The Snow Queen

by Joan D. Vinge

  “Arienrhod,” Arienrhod said.

  Moon pulled back, smarting: Realizing that Arienrhod did not see her at all, had no understanding of why words meant to win and seduce battered and bruised her other self like stones. Arienrhod’s egotism saw only the thing she longed to see ... only Arienrhod. And you’re wrong. A deep and unshakeable certainty that was more than her own relief moved in Moon, as though she had somehow been tested without knowing it, and had proven her worth. “What about Sparks?” She heard her own question, brittle ice to match Arienrhod’s expectations. “Will we share him too?”

  Arienrhod’s placid face flickered, but she nodded. “Why not? Could I really be jealous of my ... self? Could I refuse myself anything? He loves us both, how could he help it? Why should he have to deny it?” as though she had to make herself believe it.

  “No.”

  Arienrhod’s head gave a curious twist. “No? No what?”

  “No more.” Moon drew herself up, feeling the limitless strength the word released in her. “I’m not Arienrhod.”

  “Of course you are,” Arienrhod said placatingly, as to a stubborn child. “We share the same chromosomes, the same body—the same man and the same dream. I know this must be difficult for you to accept, when you never suspected .... I would never have had it happen like this. But how can you deny the truth?”

  Moon wavered, felt a deeper certainty harden her resolve. “Because I know that what you plan to do is wrong. It’s wrong. It’s not the way.”

  “Why is it wrong to change the world for the better, when you have the power to do it? The power of change, of birth, of creation—you can’t separate those things from death and destruction. That’s the way of nature, and the nature of power ... its inexorability, its amorality, its indifference.”

  “Real power,” Moon lifted her hand to the sign at her throat, “is control. Knowing that you can do anything ... and not doing it only because you can. Thousands of mers have died so that you could keep your power while the off worlders were here; and now thousands of human beings are going to die so that you can keep it when they’re gone. I’m not worth a thousand lives, a hundred, ten, two—and neither are you.” She shook her head, seeing the face before her, seeing herself. “If I have to believe that being what I am means I’d destroy Sparks, and destroy the people who gave me everything, then I should never have been born! But I don’t believe it, I don’t feel it,” fiercely. “I’m not what you are, or what you think I am, or what you want me to be. I don’t want your power ... I have my own.” She touched her throat again.

  Arienrhod frowned; Moon felt her anger like sleet. “So they were all imperfect, failures ... even you. I always believed I could supply the thing you lacked ... but no; no one can give you that. You’re a gutless weakling—thank the gods I don’t have to depend on you now to achieve my goals.”

  Moon looked down at her hands, at white fists. “Then we really have nothing to say to each other, after all. You told me I could go.” She took a step toward the bridge, her heart leaping ahead.

  “Wait, Moon!” Arienrhod caught up to her again, drawing her back and around. “Can you really leave me like this; so soon, so easily? Isn’t there some way for us to share something more than our stubborn pride? You above all should have been the one, the only one, who would understand the things no one else could ever reach in me, the things that I’ve never been able to give to anyone else.” Her voice, her touch, softened. “Give me time, and perhaps I can learn to reach what lies unreachable in you.”

  Moon swayed: a fatherless, motherless child hearing her own voice crying a lifelong loneliness; reaching out to embrace her own strength, and redouble it, parent and child in one. But her inner eye showed her Sparks, scarred in body and mind, and what his final silence had sworn her to. “No. No, we can’t.” Her gaze fell. “There’s no time left.”

  Arienrhod flushed; softness fell away from her face, left unforgiving iron. Her hand rose as if to strike Moon’s face; but it caught the beaded choker instead and jerked, breaking the threads. “You think you can stop me. Then leave, if you can. My nobles know that you’re a Summer sibyl.” She waved at the Winters still standing patiently beyond the bridge and behind them. “And they know that you came here disguised as me, to commit some treachery. If you can make them believe you’re not those things, then you deserve to go free—and to be a part of me.” She turned away abruptly, striding back toward the palace halls alone.

