“No. I’ve only been here half an hour, but I’ve looked everywhere I can think of,” said Amanda. “There’s nothing, unless you know any secret place—”
“Oh, damn that! Let’s get warm and dry first!” Paulie cried out.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Mark seized one of the candles and forced himself to hurry about looking for dry clothes, while Amanda lit a fire and made tea.
Half an hour later, they were feeling much better. Mark had discovered various strange garments thrown around the bedroom that seemed to belong to Gladys. He selected a flowered kimono for Paulie and got her into it. For himself he found a gown of scarlet flannel, which Amanda, with great surprise, identified as a Cambridge doctoral gown. Now he and Paulie sat side by side drinking tea and staring into the fire, looking as if they were taking part in some new ritual. The sight amused Amanda. She was sitting on the hearth, being too tense to take a chair.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
Mark started to tell her, but Paulie, as she so often did, interrupted him. “Where’s Maureen? I thought she’d be here too.”
“No idea, and she’s not answering her phone,” Amanda said.
On cue, the telephone rang, hidden somewhere in the jungle.
“That’ll be Maureen, I bet.” Amanda leaped up and made the usual search among the plants. When she located the phone and answered, however, it proved to be yet another puzzle. “It’s for you,” Amanda said, holding the receiver out through the leaves toward Mark. “Sounds Scottish.”
“But no one knows I’m—” Mark began. Then he remembered that there was both a sending and a rogue rnagician abroad, and simply and grimly took the phone. “Mark Lister here.”
The voice was female and, as Amanda said, slightly Scottish. “Mark Lister, are you? I’m sorry to seem to doubt you, but I’ll have to ask you to identify yourself by your title. I was told to do that, you see.”
“Told? Who told you?”
“My mother. She told me particularly that I—”
“Your mother? I’m sorry. I think you may have the wrong—”
“My mother,” said the woman, “is Mrs. Gladys Naismith.”
“Gladys!”
“That’s right. I’m her daughter, Aline McAllister, and I live in Dundee. I have a message for you from my mother if you can prove you have the title to it. The secret title, mind. She was most particular.”
“If you really need—” Mark gave in and gave her his full titles.
“Thank you,” said Aline McAllister. “She said you would be in her house before midnight, and I see she was right as usual. She sent the message up with her cats, you know. I have them all here. Making fifty-two, along with my own, I may say. Dearly as I love my mother, we do not get on, and this is why. Long ago I told her that only in a real, genuine crisis will I do any other thing for her, and this is what I get. Fifty-two cats. So you may take it the message is urgent. This is it. I am to say that my mother has gone after Zillah, partly because of the child, but mainly because you and all the rest of British Witchcraft are in serious danger. In order to find out the nature of the danger, you would do well to consult the girl she and you visited in hospital. End of message. I hope you have it. It’s clear as mud to me.”
“I—I have it,” Mark said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, thank my mother’s cats,” said Aline McAllister, and rang off.
“Who on earth was that?” Paulie said as he came out through the jungle.
“Gladys’s daughter,” he said. “With a message from Gladys.”
“What?” exclaimed the other two. Amanda added, “I never knew she’d been married—or—or—Anyway, how extraordinary!”
“The poor girl must have had a terrible childhood,” Paulie said feelingly.
Mark was inclined to agree. “She said they didn’t get on.”
Amanda gave that stern little frown of hers. “Never mind that. What was the message?”
Mark told them and astonished them a second time.
“Gone after Zillah!” said Paulie. “Why should that make a crisis? That girl is always dropping out. She’s probably just joined a squat somewhere.”
Amanda frowned again. “What is this danger? Where is this girl who’ll know? In hospital?”
“No,” said Mark. “She’s dead.”
“Dead!” shrilled Paulie. “Gone after Zillah, and she tells you to consult a dead girl!”
“How long ago?” Amanda asked intently.
“About six weeks now,” said Mark. “Gladys is right. She should be over the shock now.”
“Or she could be dissipated,” said Paulie. “Gone after Zil—!”
“Shut up, Paulie!” Amanda snapped. “Be helpful or be quiet. Mark, we’d better get in touch with her at once, don’t you think? What was her name?”
“We never found out,” Mark explained. “The hospital had no idea, and she didn’t—”
“And you don’t even know her name!” Paulie said disgustedly.
Amanda stood up and advanced on Paulie like an avenging queen. “Paulie—”
“She’s tired and overwrought,” Mark said hastily.
