“Very well then. Perform your art.”
He looked at her. Their eyes met, and for an instant she felt utterly naked before him, as if he could see everything that was in her mind, and understood her innermost fears and desires more than she did. She had never felt so helpless, not even on that first day, when her husband’s horse had come back riderless. She covered her face with her hand and leaned forward, weeping, almost tumbling out of the chair.
“Perform your art!”
“Lady, I have performed it.”
Something fluttered faintly. She looked up. The Shaper was before her, holding a cage covered with black cloth.
“Take this,” he said, guiding her hand as her fingers grasped the silver handle. “In three nights, sorrow no more. But, whatever else you do, never remove the cloth before the time, nor allow anyone else to remove it, even for an instant.”
She hefted the cage. Whatever was inside weighed no more than a few ounces. Something hopped and, again, fluttered. She was sure it was a bird. But it made a sound that was not at all birdlike, more like a child humming.
“Do you understand my instructions, Lady?”
“Yes.”
“Go then, and may you find peace.”
She left, and as soon as her foot was off the bottom step outside, all the windows of the wagon faded into darkness. Rilla was waiting for her. Without a word, she handed the silver bowl to the maid and covered the cage with her husband’s cloak. She and Rilla made their way through the empty streets to the gate of the inner city, where they were once more allowed to pass without question.
It was the hour before dawn.
* * * *
When she reached her chamber, Lady Nestra carefully placed the covered cage on the table, then fell down exhausted and slept through the day. She dreamed of her husband then. She saw him as he had been on the day he rode to his death, tall in his gleaming armor, mounted on a white stallion, alternately waving to her and giving orders to the troops, while pennons flapped around him and a crowd of the common people shouted his name. She had been so proud that day as she stood on a little balcony above the crowd, in view of all, the greatest lady of the land.
Now the whole scene was repeated in her dream, so vividly that she could feel the sun through her heavy, stiff garments and smell the sweat of the horses and the dust rising in the air. But the sounds faded suddenly, as the sounds of revelry from within a tavern fade when the shutters are closed. Pennons continued to flap, but their motion was as silent as the drifting of clouds. The voices of the people were no more than a faint murmur on the wind.
It was then that Caradhas turned around in his saddle and said, “Wait for me but a little longer.”
She awoke with a cry. Rilla was standing over her. She bade the servant sit beside her on the bed, and the two women embraced. Nestra wept, and haltingly told of what she had dreamed.
“Wait for me but a little longer,” came the voice again. Nestra screamed, broke free of Rilla’s arms, and searched about the room frantically, pulling side curtains and tapestries, opening closets and trunks. She had heard the voice clearly and distinctly, and she knew she was no longer dreaming.
Then she stared at the covered cage atop the marble table, and stood still, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Lady?” said Rilla. “What is it? Are you well?”
“Didn’t you hear it?”
“No, Lady. I heard nothing.”
And Lady Nestra replied, in the same tone she had used before, “This thing is not for you.”
Rilla got up and reached for the cloth covering of the cage.
“Do not! Upon your life, do not touch it!”
The maid drew away, as if she had been reaching for a cobra. “Shall I leave you, Lady?”
“No,” Nestra said gently. “I do not mean to be harsh. I am not angry with you. Come here and sit with me for a while. My husband is coming back. It is the excitement. It sets me on edge. He is coming soon.”
“As you say, Lady.”
* * * *
Throughout the rest of the day and into the evening, Lady Nestra directed Rilla and her other servants to make the chamber ready. What had been plain before was now gorgeously ornamented. Rare tapestries were hung. The finest carpets covered the floor. The white marble table had been replaced by one of porphyry, and on it was placed a decanter of the finest wine, and two cups. The cage remained, covered with black cloth.
And Lady Nestra still wore the black gown of mourning.
“I will change it when he comes,” she said.
Her servants answered politely when she addressed them, but otherwise retreated into their work. She could tell they all thought her mad. She laughed aloud at the thought, then sobbed as she felt a pang of doubt. Rilla turned to her, alarmed. Nestra sat down on the bed and sighed.
“I am not completely unhinged yet. Be patient with me.”
“Yes, Lady.”
The whole matter did not bear close examination. All this was because of a dream, a voice, and something in a cage, which she had not seen—
She put the thought aside, forcing herself to hope. Around her, the servants steadfastly ignored her laughter, her tears, and then her silence.
As the darkness of the second night came, she sat alone in a room like the throne room of a king. All through the night she spoke with her husband. She listened carefully, her ear to the covering-cloth of the cage. At first there was only hopping and fluttering within, but then all motion stopped, and the voice came which she could mistake for no other.
“Beloved, I am very near. Before another night has passed, you shall see me with your eyes.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together, as if each would restrain the other. More than anything else, she wanted to tear aside the covering and look on the miracle that was taking shape within the cage. That voice alone overwhelmed any possible skepticism. She merely wanted to see. But the Shaper’s warning came back to her, and she did not touch the covering.