  As she went toward them the waiting nobles advanced, bowing as they passed her, and ringed Moon in at the foot of the bridge. Moon watched Arienrhod go on, never turning back, until she lost sight of her beyond the shifting wall of vengeful faces.

  - 43 -

  “Well, Commander. I hope you enjoyed the Queen’s banquet.” Chief Inspector Mantagnes broke off his conversation with the sergeant, hoping nothing of the kind, as Jerusha entered the hollow quiet of headquarters from the clamoring streets. Virtually everyone on the force was out, either protecting the Prime Minister or patrolling the festivities. The two men made a desultory salute; she returned it perfunctorily. Mantagnes eyed her dress uniform enviously. She knew that he must have spent the evening brooding because he wasn’t at the reception in her place, strutting in front of his fellow Kharemoughis in the position that was rightfully his.

  “I don’t enjoy wasting my time, when there’s still so much work to be done.” She looked pointedly at the two of them; pulled off her scarlet cloak, opening her collar. “You’re relieved as acting commander, Inspector.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted again, his eyes reminding her that she wouldn’t be hearing that for much longer. Yes, you son of a bitch, you’ll have your turn. The Chief Justice’s damning, unfavorable report on her and Mantagnes’s own ambitious backbiting would ensure the record of her command here was painted as black as the void. Her career would be finished with this post, her seniority and rank swept under the carpet of official censure. She would never have a chance at a command again; she would be shipped off to some godforsaken outpost on the back side of nowhere acknowledging grimly that there were worse places than Carbuncle). And there she would rot for the rest of her natural life.

  Gods, I’m sick of Kharemoughi arrogance! She bunched her cape between her hands as she started toward her office. If I have to see one more damned, supercilious Technocrat face ... BZ Gundhalinu’s face came suddenly into her mind, slowing her. One more face. That face she would give anything to see, right now, right here. But he had never arrived with his prisoner. She should have known—but how the hell could she know that Gundhalinu of all men would run off with the girl instead? Because it was obvious! She had put into her report that he was ill, unaccountable for his actions; and the gods knew it was probably truer than she wanted to admit.

  And tonight she had seen Sparks Dawntreader, openly flaunting his sanctuary there at the banquet, drinking himself into a stupor. And Arienrhod, serenely beautiful as always, serenely unconcerned about her upcoming fate as she moved among her subjects and her supposed masters—far too unconcerned. Damn it! What’s she planning?

  “Damn it, what’s this doing here?” She stopped, glancing away at Mantagnes, and back at the pol rob standing as immobile as a tree in front of her office. “Why aren’t you on duty?” addressing it directly. It made no response, and she realized that its power was off.

  “It’s malfunctioning,” Mantagnes said irritably. “Came in here a while ago with some garbled story about its Winter lessor being mugged by the Queen’s men. Probably just maudlin with lease-lapse syndrome. Needs a complete system wiping—letting ignorant natives do even partial maintenance on sophisticated hardware like that is absurd.”

  “Even ‘ignorant natives’ would wonder, if they had to bring their brainless servomechs to the police for every loose screw.” She threw the power switch on the pol rob chest, more out of aggravation than interest, watched the light sensors brighten inside its steel and plastic skull. She glanced at its identification
plate. “Unit “Pollux.” Who’s your lessor?”

  “Thank you, Commander!”

  She stepped back, startled.

  “Please hear me, Commander. It is urgent, and I cannot—”

  “Yeah, yeah—just answer the questions.” She would never get used to Their voices.

  “My lessor is one Tor Starhiker Winter, Tiamatan female, titular owner of Persiponë’s Hell.” It radiated impatience. “You said she was attacked by the Queen’s guard? That’s no business of ours.”

  “No, Commander. By off worlders By her fiance—”

  “A lover’s quarrel?”

  “—one Oyarzabal, a casino employee, and his companions. She ] called to me for help, and was stun-shot by them. I could not reach her because the door was locked. So I came here for help.”

  “You know why they attacked her?” Jerusha felt her interest stirring.

  “Not clear, Commander. Perhaps she interfered with an illegal activity.”

  “Who controls that casino?”

  “One Thanin Jaakola, male, native of Big Blue.”

