Darknesses (45 page)

A
lucius
opened his eyes.
For a time, he did not move at all. The room remained
as it had been. His uniform and boots were still hung from the pegs on the
wall. Through the clear glass of the window, he could see a clear silver-green
sky that darkened as he watched. He eased himself into a sitting position,
favoring his right side and arm, but there was barely a hint of discomfort in
the once-injured arm and shoulder. He had clearly slept most of the day.

The
chamber remained silent, and he turned and swung his feet over the side of the
narrow bed, letting them rest on the cool green tiles of the floor. There was
no sign of the square mirror, a good indication that he had been moved from the
room in which he had originally appeared. He hadn’t even thought of the mirror
when he had wakened before, a sure sign that he had not been as alert as he had
thought he had been.

Why
didn’t the alabaster-skinned people or creatures sense the yellow thread? If
they were so powerful, why hadn’t they attacked the soarers? And if the soarers
were strong enough to keep them from entering the hidden city, why couldn’t
they stop the invasion through the Tables—or portals? They certainly built well
enough to keep his Talent confined within the room.

The eaters of lifeforces cannot sense what you call the yellow
thread. It is not within their dark conduit. You sensed it beyond the conduit,
and you had to reach outside the conduit. That shows how strong you are.

Alucius
turned his head. He had not heard or seen the soarer—or sensed her.

We can watch without being sensed. That takes little energy.
A sense of ruefulness accompanied the words.

“You
say that I am strong. I didn’t feel that way against them. How can I
overcome…such strength?” In fighting both the Recorder and the engineer,
Alucius had not felt so helpless since he had been seventeen and had been
manhandled in the training given by his grandsire.

A small man with one of your rifles can kill a far larger and
stronger man who is unarmed. Compared to the ifrits, you were unarmed. You must
first learn what strength is.

“What
is it?”

You have seen the lifethreads, and the way that they hold and
embrace the world. Each world that holds life holds threads. All life is one,
and the threads link all that lives. You see but the larger threads.

Alucius
considered her words for a moment, before replying. “
All
life creates threads, even the shellbeetles and the bugs and—?”

Life does not create the threads. Where there is life, there are
threads. The two are inseparable.
A touch of dark humor radiated from
the soarer.
You should know. You have seen what happens
when you break the thread.

Alucius
nodded, aware that even that movement left him with the slightest sense of
dizziness.

You still are weak.

“I
can feel that.” He tried to gather scattered thoughts. “Just knowing that there
are more threads isn’t going to help me much.”

Each thread is composed of smaller threads. Those, in turn, have
yet smaller threads.

Alucius
could sense the condescension, and, had he not been so weak, might have said
something, but just sitting on the edge of the bed and listening took an
effort.

Whoever…whatever controls the smallest of threads…controls what
will be. To control such threads takes both knowledge and strength. We have the
knowledge, but no longer have the strength. You have the strength, but not the
understanding. If you are willing, we will teach you.

Willing?
It wasn’t as though he had a choice. Would the soarers even let him leave if he
didn’t agree?

We could guide you back to the portal in Tempre.

Alucius
laughed. That would leave him little better off. Even if he could find a way to
kill the Recorder—and he wondered if even a rifle would work—he’d
know
that the other creature was still at work. Sometimes,
what appeared to be choices weren’t.

It is still a choice. What limits your choice is understanding. A
wise spirit always has fewer choices than a foolish one.

“I’m
not exactly wise. A wise man wouldn’t have gotten himself in this situation.”

Even the wisest of spirits can find themselves in the greatest of
difficulties.

Alucius
could sense the sadness behind those words, a sadness he did not wish to look
into. He had enough problems as it was, and he had a definite feeling that, if
the soarer felt that Alucius’s problems were not that difficult, whatever might
be the “greatest of difficulties” for soarers was doubtless well beyond his
poor abilities.

“What
do I do?” he finally asked.

The
soarer extended a tray on which were a platter and a tall beaker of the amber
beverage that was similar to ale, but was not.
For now…you
must eat and rest. In the morning, we will begin. What lies before you is far
more difficult than anything you have yet attempted.

More
difficult than anything he had attempted? Those were words Alucius could have
done without.

A
lucius
stood.
Still wearing the greenish gown that came but to his knees, he
walked to the window, that sheet of glass so clear that it appeared not to be
there, set in its shimmering silvery frame. He pressed the bracket and slid the
window open, leaning out into the chill, and trying to see more of the tower.
There was little to see, except that he could tell it was circular and perhaps
thirty yards across, although that was a guess. Below, he saw no movement, just
the same buildings of amber stone.