The conversation continued for a while, touching on pleasant things, shared memories from their past, from childhood, even from their wedding night. Near to dawn she leaned back on the bed and fell asleep, and dreamed that Caradhas was sitting beside her, softly humming a song they both knew from long ago, combing her long hair as he did. His armor was draped over a chair behind him, as if he had just returned from the wars. Outside, very far away and muted, multitudes shouted to celebrate the victory.
Again she slept through much of the day, and when she awoke, she was humming the song. She ran her hand through her hair and was quietly pleased to find her comb where Caradhas had left it.
* * * *
As the evening of the third day approached, she summoned Rilla once more and told her, “Lay out my finest, brightest gown. It is spring. The festival is very pleasant. My husband and I will go out into it.”
The maid was trembling as she laid out the gown. Nestra said to her, “You think I’m mad, don’t you?”
Rilla was struggling to hold back her tears. “Lady, it’s just that…please, do not be angry with me.…You have always been good to me. I know you are a good person. I want…to be able to believe everything you say. But you see things I do not see. You hear things I do not hear. And now…I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Nestra took her gently by the hand and said, “Just believe me this once, for a few hours yet. Go now. Very soon, you shall see and you shall hear and everything will be very easy to understand.”
“Thank you, Lady,” Rilla said. She hurried from the room.
The shadows deepened and wavered in the candlelight. Lady Nestra sat alone in the room, listening to the sounds of the festival beyond the shuttered window, fingering the bright gown, never taking her eyes off the covered cage.
For a long time, there was no voice, no sound from beneath the cloth, and she sat, watching and waiting, for the first time unsure of what she was expecting to come out of this little cage which was
no more than two hands high. But she did not think about it very much. She merely trusted what she had already dreamed and heard, and she passed into a kind of reverie, in which there was no sound at all. The world beyond the shutters faded away. She could hear one of the candles sputtering and hissing as it burned down into the holder.
Then there came another sound, like a footstep. It was inside the room. She couldn’t tell where. It seemed behind her, perhaps by the window. But she did not get up. She did not turn around. She merely waited, her mind feverish with joy and anticipation.
Clothing rustled. A shoe scraped on bare floor, then was muffled by carpet.
Nothing stirred within the cage.
“Beloved Nestra.” The voice came from behind her.
She let out a startled cry, almost a scream, and lunged for the cage, ripping off the cover. Then she stood, terrified at what she had done, ready to die as she saw that the cage was empty. It was a flimsy thing, the wire bars widely spaced. The little door was missing. Nothing could have ever been imprisoned in it.
“Beloved Nestra, here I am. Turn around.”
A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned around, letting the black covering fall to the floor.
Caradhas held her in his arms, unchanged since the day she had last seen him, for all that he wore no armor. She glanced over her shoulder once. The armor was still standing in the corner.
“No, here I am,” he said, and he kissed her and held her very tight, as no ghost or phantom could.
* * * *
They spoke of many things. They shared the rare wine from the decanter. Once they danced to music they could only hear as they imagined it, and she said, “No, stop; this is foolish.”
“Let us be fools then,” he said. “You are the greatest lady in the land. Who is to stop you?”
Much later, as they lay side-by-side in the bed, she knew that she had never been as happy as she was at this moment. She wanted time to stop, here, now, and linger forever. She did not want to go on to mere living, day-to-day. She wanted to be suspended, like a dragonfly in clearest amber.
Gray dawn showed in the crack between the shutters.
Somewhere, beyond the garden outside, on the battlements of the inner city, a soldier sounded the long, deep blast which heralded the new day.
Caradhas stirred beside her.
“I have been thinking,” she said.
“Do not think. Do not question. Merely accept what your senses tell you. Live in this perfect moment.”
She turned to him, startled at how he seemed to know her very thoughts.
“But I must. What will we do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next? How can you have truly returned?”
“Through the art of the Shaper, you see what you see, you hear what you hear. Is this not enough?”
“No. What happens next?”
“For me,” he said, “nothing. For you, whatever it is will happen to you alone.”
She had been told once that when a warrior receives a terrible wound in battle, sometimes it is like a light blow at first. The pain does not come at once, and he still may perform one more deed in the brief interval left to him.
In the brief interval, she was able to say, “I do not hear you.”
“You hear, you see, you feel,” he said. “All these are true things. It is also true that this morning I shall leave you forever. Even the Shaper cannot sustain this miracle forever. That is why I tell you to live only in this moment, before it passes.”
She screamed loud and long. She wriggled from his grasp and crawled out of the bed, dragging her black gown with her, blundering into the table. The wire cage clattered onto the floor.
“You are not my husband!”
She got to her feet and backed away from the bed, clutching the gown in front of her. He rose slowly, taking up a little lamp from the nightstand. His face and chest gleamed almost golden in the faint light.
“I am as you see me.”
“What are you? You’re something created by his horrible magic.”
“I am what you most wanted. The Shaper saw that in your mind.”
