There had been human stragglers during the day’s travel. Everyone had heard and seen what had happened to those who had fallen behind the line of march, and none of those along the edge of ruddy stone had any illusions about what would happen in the morning. For the most part the campfires burned in terrible silence while people made their last desperate plans, said their last farewells.
Fringe stood for a long moment staring at the hulked shadow of Great Oozer, then, as Asner watched in amazement, took from her pack the full ceremonial garb of an Enforcer and put it on. When she was dressed, she came across the grassy clearing to him, her bonnet in her hand. “Will you come with me, Asner?”
“Where, girl?”
“Where Jory is, Asner.”
“And what are you all dressed up for?”
Fringe brushed at her sleeve. “Why not, Asner? This is what we wear to do honor.”
Danivon raised his head. “What, Fringe?”
“A little meeting,” she said quietly. “If you will join us.” She beckoned to Nela and Bertran, also, and the five of them went into the clearing where the massif rose red against the graying sky.
Jory stood with one scrawny arm over the horse’s neck, her head leaned against the tall animal, the two of them seeming lost in a wordless interchange.
Fringe put on her bonnet and strode forward to give the full Enforcers’ salute.
“Jory,” Fringe said. “Am I your daughter and heir?”
The old woman turned to face her. To Danivon, it seemed that her face was very still and empty.
“Fringe Owldark,” she said quietly. “I picked you for my daughter. You are my inheritor.”
“And what was yours will be mine?”
“All that is mine to give will be yours.”
Asner grunted as though he had been hit, and went to stand beside Jory.
Fringe swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Then as your daughter I come to you to say it is time to relinquish, for you cannot do what must be done.”
“No,” said a voice in all their minds.
Jory bowed her head. “You have always said no,” she whispered. “The years have spun and you have said no. But isn’t it time, old friend?”
Her voice was breathless, with a quality of finality in it that was enough to keep all their eyes upon her. She reached for Asner’s hand.
“Isn’t she right, Asner? Hasn’t it been enough?” she said softly. “Asner?”
“Yes, Jory.” He nodded at her. “As you say. Enough.”
“No!” said something huge.
“Yes,” said Jory, speaking to that complicated mass of scale and shadow, to all that mighty presence that had been her own love for all the thousands of years. “Yes. We have spoken of this. The time is enough, and done, and over. You are all my estate, and I bequeath you….”
They heard a sound, as though some great mill ground and ground, saw mighty talons reaching out, saw jeweled eyes lit like little suns….
And before them Jory as a shadow fading, Jory and Asner both, the two shadows holding one another by the hand before the shadow of a horse, Jory’s other hand stretched out toward all that ramified glory, at first gently, palm down, as though she granted her hand to be held, or kissed, but then slowly turning on the wrist until it was at last upright, palm out, forbidding, signaling stop, go no farther, do no more.
They two were wraiths, dark against the glory of the departing sun. They were shadows dimming. They were ghosts against the soft glow of the massif. And then they were gone.
A feeling of grief like the washing of a great sea.
Nela said, “Jory? Oh, Jory….”
Then they all cried out at a pain so sudden and horrid that they could not keep silent, the loss of all living, all green, all burgeoning, all sweet and fruitful, all delight. They wept at the loss of all loveliness, all surprise and enchantment. They breathed flame as the air around them wilted and burned and turned to dust. They burned as they held in their hands a gem, glowing with light, the light striking into all their eyes, then dimming, shattering, gone.
Grief. Their own, but not only their own.
Fringe grunted and bent over, as though to compress the pain into a manageable size. “The stones,” she gasped. “Those stones under the big tree. Jory and Asner were buried there. The people we knew were only part of the device.”
“Like the horses?” cried Nela.
“Like the house and the beds we slept in. Only more … more real. Real enough to walk around out on Elsewhere. Real enough to argue with the Arbai, to try to save us …”
“Think of the strength of will!” whispered Bertran. “So much that even a simulacrum of it was moved to save a world!”
“… but not real enough to be capable of the act that might save us,” Fringe said.
Bertran wasn’t listening. “How long? How long ago did they really die?”
“Long ago. A very long time ago.” They all heard it, all felt the time stretching out, the years falling like rain, the age that had gone since they had died.
“Will they come again?” Nela cried into the gathering dark. “Oh, Great Dragon, will they come again.”
No sound. Only the vast sorrow retreating as it turned back, its intention clear to all of them. It would return to the meadow near the stones where it had lived and waited, lived and waited, for lifetimes alone. They heard it calling, the great heartbroken sound of a creature calling for its mate.
After a long moment, trembling but resolute, Fringe moved after it.
“Fringe,” cried Nela fearfully.
Danivon tried to catch at her, but Fringe put up her hand as Jory had done, palm upright, saying no, say no more.
Danivon let her go, his face open and vacant, not feeling anything. Not sorrow. Not relief. Later he would feel them both, but now he felt nothing at all.
“Wait for me,” demanded Fringe, running through the forest after a dwindling presence. There was no answer.
“She wanted this,” Fringe asserted. “If you cared for her, you owe this to her.”
