Shadow's End

by Sheri S. Tepper

  And so I did, while something inside my mind made little gibbering noises and a muscle near my eye twitched as though someone were pulling at it with a thread. The temptation to look up never abated, but it was hard enough to find a way among the fallen fragments without frightening myself more. Turn and turn again. Stop. Look for the light. Turn so the light is coming from the left. Go a little way. Stop again. Look for the light again. No sound at all but my own panting breath escaping the halter of my throat. Turn and turn again, winding among them, winding around them, to come out of them at last quite unexpectedly!

  Leelson stood a short distance away, beckoning with one hand, the other before his lips, urging quiet. Then I allowed myself to look up to see them nodding, nodding, nodding: no, no, no.

  Still, they had let me pass. I trudged over to Leelson, bending double to catch my breath. I felt sick. I had half strangled myself.

  "Lutha and Leely next," he whispered in my ear. "Is she coming?"

  I nodded, supposing that she would. Trompe would tell her she was next; she would take Leely into her arms and start walking in a kind of fatalistic calm. She would recognize the risk. She would tell herself she had never rejected or neglected him, that she had resolutely denied Leelson's assessment of him. Nonetheless, she .would risk him and herself. If she allowed herself to think about it at all, she would consider dying with Leely to be an acceptable solution to the problems of their lives, hers and his.

  I could read her as though I, too, were a Fastigat. Her longings were mother longings. I knew about mother longings. Sometimes they did not bear thinking on, so I thought instead of her pathway, how she would walk, as I watched the slot from which I myself had emerged. There would be movement, I told myself. At any moment there would be movement.

  There was none. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she would not risk herself, or Leely. Leelson gave me a troubled look. I shrugged. I didn't know. We planted our feet and watched, leaning slightly forward, as though to urge her out of hiding.

  She did not come, but Leely did, quite alone, face glowing with an almost supernatural light, skipping into sight at the base of one of the pillars, waving his hands, caroling, "Dananana." He was more beautiful than any child I have ever seen. He gave us an enigmatic look, that same look he had given me when he returned from his morning expedition, then he slipped between two pillars to lose himself once more, shining like a little sun.

  Beside me, Leelson grunted in surprise. I looked upward as he was doing so and saw only quiet stone heads. Not a motion. Not a quiver. I stepped forward involuntarily to go after the child, but Leelson caught my robe, stopping me.

  "No," he whispered vehemently. "Wait!"

  We both waited. Everything was silent, still, an interminable stillness. Not a sigh, not a tremble. The first sound we heard was the creak of wheels. Though we'd greased them again and again, they still creaked, a distinctive, irritating sound that might have been near or far, approaching or departing. The echoes and reverberations came at us from all sides, bounced around by the Nodders until they had no point of origin. I swayed with sudden dizziness and realized I'd been holding my breath again. Beside me, Leelson had been doing the same, for he exhaled in a sudden burst as Leely appeared once more.

  This time Lutha was behind him, her hands twisted into the shoulders of the child's garment so he could not break away. Her pallor was icy, almost blue, and even from where we stood I could see the rigidity of her arms and shoulders. She was holding the boy in a death grip of which he took no notice at all. His hands waved and his feet skipped and his voice rose in its constant contented comment on the world. I was transfixed once more by his ethereal, marvelous beauty. As one imagines angels or fairies looked in old stories.

  Beside me Leelson said, under his breath, "Seraphic." That was the word I'd been wanting. Either Leelson had thought of it, or he'd somehow picked it up from me. He wrenched his eyes away from the boy and held out his hands to Lutha. She ignored him, marching past us.

  Trompe appeared next, tugging at the end of a rope. At first I could not imagine where he'd obtained a rope, then I saw he had knotted the reins together. A trivial thought at such a time, for when I looked up, the heads were shaking once more: no, no, no, no. Trompe wasn't looking. He was concentrating on the gaufers. Either they disliked being led or they had picked up our tension, for they were behaving skittishly, throwing their feet sideways as they do when disturbed, bobbing their heads and growling in their throats. With shaking fingers, Trompe put the end of the line into Leelson's hand, threw a glance in Lutha's direction, where she'd stopped a few paces farther on, and then collapsed onto the ground.

