant. “I appreciate that,” he said, “but I think we'll need Aulden, too."

  “Well, he went to do some work for Thaddeus a few days ago. He should be back any time, or you could call him there..."

  “For Thaddeus?"

  “That's right."

  Geste hesitated, troubled. Imp noticed immediately, and her smile vanished, her green eyes suddenly troubled.

  “Geste, what's wrong?” she asked.

  “It's Thaddeus—or Thaddeus and Brenner, anyway. Thaddeus has an entire fleet of war machines attacking the High Castle."

  “War machines?"

  “High-powered drones. One of them attacked me, as well. I think that must be the work he wanted Aulden for, building war machines."

  “Oh, but Aulden wouldn't!” Imp said, shocked.

  “Not willingly, I'm sure,” Geste answered grimly.

  “Not...? Geste, he wouldn't ... I mean ... Geste, if this is one of your tricks, I swear
I'll have Aulden sabotage every machine you own!"

  “It's no trick. I promise you, Imp, it's not a trick. And it's not just Aulden I'm worried about, or Brenner; Sheila and Sunlight and Rawl were all last heard from at the High Castle, and Khalid and O are missing, last heard from at Fortress Holding."

  “Geste, you can't ... really? All of them?"

  “Really. All of them."

  The heart-shaped face turned for a moment, giving Bredon a glimpse of thick waves of reddish hair; Geste waited.

  Imp turned back and said, “They are all missing. If this is a trick, Geste, it's a good one—and it's terrifying me. If it's a trick, Geste, please, tell me now. I don't like being frightened."

  “I wish I could, Imp, but it's true."

  “Thaddeus is really attacking Brenner? Seriously?"

  “It looks serious to me; send something to check for yourself, if you like."

  “Have you talked to Shadowdark?"

  “Shadowdark?” Geste was plainly startled, but only for an instant. “Shadowdark! No, I haven't; I'll call him."

  “You call him, then; maybe he can talk sense to Thaddeus. I'll try and get through to Brenner, and maybe some of the others.” Imp's image vanished.

  The name “Shadowdark” was unfamiliar to Bredon, and he thought it had an ominous sound. “Who is Shadowdark?” he asked.

  “Thaddeus's father,” Geste replied. He started to say something to the floater, but Bredon distracted him with a touch on the sleeve. The Trickster looked up at the mortal, startled at his audacity.

  “His father? He has a father?” Bredon asked.

  “Of course he has a father,” Geste snapped, annoyed. “And he had a mother once, too, but she's dead. We all have parents, like anyone else. Where did you think we came from?"

  “I don't know, I ... I...” Bredon trailed off into silence, and Geste ordered the floater to call Shadowdark.

  A moment of silence ensued, during which time Bredon tried, and failed, to gather the courage to ask more questions. He was consumed with curiosity about what was happening around him, and with concern for Lady Sunlight, but Geste was obviously worried and irritable and in no mood to answer his inquiries.

  Instead, he watched the battle around the High Castle. It continued unabated, and as far as he could tell neither side was gaining any advantage.

  “My apologies, sir,” the floater said at last, “but Lord Shadowdark was outside, unattended. A messenger was sent."

  An instant later another floating face appeared.

  Bredon had thought he was beyond surprise, but this face shocked him. The other Powers had all looked young or perhaps middle-aged, and had been clean and strong and handsome in different ways. None had seemed all that different from mortal humans.

  Shadowdark's face was misshapen and pale, the left side bloated while the right sagged, both sides hideously wrinkled, more like some bizarre fungus than the face of an old man. Gruesome scars puckered the skin in a dozen places, tangled among the wrinkles. Patches of black stubble were scattered along his cheeks and jaw, but he had no real beard. Straight black hair hung limply past his shoulders.

  He spoke, harshly making a demand, but the words were strange.

  Geste replied, using equally strange words, and Bredon realized that for the first time in his life he was hearing another language spoken.

  “What is he saying?” he asked, interrupting Geste.

  Geste waved him away.

  “If I may be permitted to translate, sir, I would be glad to do so,” the floater said.

  Geste glanced up. “Go ahead,” he said. Then he continued speaking in the foreign tongue, ignoring both Bredon and the floater.

  The floater explained, “Lord Shadowdark demanded to know who was calling him, and why, and Mr. Geste identified himself, and apologized for the intrusion. Mr. Geste is now describing the situation he found at the High Castle.” It paused, and then said, in a flawless imitation of Geste's own voice, “...I hoped that you might be able to intervene. Thaddeus thinks very little of the rest of us, rightfully considering us to be relative youngsters lacking experience, but I am sure that he still respects you. He may well feel some degree of filial devotion, even after so long a time. If you would consent to speak to him, to attempt to make peace between Brenner and himself, we would consider it a great favor, and would gladly repay you however we could."

  Shadowdark spoke, and the floater said, in a voice that failed to duplicate Shadowdark's in anything but pitch, “You told these stinking machines to drag me in here for that?"