He
eased his upper torso back into the room and tugged the window shut. He was
shivering.

Alucius
sensed the soarer and turned.

She
stood inside the door, again with a tray that contained the alelike drink and
his breakfast, something similar to egg toast, with honey, and thin slices of
ham. A plumapple was set at one side as well.

While you eat, I will tell you more.

Alucius
walked back to the bed, where he seated himself, the beaker on the floor, the
tray in his lap, because there was no other furniture in the room except for the
bed and a chest-high and narrow washstand—and what passed for a chamber pot.

Once there was a world with a deep green sky…

“This
world?” mumbled Alucius.

The
soarer ignored the question.
The winds were fierce, and the
summers were as cold as the winters are now in Corus. In the winter, all the
rivers froze, even to the depths of the river beds. There were small animals,
the size of your hand, if not smaller, who learned to link themselves to the
lifethreads of the world itself and travel those threads as if they could fly.
They were so small and light that the world did not notice. That was good,
because the life of the world was young, and the threads were yet delicate. The
ages passed, and more animals appeared, and many were large. Some were fierce,
and their lifethreads were far stronger. They preyed upon others, including
those who had learned to travel above the ground. Those who soared had become
larger, and some came to use the lifethreads of the very predators to escape
them. Others used the lifethreads to prey upon the predators. Yet they were
one, although some were soarers and others were not. The ages passed. Like your
ancestors, they became aware of themselves and their world. They began to
change the world, to better suit their needs, and the days became warmer—

“Change
the world? How?”

Listen to the story, first.

At
the tartness of the soarer’s response, Alucius tightened his lips, then took a
deep breath, and a swallow of the amber alelike drink, better than any ale he
had tasted before.

The days became warmer, and the winds gentler, and there was more
rain, and the rivers did not freeze solid in winter, and plants like quarasote
spread northward and across the lands. Those who could soar grew in size and
knowledge in this youth of the world. And then, the world changed. Webs of
darkness slashed across that early world, and when they lifted, there were
other, strange creatures now living in the warmer and lower lands. These
creatures were different, for they had not arisen from the crystal, but from
the coal.

“Coal?”
Alucius couldn’t help the inadvertent question.

The elementary substance which is at the heart of coal. In time,
you will understand. Please do not interrupt. So there were two kinds of life
in the world, and yet both were linked with their lifethreads, to each other
and to the world itself. There were those creatures who had arisen first, out
of the very crystal and fury of the world, and those that had come from
elsewhere. At first, the new creatures lived only in a few southern valleys,
but the plants and the trees that came with them also began to change the
world, making the air warmer and damper, and the soils moist and thick. Most of
those who soared felt uncomfortable in the dampness and heat, and they
retreated to the north and the heights of the world, where they built new and
glorious cities. Some few remained in the warmer lands, but even they preferred
drier or higher lands. As time passed, some creatures arose that partook of
both heritages.
The soarer stopped, as if waiting for Alucius to ask a
question.

Alucius
finished the last of the egg toast, then took a long swallow of the drink
before speaking. “You’re saying that, sometime long, long ago, the
lifeforce-eaters—the…ifrits…put people like us on…this world…on our world?”

Yes.

“But…why?
Why did they do that, then leave it…us alone?”

Farmers plant crops and make sure that they grow. It is not from
kindness.

Alucius
disliked thinking of himself as a crop, ready to be harvested. “Then…they’re
older than you are. And you think I can best them?”

They are not what they once were. Neither are we. You are more
than you once were. We have seen to that.

“You?”

Enough. You have little enough time to learn what you must. You
needed to know from where you came, and how all this came to be. You do not act
well in ignorance.
A sense of laughter followed.

Who
did, Alucius asked himself. “But the Cataclysm?”

At first, when the lifeforce-eaters appeared among the primitive
farmers in the south, we did not even notice, and that was our great mistake.
None of us cared for the heavy damp lands to the south. Unless we looked
closely, there was little difference between the poor farmers and those who
came to rule them. In the beginning, there was no difference, for those of your
ancestors were guided by dreams and visions, not directly. Even the building of
the first cities was guided from afar. Then came the building of the
portals—what you call Tables—and the first of the actual ifrits appeared in
body upon the lands of Corus. Then, when we saw what had happened, we tried, as
you did, to attack. Thousands of us died under the light-knives and the
firelances. Thousands of them died as well, but there were more of them.

The
soarer’s story was making Alucius more and more uneasy.