  "You made it," said Leelson flatly, tugging the gaufers nearer us.

  "Obviously," Trompe returned, wiping his face with his sleeve.

  Leelson turned to Lutha. "What happened with … him?" he asked, indicating Leely with a jerk of his head.

  "He just … jumped out of my arms," she murmured almost inaudibly. "I should have had his harness on him, but I never expected … One minute he was there, and the next he was running off between the pillars. He kept appearing and disappearing. I thought he was lost!"

  "Where did you catch up with him?"

  "Just there, at the edge, one moment before we saw you."

  Leelson shut his eyes, concentrating. Was he trying to reach Leely? Most likely he was, for all the good it did him. I didn't know what Leelson thought, but I thought Leely had not been lost among the Nodders any more than he'd been lost when he sneaked out during the night. Leely didn't get lost.

  Lutha obviously thought otherwise. Her eyes were full of exhausted tears, and I realized that though Leelson and I had seen how quiet the Nodders were when the boy was among them, she would not have seen it. Not if she'd been running this way and that, seeking the boy at ground level. Would she have felt more or less fearful if she had?

  I caught Leelson's eyes upon me and flushed. He turned away, but I knew he was probing at me, trying to figure out what I knew or felt, which, Weaving Woman be thanked, was little enough. I didn't want to know anything. I said so mentally, over and over, a little litany. I know nothing about Leely. I know nothing about the Nodders. I know nothing about anything. I am an ignorant Dinadhi woman, an unworthy Dinadhi woman, of no possible use to anyone!

  When I finally looked up, Leelson was helping Trompe restore the reins to their ordinary use. Wordlessly, we got moving into the canyon, Leelson driving and the rest of us trailing behind. A few dozen paces farther on, the ground was suddenly clear of curved rock fragments; the footing was blessedly good; we could actually look around us as we went. Still, Lutha never for a moment relinquished her grip upon Leely, even when he began to fuss at her.

  The canyon went away in a long, westward-curving arc, and we did not pause until the Nodders were no longer in sight. When we stopped, the ravine was level, widening toward the west, where the sun lay in a shallow notch, like an apple in a bowl, tempting us. That notch was a definite place, discernible, reachable, pulling at us despite our weariness. The temptation to go on was in all our faces, a yearning to be done with this, to be away from the canyons. Even the gaufers leaned into the harness, stamping impatiently.

  But Leelson said no. He said the sun was low, we would finish the trip tomorrow. He said we should be well rested when we arrived. He was no doubt right, but it was hard to wait. Beyond that notch was the world's gate, through which the beautiful people would go on their way to heaven. All of them would come, lost children, slain fathers, grandparents dead of age. Bernesohn Famber's outlander ghost, he would be there. My mother would be there. Even now she was probably sitting near a fire fountain in the Canyon of Burning Springs, deep in meditation. Saying good-bye to this world. Saying good-bye to me.

  It did not seem fair. The outlander ghost had lived among us for almost a hundred years. My mother's spirit had lived among us for only a few. If she hated me when she went, she would never have a chance to love me again. If this was the choice we
had made, shouldn't it be fair for everyone. Shouldn't she be allowed to stay longer? To see her grandchild born?

  But then, why would she? Her only child was unworthy of her. If I were one of the beautiful people, would I choose to stay with an unworthy child, or to go on to heaven? Perhaps that is why they meditated, making up their minds.

  I looked up to catch Leelson and Lutha watching me. His gaze was intent, hers sympathetic. He wanted to know what I thought; she already knew. Mothers, her eyes seemed to say, always choose happiness for their children, no matter what they or the children have done or not done.

  Where was my happiness? Was I less worthy than Leely?

  I turned my back on them, pulled my veil across my eyes, and let the tears come. Cry and be done. Soon enough this journey would end and then I might know the truth.