“No she’s not,” said Amanda. “No more than I am. My sister is missing, and I spent the whole sleepless night receiving warnings in every conceivable way, and yet I can still behave reasonably! Paulie is just strutting into the center of the stage in her usual selfish way, and you, Mark, are conniving with her to let her. As you both always do. Paulie, you behave or I’ll make you! This is serious.”
They stared at her like injured children, such was her majesty. At length, Paulie whispered, “Sorry.”
“Good,” said Amanda. “Now, Mark, what made Gladys think you’d be able to contact this girl’s soul?”
“Because she was desperate to tell me something when she died,” he admitted. “I’m sorry—it was so peculiar that I’ve rather avoided thinking about it, but I should have told you. Apart from anything else, she was probably from the pirate universe. Gladys was sure she was. I think that was what made Gladys see I was right.”
“Then,” said Amanda, “let’s get on with it. Are you helping, Paulie? Good—get over there then. Mark, you take the north and do the invocation. How many candles?”
“Just one in the middle,” said Mark.
There were few other questions. They all knew what to do. Shortly, with the solitary candle casting dark leaf-flickers over ceiling and faces, and gusting occasionally from the wind that still roared outside, they stood in three-quarters of a circle, and Mark, standing with his back to the fire so that the glow of it shone red through his gown, spread his arms and began the strange, simple call that summoned a dead soul.
By fire and flete and candlelight, to hearth and house and warmth, he called, and called three times. The sound of the wind dropped away. None of them heard anything but the light breathing of the others and the gentle whickering of the candle flame.
He spread his arms to call her to earth and air and flame, but she was there already. She had been yearning for the call. Her gusty voice filled the room.
Oh, I’m so glad!
They had all expected her to manifest, if she was visible at all, somewhere among the plants where they had left space for her to come, but she manifested instead in the middle, hovering over the candle like a tall, streaming nimbus, causing the skin of them all to prickle with the haunting energy of her. She had not been, perhaps, very beautiful in life, but she was beautiful now. She had, Mark remembered, manifested like a flame at her death. She was all flame now.
I knew you’d call, her voice gusted. I waited. I had to tell you. I knew you didn’t know.
“Which of us are you speaking to?” Amanda asked quietly.
The man I came to this otherworld to find, she said. The one who called me. Herrel Listanian.
“His name is Mark Lister,” Paulie said. “You mean he’s an analogue?”
No, the gusty voice insisted. The man who called is
Herrel Listanian.
Paulie drew breath to argue. Amanda’s eyes caught the candlelight and glinted off the substance of the ghost as she stopped Paulie with a look. “Please explain,” she said.
His name. His mother gave him a new name when she broke him in half and sent this half here to otherworld, the dead girl gusted. Forgive me. I helped her. I thought it would save him. But she used both halves as her puppets just as she always did. Mark could feel her presence orientate on him. The candle flame streamed toward him, imploringly, and guttered with the flickering voice. Forgive me. I helped put you here to spy for her, and now I can feel her pursuing you with a sending. You must have disobeyed her. Forgive me. The only good that came of it is that she stopped punishing you like this for a while.
“His mother is who?” Amanda asked.
Marceny, chief Lady of Leathe, the reply came, but the candle flame still streamed toward Mark. She sent you to rule the magework here and tell her what you knew. I helped because I thought it would save you. It was done for pity and love. Forgive me.
“How would it save him?” said Amanda.
To have the best half of yourself free, the voice gusted pleadingly. And you were free, and I saw you didn’t know. So I had to come to tell you, to atone, but I died too soon. Forgive me. Let me go.
Mark could hardly move. His face, and his tongue, were stiff, but he managed to croak, “I—forgive you,” and the words of release.
She gave a small, gusting sigh. The nimbus faded away, and the candle flame burned straight.
“Mark!” squawked Paulie.
Amanda gave her another quelling look. “Who was she, Mark?”
“Colny Ventoran, my mother’s best assistant,” he answered without thinking. “She always was rather an intense little—” He stopped, seeing the way they were both looking at him.
“Then you’re from the pirate universe?” said Amanda.
“I rather fear I must be,” he agreed.
* * *
IX
Arth and Pentarchy
* * *
1
« ^ »
You what?” said Edward.
“Come from otherworld,” Judy repeated, speaking very muffled, with her head down to twiddle the tapes of her medical gown. “We all do—the whole capsule did.”
