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Inevitable.ö
Medric responded, ôBut Clement is a short-sighted, bloody fool! If she had
just
read the book! She had it in her hand . . .ö
Karis had raised her head again. She said to Garland, ôThese men speak a
strange
language, donÆt they.ö
ôI guess Willis is one of those that was killed,ö said Garland, ôAnd thatÆs a
disaster. I donÆt know how!ö
ôMy poor little book,ö said Medric. ôAll I did was tell the humble truth, and
trust the common sense of the Shaftali people. But Willis, his is a grand,
heroic tragedy. My little book canÆt compete. His death is what theyÆll heed.ö
Garland burst out, ôYou mean itÆs all for nothing? The writing, the printing,
the hauling, the worry? ItÆs all wasted? Because that fanatic got himself in
the
SainnitesÆ way?ö
In the silence, the distant sound of celebration seemed drunken
self-indulgence.
If such great labors could be so casually undone, thought Garland, what was
the
point of effort?
Karis asked Medric in her cracked whisper, ôWhat future do you see?ö
The seer said miserably, ôI canÆt see a bloody thing.ö ôWhat about Zanja?ö
Her
shattered voice made it seem as if Karis had lost all hope.
But Medric looked up. The frosted lenses of his spectacles glimmered. ôMaybe
itÆs time I talked to her.ö
Zanja naÆTarwein filled her pot and lit her fire. The stars were coming out.
She
examined them as they appeared, but not a single star seemed to be in the
same
place as it had been the night before. She asked, ôDoes the pattern lie in
the
lack of a pattern?ö
And then she knew something had changed. In all these fleeting days and
patternless nights, she had never spoken out loud. Now that she had done it,
she
recognized the soundlessness of this barren place: she heard not even a far
away
bird song, or the soughing of the wind, or the crackle of the flames under
her
pot of water.
A footstep grated on gravel. She turned her head, and Medric squatted down
beside her. ôYouÆre not easy to find,ö he commented.
ôAre you dead, Medric?ö
ôOh, no, just dreaming. YouÆve got EmilÆs tea set! And that old tin pot we
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used
to put kitchen scraps in.ö
The water was boiling, so Zanja made tea. As she swirled the pot, she could
smell it: half grass and half flower, the scent she would always associate
with
Emil, since it was his favorite kind of tea. She heard her clothes rustle,
felt
the heat of the pot on the palms of her hands, the ache of pain in her chest.
Medric sat beside her fire in peaceful silence. She said, ôYouÆve brought
sensation with you.ö
ôHave I? Is it unpleasant?ö
She poured him a cup of tea, but hesitated to hand it to him. ôIf you eat or
drink in the Land of the Dead ...ö
ôThis is not the Land of the Dead.ö He took the tiny cup from her, and
sipped.
ôYou know, this is the first time IÆve tasted your tea? It is good.ö
Zanja tasted the cup she had poured for herself. The complex flavor of the
tea
made a fist of sharp pain clench her heart. She said, If IÆm not in the Land
of
the Deadùand you can visit me in a dreamùhave I traveled so small a distance?
How long does it take for a soulÆs journey to end?ô
ôItÆs been four months,ö said Medric.
ôThousands of nights!ö
ôA hundred. A hundred and twenty, maybe. ItÆs Long Night now. A few hours
before
sunrise. I lay down under KarisÆs red coat, because I thought it might help
me
to find you. Karis made me sleep. I suppose sheÆs still beside me now.ö
ôGods!ö ZanjaÆs dropped teacup uttered a musical ring against the clapper of
a
sharp stone. She pressed her hands to her chest, but the pain there did not
ease. ôMy agonies should be ended! I should have earned some peace!ö
She jerked sharply away from MedricÆs uplifted hand.
Instead of touching her, he picked up the fallen teacup. ôWhat does it take
to
break these things? After so many journeys and so many battles, the box is a
wreck, but the cups and the pot, not a single chip.ö
She took the teacup from him, and examined it. ôI can no longer read this
symbol. Your comments are obscure.ö
ôObscure? Nothing is obscure to you.ö He blinked at her. ôThe storyteller has
your insight, is that it? And so you canÆt see the pattern.ö
ôWhat pattern?ö she said desperately. ôIs there one? What is this place? Why
am
I not dead?ö
ôI see that you are suspended between life and death, and canÆt get to either
state.ö
Unsurprised, she said, ôForever?ö
ôWhen your body finally dies, I suppose youÆll be set free. But it may seem
like
forever to you.ö
ôBut you severed my soul from the flesh!ö
ôIÆm afraid Norina subverted our logic with her own. She thought sheÆd make a
way to get you back. But you know air logic, cruel even at its most merciful.ö
Zanja said, bitterly, ôI cannot even curse her!ö
A long time they sat together. The sun, usually so quick to pop up from the
horizon, was slow to rise. At last Zanja said, ôI demand that Norina right
her
wrong.ö
Looking miserable, Medric dried out his teacup on the tail of his shirt.
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ôMedric!ö
ôYou mean that you want her to finally kill you.ö He put the litæ tie cup
into
its spot in the box. ôIÆll tell her. I never thought IÆd be killing you
twice.ö
He took off his spectacles to wipe his eyes. It was terrible to see such a
merry
man so sad.
ôI wish you would leave,ö she said. ôAnd take your heartache with you.ö
ôWould you like to have this? ItÆs my book, the one we printed on the old
librarianÆs press.ö
She accepted the oddly made book he had taken from his pocket. It had a
childÆs
gluey fingerprint on the cover.
ôWill you also take this coat?ö
Now that the light was finally rising, she recognized the vivid red of the
coat
he wore. ôNo!ö
ôBut this is a cold place.ö
She had not known it was cold until he said so. Shivering, she said, ôI need
to
be cold. Please go!ö
He got to his feet, and walked away, into the blaze of the rising sun. He did
not look back. She did not call out to him. It was a relief when he had gone.
They had gathered around Medric while he dreamed, a collection of weary
travelers sharing blankets and using each other as pillows in the airy attic
of
a building never meant for winter habitation. Garland dozed, awoke shivering,
pressed himself against the nearest body for warmth, and slept again. When
voices woke him, some faint light had begun to filter in, and a distant
window
floated in the black, framing a couple of fading stars. Downstairs, the Long
Night candle would soon be extinguished. The first day of the first year of
Karis GÆdeon would soon dawn.
Karis still sat beside Medric with one knee drawn up and his hand clasped in
hers. But he was mumbling irritably, and Emil stood over him, hauling him to
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