  “The Source?” She felt even Mantagnes begin to listen behind her.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Repeat everything you heard them say.”

  “OYARZABAL: Just the Summers, goddamn it, Perse. Not the Winters, they’ll be safe; the Queen wants it this way. STAR HIKER No, you’re lying. It’s going to kill Winters too, the Queen wouldn’t let you kill us. You’re crazy, Oyar, let me go. Pollux, help me, Pollux.”

  Jerusha listened her skin crawling at the nasal dirge of words, until their meaning coalesced in her mind, catalyzed by two: the Queen. “Holy gods—I’ve found it! I’ve found it! Sergeant!” Shouting as she turned, she found him already standing at her elbow. “Contact the dozen men closest to Persiponë’s—tell them to get over there immediately and seal that place off! Mantagnes—”

  “What’s this all about, Commander?” She couldn’t decide whether he was indignant or frightened.

  “It’s about life and death.” She dropped her cloak on the floor, reaching to check her stunner. “It’s about Arienrhod buying her own life with the death of half this city, or I’m not the Commander of Police.” She watched his jaw fall. “Unit Pollux—your prayers and mine have been answered.” She clapped its metallic shoulder. “Gods, just let it be in time!”

  “Please help Tor, Commander. I have grown—attached to her.” y-\

  She nodded, not quite believing shed heard that. “Mantagnes, ii you’re always bitching about how you want more action. Let’s go find it.”

  “You’re going up there yourself, Commander?” more astonished than critical.

  Grinning now, she said, “I wouldn’t miss this for sainthood.”

  - 44 -

  “So, sibyl, you’ve threatened our Queen.” A man spoke at last; Moon felt the group stare of the angry nobles burn the tattoo into her throat like a brand. “And you’re forbidden to come into the city. We have been given the privilege of seeing that you never do either of those things again.”

  Moon backed toward the bridge span, fighting the memory of what had happened here in the city to Danaquil Lu. “I’m going to leave the palace. If you touch me, I’ll contaminate you. Don’t try to stop me—” Her voice slid.

  “We won’t try to stop you, sibyl,” he said, his voice hungry and blurred. “Cross the bridge; go ahead.” He grinned, and it turned his thin face into a death’s-head. They were all smiling suddenly, with drug-drunken, heedless malice—people who had been celebrating the end of their world, and knew who to blame for it. He took something out of a hidden place in his long outer robe and held it up; it looked like a dark finger. “Cross the Pit.”

  Moon covered her control box with her hand, staring at the thing he held; not sure what it was, but only that it was a threat to her. But she had to cross the bridge; she had to try. There was no other way. With clumsy hands she reached up to unfasten her gold stitched velvet cloak. She folded it in threes, which was the Lady’s sacred number, and stepped toward the windy lip of the abyss in a defiant ritual. The cape was only a hindrance on her back; but it was a worthy gift to the Sea Mother, if She lay hungry below. Hungry for tribute, or hungry for sacrifice ...

  Lady, guide me! Moon pitched the cloak outward with a prayer, yl heard the laughter of the nobles behind her. It bellied out in the cross drafts drifted and circled like a plummeting fisher bkd into the shaft’s green darkness.

  Moon pressed the first button in the sequence at her wrist, and started out onto the bridge. The Winters watched and muttered, but did nothing. Moon sounded another note, walked on, not even breathing. At the far end of the bridge more nobles waited; she tried not to see them clearly ... not to look down, not to listen to the demon dirge around her or the clamoring of fears inside her head ...

  But as she neared the center of the span the catch-spell of the sibyl’s song invaded her again, slowing her, lulling her fears, dulling her instinct for survival. No! She froze, letting her terror rise up and counterattack before the song could snare her mind again. But even as she stopped moving, she saw the Winters ahead all holding the same hollow fingers, raising them to their lips—whistles! To control the winds ... And now at last she understood: They were turning the winds against her; this was how she would die, without a human hand shedding her blood.