“Love cannot be owed,” said the retreating shadow. “It can only be given.”
“And she gave it,” Fringe cried stubbornly. “She kept on giving it. You’re part of the reason she got into this. You’re part of the reason she came back, kept coming back. Because you were here, waiting.”
Silence.
“You were the core around which her resurrection grew,” Fringe said angrily. “You were the bell that wakened her!”
Still silence.
“So if love cannot be owed, perhaps duty can. Jory was a great one for duty.”
“True,” said a vast, echoing voice. “That is true.”
“Or perhaps love can be given still, to do something she wanted to do. As a memorial!”
“Such as …?”
“You know very well. Such as saving the people of Elsewhere.”
“They chose….”
“Do I need to quote Jory at you? None of us could get away from our history far enough to make choices!”
Vast sighing, as of winds, heaving as of a forest in storm. “Very well. Since you ask, I will do something as a memorial for her. I will save her daughter, the one she chose. That I can do.”
“You’ll save me?”
“I can do that. I can take you with me, away from here, out among the stars. We can continue the journey….”
She breathed deeply, suddenly alight, as though kindled by joy. She could go! As Jory had done! To find … to find whatever it was that lay beyond all human hopes, all human destinies….
She could fly. She could take these offered wings and fly!
She bowed her head. What would Jory have said? Never mind what Jory would have said, what did she herself say! What had she already told herself? Only the unencumbered could go chasing visions. Was she unencumbered?
“Not good enough,” she sighed at last. “Not good enough, Great Dragon. I made a vow. I have friends here. Jory had
friends here. She wouldn’t have accepted that.”
A long silence, then a whisper. “I, too, can die. I, too, can be killed!”
“We are alike in that.”
“Why should I risk my life for Elsewhere?”
“Because it was important to Jory.”
And again, silence. Fringe stalked forward, her hand before her. It encountered something monstrous and wall-like, something that quivered with enormous life. She stood where she was, not daring to move. The being burned darkly, emitting grief like an aura.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But she was so tired. She was willing to stand with us upon the massif, fighting until she fell at last, but she was so tired.”
“I, too, grow weary.”
“Will you help me do what she wanted done?”
“It may not be possible to do what she wanted done.”
“We can try.”
Again the sigh. Again the whisper. “Come then. Let us try.”
She rode, unaware how it had happened that she rode, aware only that beneath her great muscles played one against another, hurricane winds were stilled into quiet breaths; before her trees submitted to the trampling of great talons, the insinuations of enormous flesh.
“Where are we going?”
“Where you wanted us to go.”
“Where the Arbai have gone?”
“Yes.”
They came to an outcropping of rock, hidden among the trees, where a wide, low archway was closed by a monstrous door. Though it was dark, Fringe saw it clearly for it shone with a harsh, obdurate light. She saw great talons gripping the hinges of that door, trying to bend them, straining at them, roaring at them, while they remained yet adamant. The struggle went on and on, and likewise the defeat.
“I can’t break it.” There was a certain hopelessness in that voice, almost a resignation. “Given enough time, enough thought, I can do many things. But I cannot break this door.”
Fringe’s head sagged. She slumped, beginning to despair.
Jory had not despaired. Not even at the end. Jory had chosen her; she had no right to despair.
“There must be something,” she cried. “Some way!”
“Let it go,” said the great voice.
“No,” she shouted. “Everyone I ever loved, I could have loved better, but I always let it go. I did it. Even Char … even him. When the time came for me to give me up, I never could.”
“What vision is this, Fringe Owldark?”
“Me,” she said. “It’s me.” She shook her head in puzzlement, and peered deeply at the shadowed bulk beneath her, as though to confirm her answer there.
“I’m a questing beast, Great Dragon. It’s why Jory picked me. She knew….”
“Knew what?” he demanded.
“Knew she could find one of us somewhere, for there are always a few of us around.” She ran her hands down her sides, as though to be sure she was present. “Like her. Like Zasper. Like me. We’re the discontented ones. People try to love us, but we keep getting distracted. People give us presents, hoping to please us, but to us they feel like chains and ropes, tying us. They cook the food and pour the wine, and we go unicorn hunting instead. They yell at us and we don’t hear, and they try to nail us down, and we pull out the nails and run away licking the punctures. They tell us we’re being obstinate, and they send us to bed, and we crawl out the window and go wandering. They lock us in a room and they throw away the key. And we slide out under the door.” She laughed. “We leak away, like water.”
“Like water,” he agreed.
“Water can wear away a stone, eventually,” she said. “If there’s enough time.”
“But there isn’t enough time. So we’ll leave it, shall we?”
“Wait,” she said, forcing the words past a dry throat and a terrible inward shrinking. Put me down!”
She was down. She stood facing the door, one hand out. When she was a girl, long ago, working in the weapons shop, she had repaired weapons. She knew how they worked. What was it Asner had said about the Arbai Device? That it could create? Well then, let it create.