“No! No! No!” She ran to the suit of armor in the corner, drew out the sword, tried to wield it, dropped her gown, stooped to cover herself, dropped the sword.
He stood over her. He set down the lamp and took her hands in his own very solid, warm hands. They stood in silence. After a moment he let go, picked up her gown, and wrapped it about her gently.
“This is a thing you must understand. The Shaper saw your need. Therefore he created me.”
“What are you?”
“This flesh is not the flesh the mother of Caradhas bore in her womb, if that is what you mean. But my words are his words, and my thoughts are his thoughts. My memories of you are his memories.”
“How?”
“Some were drawn out of your memory. You are the true shaper. More than that, the rest of the mystery, comes from the age when the Goddess was yet living, and may not be understood.”
“What is the Shaper?” she said, barely able to form the words. “Is he a god?”
“I think the he too is one shaped, out of need. More than that is part of the mystery.”
“But you are not my husband. This is all a fraud, an illusion. It does not make me content. No, it tears open the wound. Now I am more wretched than ever. I should have known it was impossible. The dead do not return.”
“Dearest Nestra, this flesh is not your husband’s flesh, but in me his mind has been recreated. His thoughts have returned. The most terrible thing about his death for you was that he went away suddenly, unexpectedly. There was so much the two of you had to say. He had no chance to say goodbye. Now, in a way, he does. My words are his words. Will you listen to them, and hear what you hear, and accept them merely as words?”
She broke away from him, ran over to the bed, and sat down, huddling in her black robe.
“I feel like I want to die,” she said. “Then I will be with Caradhas.”
The lamp went out. He spoke from the darkness.
“These are the words of your husband, Caradhas: I cannot return to you. I merely ask that you remember me, but grieve no longer. You have mourned for ten years, and still you are young. Your life is before you. You are twenty-nine. I want you to live. Partake of the present and look to the future. Remember me, but go on: Do not ask how or why, but believe that it is truly Caradhas who says this to you.”
“I truly believe you,” she said.
She wept for a long time, softly, and was vaguely aware that the shutters opened of their own accord. Something whirred by her and out the window, small, fluttering, like a sparrow. As the day brightened, she ceased her weeping, and looked up, and saw that she was alone in the room.
A little while later Rilla came timidly in and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the empty cage in her hands.
* * * *
Lady Nestra slept most of the day, and slept the night alone, but on the following morning she rose, put on her bright gown and her jewelry, called her women together, and went with them, out into the great festival of the City of the Goddess.
THREE BROTHERS
The chamber in which the three brothers dwelt was round, like a pendant worn on the necklace of a god. It was golden without and within, and had triangular windows set in the sides, through which the brothers could gaze into the darkness which is outside the flow of time, and called Eternity. Sometimes the chamber swayed, and the glowing crystals of the chandelier that hung from the ceiling rattled.
They rattled.
Zon, the eldest of the three, if age could mean anything in their state, looked up impassively.
Thandos, the middle brother, sighed but did not speak.
As light and shadow flickered over the curved walls of the chamber, Kudasduin, the youngest, said, “I am weary. I want to go into Time again.”
“You are foolish,” said Zon.
“You will take the years on your shoulders like
a burden,” said Thandos. “They will break you.”
“No, they will be as light as dust. I am not afraid.”
“Why?” said Thandos.
“Why do you want to go?” said Zon.
“There is a longing within me, an emptiness which must be filled.”
Zon, Thandos, and Kudasduin, three master magicians of a race of master magicians, who had escaped age and death in their time chamber so long before that not even they recalled their origin, did not argue among themselves. They were, in a sense, three aspects of a single mind. When one of them had a thought, all felt it and were altered, even as a river is altered, however subtly, when a stream flows into it.
They sat down at the controls of their chamber, in chairs of living metal which flowed and rippled and hardened again to embrace them. Their hands played over levers and globes of silver and of brass, of jade and of carven bone.
The chamber seemed to dip. The crystals stopped rattling.
Zon raised a mask to his face and looked through it, into Time. He saw the millennia in a continuous strip, light and dark, and he searched for a place where the fabric of continuity was weak, where the time chamber could enter in.
He found one in the time of the death of the Goddess, when the Earth rolled blindly through the universe with no hand to guide it. All things were in disorder then, and much was possible that would not have been in any other age. The ribbon of years was worn thin, and the Chamber could pass through.
It came to rest in a field.
Thandos rose and opened the door. All of them felt a prickling, a chill as duration flowed in and touched them.
“I will look outside,” he said. “There will be nothing of interest to see. When we know this, we can depart.”
He left, closing the door after him. Zon and Kudasduin waited. Through the windows they saw only a flickering light, like an aurora.
* * * *
When Thandos returned, he was subtly changed. His brothers sensed it immediately, but they could not define the manner. Perhaps there was another wrinkle on his face, perhaps a touch of silver in his beard.
He sat down, gasping for breath, as if he had run a long way.
Echoes of the Goddess: Tales of Terror and Wonder from the End of Time Page 23