  Halfway up the wall of another canyon, one southeast of the omphalos, Mitigan of the Asenagi and Chur Durwen of Collis emerged from the mouth of a shallow cave and stood looking down upon the narrow sea of smoky mist below them. For the last two days they had been traveling in a region of boiling springs, each spring surrounded by multitudes of Kachis, all immobile, all seemingly insensate.

  "Quite a change," remarked Mitigan, unwinding a bandage from his forearm and disclosing a nasty-looking bite wound. He smeared it plentifully with reeking salve from his pack, then replaced the bandage. "Damned critters have dirty teeth."

  "I told you the thing was behind you," Chur Durwen remarked mildly. "You're getting slow." He examined the line of knives on the stone before him, seven of them, including the ones from his wrist scabbards. All of them needed cleaning and sharpening. Kachis blood was corrosive, and Chur Durwen had bloodied all his knives repeatedly during the earlier stages of their journey.

  "If I hadn't ignored the one behind me, you'd have been dead," said Mitigan. "The one I killed would have had you by the throat."

  "You're right. Which tells me the throat flap on my battle mask was badly designed. I doubt the Collis Arms Consortium had vampire butterflies in mind when they created it." He took a sharpening stone from his pack and ran it along the edge of the largest knife with a repeated wheeping sound. "They certainly aren't interested in biting now, are they? What do you think they're doing?"

  "Could be dead," said Mitigan. "Could be in some kind of hibernation."

  "Estivation," corrected the other. "It's closer to summer than winter."

  "Why in hell would anything go dead in the summertime?"

  Chur Durwen picked up the next knife and peered at it closely. "I think animals do it on desert planets. Where it gets too hot and dry in midsummer. Where the cooler winter weather is actually more supportive of life."

  "This probably qualifies as a desert planet. And I can't say I'm sorry they've quit bothering us."

  "Nasty, aren't they? Almost human, the way they look, the way they sound. That little whine of theirs. Like a child, or a woman trying to get you to buy her something."

  "Or pay her for something," gibed Mitigan.

  "Hell, if you have to pay for it, you don't deserve it." The man from Collis tried the second knife with the hardened skin of his thumb. "Come to think of it, though they have very female-looking bodies, every damn one of them has a dingus long as your forearm and pointy as a dagger. Do you suppose the locals … ?"

  "You'd have to be more than ordinarily stupid," remarked Mitigan. "Or quite irresistibly horny." He turned away from the cave entrance to examine the map he'd pinned to the wall inside. "This canyon, then one more. We'll make it in one or two days if the butterfly bats stay quiet."

  "Vampire butterflies," corrected Chur Durwen.

  The other muttered, "Vampires only suck your blood. They don't bite your throat out and try to chew on your face."

  His companion grunted agreement. When he had finished three more knives, he asked, "You really think there will be Fambers there? At this navel hole?"

  "Just a feeling," admitted Mitigan. "A hunch. I've learned to pay attention to my hunches. I think we're going to hit the main vein of Fambers at the omphalos. I think when we get there, we'll earn our pay."

  According to the rememberer in Simidi-ala, the Procurator could not fly directly to the omphalos. He could fly to a point very near. To the very next canyon, in fact. But the last little bit, one had to go on foot.

  "And why is that?" demanded Poracious Luv.

  "Only songfathers will be allowed to go into the sacred area or to … " To make decisions, the Procurator silently finished the remark.

  "Interesting," said Poracious. "Why is that?"

  "It's not my area of expertise," said the rememberer, staring over her left shoulder.

  "Most interesting," she repeated. "Don't you think so, sir?"

  "I think we should waste as little time as possible in conversation," muttered the Procurator between his teeth. "We would not enjoy arriving at the omphalos only a few moments too late to prevent assassinations from occurring."

  "Quite right. Fastest way, please, rememberer. On foot or whatever."

  The rememberer's "on foot" seemed to include gaufer feet, for both a chariot and a cart, each with its team of gaufers, awaited them near the head of the shallow valley in which they landed. Two servants, who had accompanied them in the flier, jumped down at once and began loading the Procurator's voluminous baggage into the cart while both hitches of animals stamped their feet impatiently.