She visualized the weapon, the structure of the crystals, the intricacies of the circuitry, the shape of the housing, the effect of one part upon another. She thrust her mind at the nothingness in her hand, believing that what she needed was there!
Nothing. More was needed than merely this! She had sent the device away. What must she do to bring it back?
Give up herself. Let it have its way. Be possessed. Enslaved. Willingly, for the device would not work any other way.
Sobbing, she invited it.
It came from the soil beneath her feet, not as an insinuation but as an invasion. It came into her like a swarm, like a tidal flow.
She stumbled, almost falling, her whole being in revolt against this violence being done to her. From beside her, a mighty claw reached out and held her.
Her mind stuttered. “Steady,” whispered a voice inside her. “Steady now.”
She took a deep breath, focused herself once more. This was the way the weapon had worked. This one she held was different, of course, being larger, more powerful. Vastly more powerful. This one could take down a mountain if that was what was needed.
The firing button lay beneath her thumb.
She pressed it.
The door glowed. The fabric of it howled. Metallic runnels flowed away from it. It sagged upon its hinges. Great Dragon seized it, tore it, battered it down.
Before them a sandy-floored tunnel stretched ahead and downward, into infinity.
“Do you now accept enslavement?” asked the voice. “If you risk death, can I risk less?” she asked. It was what one Enforcer said to another when they went into battle. A way of swearing loyalty. An acceptance of an honorable end.
“Come. I’ll carry you.”
“I cannot reach what I need through you,” she said. “I must walk.”
“True. The device cannot touch me. So, we will walk together.”
She started down the tunnel, counting her steps, ignoring the feeling that she was no longer herself. Her legs felt different. Her arms. Part of her was no longer available. Part of her substance had been used to make the weapon she still held.
Ignore that. Count the steps. Hammer down the distance with striding feet.
When she reached several thousand, she stopped counting, unable to remember what the next number should have been.
“Will we reach them in time?” she asked.
“In time for what?”
“In time to do what Jory would have done.”
“Who knows,” he murmured.
What remained of her leaned for a moment against his side, then turned and began walking once more.
• • •
In far-off City Fifteen, Sepel794DZ watched the ending of man on Panubi. He was enmeshed in his little tentacles, perceiving the slaughter in fear and dismay, fearing the end of the world for himself as for these others, so far away.
Brain dinks led very long lives. They were not subject to disease, and if they stayed at home they were seldom killed. Sepel had always supposed that being a dink had immunized him against fear. He knew now this was not so. Seeing men and women die had not worried him before this. They were they and he was he. Seeing men and women die on Panubi terrified him, for it was clear that Panubi set the pattern for the end.
In the midst of this sickening realization, he received a signal.
“Boarmus here,” said a shaky voice out of nowhere. “Can you hear me?”
“Sepel794DZ here,” the dink replied, uncertain where the message was coming from. All communication with Tolerance had been blocked for some time.
“… lash up …” cried Boarmus, his voice fading and returning. “Put togeth … scraps and bits. Can … tell … what ship?”
What ship? What was Boarmus speaking of. What did he mean, what ship?
“Something approaching,” suggested Files in an insect hum. “Coming toward E
lsewhere. Unknown origin. Coming very fast.”
“I heard that,” said Boarmus, suddenly clear as a bell. “Don’t suppose it’ll make any difference. Don’t know how long we’ve got. The gods have left us alone here for the last few days. Can’t tell where they are because all the monitors are gone. Committing a destruction somewhere else, no doubt.”
“Panubi,” Sepel confirmed. “Yes.”
“Oh, damn,” sighed Boarmus. “Oh, hell. I’d hoped … Well, so there’s a few of us left here trying to get as many out through the Door as we can, only nobody knows how to set it, and we can’t find the information. Evidently the Brannigans deleted it from Files. So, we’re just sending people through, hoping they’re coming out at the other end….”
“I have settings,” snapped Sepel. “Prepare to receive,” and it blurted the sequences and instructions in a blare of noise, leaving them at the other end to sort it out.
Boarmus was still speaking. “… nyhow, picked up this ship coming in. Is it coming here?”
“No idea,” Sepel said, “no idea at all.”
Fringe was stumbling with weariness when she perceived a change. It was in the quality of light, perhaps. Or the smell of the air. Mist, there was certainly, and a musty smell as of old rooms. She staggered, leaning against her companion, breathing deeply as she looked ahead. Not far away the corridor ended abruptly in a railing above an effulgent and spherical cavern. They went there, slowly, leaned on the railing, gasping at the smell, the mistiness that hid and then disclosed what lay below: a giant target, concentric rings around a dark center. She blinked, translating what she saw. The bottom quarter of the cavern had been carved into level rings, like an amphitheater. The center was a level floor, bare and empty. On the rings were the Arbai, all of them who were left, a few hundred perhaps, crouched in concentric circles, facing the center, their faces hidden in their hands as though entranced or asleep.
“Yes,” said Great Dragon. “There they are. I know them. They are old and tired. They intend to sleep until all cause for confusion has passed.”
“They must wake for a while,” she said. “They must tolerate being confused. Can you translate for me?”