They increased the crops and the numbers of your people, so that
they could feast. We returned to the north and our hidden cities and turned our
thoughts to the very basis of being. When we had learned what we could, we
wrenched the very world threads, in a way that severed the lifethreads of all
those of the purple, and slashed the conduits to their worlds. When we wrenched
the world threads, we also made other changes, those that we could…

“The
nightsheep and the sanders and sandwolves?”

The nightsheep and sandwolves…yes. The sanders are kin to us.
Those efforts exhausted us, and many died. We have never had many children.

“How
many of there are you? Now?”

Once
more, the soarer did not reply, and Alucius sat on the bed, numb. His people,
his ancestors, sent from elsewhere, almost as…town sheep or cattle, less than
footwarriors in a leschec game between the soarers and the ifrits. And not a
hint of it in anything he had learned. Truly, the Legacy of the Duarches was to
be feared and shunned, and yet no one he knew had ever known why, except as a
feeling.

Why would you question?
The soarer was gentle.
They were gone, and we never made known what we had done.

Alucius
continued to sit on the bed. How could he believe what the soarer had told him?
Yet, after having seen what he had, and after having experienced the power of
the Recorder and the engineer, how could he not believe the soarer?

The
soarer waited, silently.

Finally,
Alucius looked up. “What about you?”

What you do cannot change what will be for us. We hope it will
change matters for you and for the world.

“But
we’re not even from this world, you said.”

You and yours, especially those who are herders and the like, are
of this world, and must sustain it.

“Why?”
asked Alucius flatly.

You have seen the lifethreads and how they bind and strengthen
the world, have you not?

“Yes.”

Whatever may have happened…that is past. You are what will
sustain the world, and all that we have done will be for naught if you cannot
stop the ifrits.

“You
didn’t answer my question—about you.”

The
soarer remained silent, and the silence dragged out.

Finally,
Alucius asked, tiredly, “What do I do? Where do we start?”

Look at yourself, at your own lifethread. Do not touch it. Just
look.

Alucius
tried to focus his Talent upon his own thread.

He
swallowed. His thread was not the black shot with green that he recalled, or
that he had sensed with other herders. Instead, it was a brilliant green, with
but a few thin lines of black within that green.

Study one of the black threads. See if you can discern the
smaller threads within.

His
eyes felt like they were blurring, even though his Talent was “looking,” not
his eyes. But all he could sense was a fuzziness around the black thread.

Think of it as spun and then woven together.

Alucius
concentrated harder, creating a mental picture, then trying to make the picture
fit the sense of the thread, but the thread remained solid.

The
soarer said nothing.

Would
it work the other way? He tried to see the thread, as if it were being spun
from tinier threads and being woven into a unitary piece. For a moment, he
thought he had something, but the sense he received was—again—of a solid
thread.

The
soarer remained still, neither suggesting nor criticizing.

Could
he visualize the thread in another way?

Do not make it what it is not. It is a thread composed of smaller
threads. It is. That is what it is. You must learn to see it as it is.

“How?”
snapped Alucius. “It’s easy enough for you.”

Try again. Just think of the thread.

Alucius
tried to clear his thoughts, just thinking about that one thin black strand.
Not conceiving of it as anything but a thread. Sweat poured from his forehead,
and his whole body shivered.

For
an instant—just an instant—he caught the most fleeting sense of threads twined
into each other, threads twined from smaller and smaller threads. Then the
feeling was gone, and he was shivering almost uncontrollably.

You can do no more now. You should rest.

No
praise. No acknowledgment. The soarer lifted the empty platter and ale beaker
and turned toward the door.

As
the soarer left, Alucius cast his Talent-senses at her. Her lifethread was the
same brilliant green as his—except without any traces of black.

He
swallowed once more. According to his Talent, in the ways of Talent, he was
closer to the soarers than to the herders. He knew the old song about the
soarer’s child. The lines came to mind easily, although it had been years since
he had heard them.

…But the soarer’s
child praise the most,

for he will rout the
sanders’ host,

and raise the lost banners
high

under the
green-and-silver sky.

But…the
sanders’ host? The soarer had said that the sanders were kin to the soarers,
and even as tired as he was, Alucius had sensed the truth of her words. Also,
the soarer and the sander were paired in the leschec game—the soarer queen and
the sander king. But then, the game also had pteridons and alectors.

His
head was splitting, and he still lacked so many answers. He didn’t even know if
he had been asking the right questions, either, and that made it even harder.

With
a sigh, he turned and stretched out on the bed. His eyes felt so heavy.