  "I suggested the conveyances would make the remaining distance a bit easier," the rememberer murmured, keeping his eyes resolutely away from Poracious's bulky form.

  "For which my thanks," she said, heaving herself aboard the chariot with remarkable agility. She picked up the reins and gave them an experimental tug.

  "I must leave you here." The rememberer bowed. "As I've mentioned, those of us from Simidi-ala are not allowed to enter the sacred precincts. Neither are outlanders, of course, and I cannot guarantee an exception will be made for you. We have managed to convince the songfathers it is in their best interest to speak with you. That's the best we can do."

  "We understand." The Procurator nodded. "Where are they?"

  The rememberer nodded toward the very top of the valley, where several figures stood athwart a shallow col, silhouetted against the sky. "High officials. And I'm afraid we're persona non grata." He beckoned to the servants. "As soon as I've gone, they'll come for you."

  He and the servants climbed back into the flier and were whisked aloft in a great cloud of dust.

  "He seemed relieved to get out of here," commented the ex-King of Kamir, wiping the dust from his eyes as he climbed into the chariot beside Poracious.

  "I can see why," murmured Poracious, peering beneath her lashes at the black-clad men who were approaching. "They don't look happy to see us."

  "Please allow me to speak for us," said the Procurator from where he stood beside the left wheel. He had donned an official tabard for the meeting, one glittering with gems and fine gold embroidery. It bore upon the back panel the great arms of the Alliance, worked in pearls and sapphires, and on the front panel a grid, in each square of which was the symbol of one of the Seventeen Sectors. Stitched over the symbol of Hermes Sector was a pall of black tissue, showing it to be under threat.

  The symbolism was not lost upon the approaching Dinadhi. They saw it and stopped to mumble with one another before continuing their advance.

  "What has this predicament of the Alliance to do with Dinadh?" demanded the foremost, threatening with one clawlike hand.

  "All your people may perish," said the Procurator silkily, the words sinuous as snakes, demanding attention. "Dinadh is next in line."

  The Dinadhi glanced at one another, only briefly.

  The speaker sneered. "We do not believe we are in any danger from … the Ularians."

  The Procurator blinked slowly. His voice gained both volume and vehemence. "If you are not in danger from them, you are in danger from the Alliance. If you alone in Hermes Sector are not destroyed by the al
iens, we must assume you have made common cause with them against the rest of humanity. Is it not written, 'All life is struggle. He who will not stand with me stands against me'? Humanity will have vengeance for such treachery. You will not be allowed to remain here unscathed while others suffer."

  The hearers shivered. Even Poracious felt her bulk quiver. Fastigacy at its finest, she told herself, maintaining her composure with difficulty. What actors they made!

  "There has been no common cause with aliens," cried one of the other Dinadhi. "Nothing such is needed! We are under the protection of our gods! Our gods are stronger than any … aliens."

  The Procurator smiled voraciously, his teeth showing. "Then we will have vengeance against your gods, Songfathers. If your gods choose some men to favor, while sacrificing others, then those sacrificed may well cry from beyond the grave for justice."

  The third man spoke. "You threaten much. We see only one old man, much bedecked, one fat woman, and one younger man who does not look dangerous. From where will this vengeance come?"

  "From the battleships of the Alliance that hang in orbit around your world," said the Procurator, poker-faced. "From persons on those ships who even now listen to our conversation and watch your actions."

  "And from the royal navy of Kamir," said the ex-king, "which will extort retribution for any dishonor done its king."

  "And from Buchol Sector," said Poracious. "Where my brother is emperor."

  The Dinadhi turned their backs and went a little distance away, where they put their heads together in troubled confabulation.

  "The royal navy of Kamir?" asked Poracious, without moving her lips. "Since when?"

  "Since your brother was selected emperor of Buchol Sector," said Jiacare Lostre.

  Only the former speaker rejoined the outlanders as the others straggled away toward the col.