  Moon threw herself flat on the bridge span as the choir voice of the whistles collided and smashed her circle of quiet air. The winds swept over her, tearing at her. But in the middle of the wind lay the sibyl song—like the clear air in a hurricane’s eye, the clarity of a strange madness filling her mind. Hypnotized, paralyzed, she plunged through into a refuge that lay in some other plane of existence..

  Why? Why does it call me here? “What’s the answer?” she heard her own voice screaming wildly. “What’s the answer?” You can answer any question, except one, Elsevier had told her. Not What is Life?” not Is there a God? ... The one question she was forbidden to answer was Where is your sourcepoint? And in this moment, teetering at the eternity’s edge of insanity or death, she knew that at last it had been answered, that she had been chosen again by the power that lived in her mind: Sourcepoint, fountainhead, wellspring ... here, here, here! Below this shaft that plunged into the sea, below this pinpoint city driven into a map of time, as secret as stone beneath the guardian se asking of this water world, lay the sibyl machine. And she alone would know. She felt her mind give way under the final assault of knowledge, and fall into the well of truth; cried out as she felt her body lose control to follow it down ...

  Like a startled dreamer she came into herself again, lying on the bridge span, gasping loudly in the quiet air. The quiet air ... She pressed her hand over her mouth, pushed up slowly onto her knees. There was no wind at all; only a peaceful stirring and sighing around her. The Winters stood gape-faced on the far edge of the abyss, then— whistles dangling from strengthless fingers. She dared to look away, past the wind curtains hanging slack in a becalmed sea, to the storm walls beyond. The walls were closed, shutting off the flow of the cold crosswinds from the outer world, sealing off their only access to the well at Carbuncle’s heart, and to her. She sank forward again, pressing her forehead against the surface of the span in silent gratitude.

  She climbed unsteadily to her feet, made her way on across the bridge. She moved slowly, for the sake of the watchers, for the sake of her uncertain legs. The Winters’ expressions mixed awe and terror now; she set her face in grim defiance, willing them to let her pass.

  And some fell back, but there were some who turned angrier, more hate-filled and reckless at the sight of a Summer wearing the face of then: Queen, wielding the power of a goddess. And among them she saw the iron pole crowned with a halo of metal thorns, the witch collar that had torn open Danaquil Lu’s throat. The collar came forward to meet her and keep her from stepping off the bridge. “Kneel down, sibyl, or go into the Pit!” The jewel-turba ned woman who held it thrust it at her; she too
k a step back, her hands knotting at her sides.

  “Let me past or I’ll—” As she spoke she saw them turn, heard the processing echoes of many footsteps coming down the entry corridor toward the hall. And as suddenly the crescent of space behind the nobles began to fill with human figures—but this time they wore homespun and kleeskin: Summers! Their faces were as murderous as any Winter face had been until a second before; they carried knives and harpoons, and the faces looked at her, alone on the bridge, without changing.

  “There she is! It’s the Queen!”

  Moon saw the one face that didn’t belong with the rest, one man working his way forward among them with desperate determination.

  “BZ!” She shouted over the rising noise as the mobs met, caught his searching gaze and felt it embrace her.

  Gundhalinu elbowed aside a final Summer, making himself a space to draw his weapon and let the crowd see it clearly. “Hold it! j, Hold it!” He jerked the thin-mouthed woman holding the spined collar half around and wrenched it out of her startled hands. He ‘ hurled it over the edge into the Pit. “That’s gone far enough, Winter. Get back—clear away, all of you!”

  “What right have you got to interfere with us, foreigner? This is Winter business, Winter law—”

  “That’s for damn sure,” BZ muttered, his eyes coming back to Moon even as he cleared a path for her through the human wall. “This woman’s under arrest; she’s mine.” Moon caught the wink of an eye in it, and smiled in spite of herself.

  “That’s the Queen, Inspector Gundhalinu!” one of the Summers said angrily. “And she’s ours. She’s not going anywhere until the Change.” The words were as deadly as frost.

  “She isn’t Arienrhod. She’s a Summer, a sibyl! Look at her throat.” BZ waved a hand. “If you want Arienrhod, you’ll have to cross that—” Following his own gesture, he looked out across the windless hall for the first time, and his face turned blank. “What—?”