  “Yes, sir,” Geste and the floater's imitation of Geste replied, in two different tongues.

  “You're an idiot. It's none of my business. I don't care what you people do to each other; Thaddeus and what's-his-name can kill each other if they like. Even if I did care, I haven't had anything to do with Thaddeus in ... in centuries, probably. Ask a machine, I don't know. He hasn't wanted anything to do with me since I left Alpha Imperium. Anything I could say would probably just annoy him."

  Shadowdark's image started to fade, then returned to solidity long enough to say something the floater translated as, “By the way, don't bother me again. I won't answer."

  The face vanished.

  “Damn,” Geste said. “It's impossible.” He reached out and grabbed an invisible support, then leaned forward and rested his head on his arm.

  Bredon was baffled. “Who is this Shadowdark?” he asked, directing his question somewhere between Geste and the floater. “Is he a Power?"

  Geste waved wearily at the floater without raising his head. “You tell him,” he said. “I need to think.” He paused, then lifted his eyes to the “window” for a moment and added, “And while you're telling him and I'm thinking, take us home."

  Chapter Nine

  “...He looked up from where he lay, and saw a man dressed in black, with a strange black hat upon his head and a raven on his shoulder, standing at the edge of the clearing."

  "Of course, he knew immediately that this was Rawl the Adjuster. He struggled to sit up, but he could not. It took all his strength to call, ‘Hello! Can you help me?'

  "Rawl heard him and paused. He looked the situation over for a moment, then came and sat beside the storyteller. ‘What do you need?’ he asked.

  "And the storyteller explained how he had counted the Powers, and that although he had always been told that there are twenty-eight Powers in the world, yet when he thought through every tale he knew, every legend, every little incident, and noted down each and every mention, however trivial or obscure, he came up with a list of only twenty-seven names. He told the Adjuster how this had troubled him, and how he had gone seeking through the world, to see if anyone could tell him who the twenty-eighth Power is. He told how he wandered on, ever more despairing as first wakes, then seasons, and finally whole years went by without an answer, until at last he had found himself in his present sorry state.

  "'Is that all?’ Rawl asked. ‘All you want is to know the names of all twenty-eight immortals?'

  "'Yes,’ the storyteller replied. ‘That's all. Tell me the twenty-eighth name, and I shall die content.'

  "'There's no need for you to die at all,’ Rawl told him, ‘for I can easily heal your wounds and send you back to your village sound and well.'

  "'I would rather know the name,’ the storyteller said.

  "'I'll tell you that, too,’ Rawl answered. ‘I suppose that it would be Shadowdark.'

  "'Shadowdark?’ the storyteller asked.

  "'Yes, Shadowdark. He is the oldest of us all, and the most reclusive. He speaks to no one, either mortal or immortal. He lives simply, in the forest not too far from here, and if you did not know who he was you would have no reason to think him anything but a very tall and ugly mortal man—very tall and very ugly.'

  "'You say he is near here?’ the storyteller asked.

  "'Yes,’ Rawl replied, ‘but you dare not seek him out. If you saw him and thought him mortal, it would be of no mat
ter, but if you saw him and knew him for what he is, you would die instantly..."

  —from the tales of

  Kithen the Storyteller

  * * * *

  “Sir, I'm afraid that you must rephrase your question if you want a coherent answer. Shadowdark is a Power, as you use the term, but I cannot tell you who he is without further specification."

  After a moment's consideration Bredon accepted that. Not all Powers had neat, clearly-defined roles like the Lady of the Seasons. He tried to choose his next question carefully, making it specific enough for the familiar spirit, or whatever it was, to answer, but general enough to give him as much information as possible in its implications. “Why does he speak a strange language?” he asked. “And why does Geste call him ‘sir'?"

  “I assume, sir, that Shadowdark speaks Alphan English because he feels most comfortable with that language, and that Mr. Geste addresses him as ‘sir’ because of the great difference in their ages and because Shadowdark has held much higher social status and rank in times past than Mr. Geste has ever achieved."

  This answer brought a flood of new questions to mind; Bredon suppressed all but one.

  “How can one Power be older than another? I thought they were all immortals, created at the beginning of time."

  “No, sir, I'm afraid you have misunderstood the situation. The people you call the Powers are effectively immortal, yes, but they were not created at the beginning of time. They were born over a period of several thousand years. The person who now uses the name Shadowdark was the first, and is now approximately seven thousand years old. I use an approximation because years differ in length on different worlds, but are close enough on most of the worlds Shadowdark has lived on to make such approximations possible. Thaddeus the Black is the second-oldest of Shadowdark's surviving children, and the oldest of those children currently on Denner's Wreck. These two are more than two thousand years older than any of the other Powers. Mr. Geste was born almost six thousand years after Shadowdark. He is the second-youngest of the Powers, followed only by Imp."