Edward, as always, did not react in any way she expected. Instead of demanding to know more, exclaiming, repudiating her, or racing off to inform the High Head, he simply turned away to the blue embrasure of the window, where he stood gazing out at the blank blueness and tapping the fingers of his large, agile right hand on the sill. Judy waited, long, long minutes. Before the wait was over, she was fighting herself not to say—in what she knew would be a girlish whine—Don’t you love me anymore now? Edward had this ability to make her behave—and feel—like an insecure schoolgirl. Perhaps, she thought, this was because it was what she was deep down and naturally. Before she knew Edward, she had never, not once, felt natural with any man.
She managed not to speak and was glad she hadn’t when Edward turned back to her with a look of mild exasperation. “This just shows,” he said, “how important it is to keep questioning our reasons for believing things. It’s particularly important with traditional doctrines. Here were we in Arth all assuming, without question, that otherworld is a debased copy of ours, and the inhabitants of it some form of reptile—and why? Because some High Brother or Head Magus made inadequate observations centuries ago and decided it was so. And we acted on this assumption, and did our experiments, and never once thought to examine otherworld as we examine other universes. And now you tell me that you’re as human as I am. Judy, I’m ashamed—for Arth and for the Pentarchy—I truly am.”
Judy stared at him, feeling that radiance was breaking out all over her. She had hardly dared to believe that even Edward would take the news this way. “Edward, you’re amazing.”
Edward put a hand on each of her shoulders and gripped with the gentle grip that Judy, from the start, would have walked through fire for. “Why have you only told me this now, though?”
She hung her head again. This was the question she could not answer honestly. How could she tell him that this was the result of agitated planning in the women’s quarters? Roz demanded action. Flan and Helen wanted firm news about Zillah. Knowing Edward, Judy could not believe there were any hidden horrors in Arth and said so, whereupon Flan, to everyone’s surprise, burst into tears, and Roz loudly expressed her contempt of both of them. And Sandra surprised Judy, and Roz too, by telling Roz to shut her mouth until she knew what she was talking about. “See here, Judy,” Sandra said, “something’s wrong. No one’s seen Zillah or Marcus since yesterday, and no one will talk about them. Everyone’s suddenly busy with rituals all the time, and they’re beginning to look funny at me in Calculus. Suppose they found out about us? We need to know. Edward is High Horns’s friend. You go and ask him about Zillah and see what else you can pick up while you’re at it. You have to. It’s urgent.” The rest had agreed—though Judy felt that there was no need for Roz to add, “If you can conquer your passion enough to remember your mission, that is.”
Because of what Roz said, Judy resolved—in this newly discovered schoolgirl way of hers—that she would only ask Edward if she gave him important information herself first. That made it fair. And it did seem, from what the others said, that it was only a matter of time before someone in Arth guessed where the women were from. But not being able to tell Edward any of this, she hung her head and told him something else that happened to be true.
“Because I love you. I didn’t want to be under false pretenses anymore.”
Edward kissed her. It was reverent and wondering. He had told her that if he had even suspected what it was like to love a woman, he would never have thought of joining the Brotherhood.
Eventually, still not feeling honest, Judy said, not sounding as casual as she would have liked, “By the way, have you any idea where Zillah and her little boy have got to? Nobody seems to know.”
The slightly austere look Judy had dreaded seeing came over Edward’s face. Much of it was guilt. He had once quite lustfully thought of Zillah before he came to know Judy. That felt like retroactive infidelity now. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about that,” he said. As far as he knew, Zillah, Josh, and Philo were still wandering about in the depths of Arth, somehow parrying all the magework used to find them. The only other explanation for their disappearance was, he had agreed with the High Head, plain impossible. So search parties were still looking. And for fear of the alarm and despondency it might spread, he could not tell Judy what havoc the truants seemed to be working upon the fundamental rhythms of Arth. But being reminded by this of his friend and his duty, Edward added reflectively, “I suppose I must tell the High Head that you all come from otherworld.”
“Oh, need you?” Judy said. She must, after all, have been relying on Edward not to react like any other High Brother, she saw. Roz was not going to forgive her for this.
“I do need to,” he said. “Arth has been laboring under false assumptions for centuries. The Magus will be glad to put that right.”
Glad, Judy thought, was not a word anyone but Edward would have chosen. In a dither of panic, she said, “When—when are you going to tell him?”
“Oh, when I next see him, I suppose,” Edward said vaguely. It had occurred to him, too, that glad might not properly describe his friend’s reaction. He might find Judy snatched away from him. Perhaps it would be better to wait until the vibrations settled down and Lawrence was in a better humor. “I shan’t see him until this evening anyway,” he said, consoling himself and Judy.
* * *
2
« ^ »
To Zillah, it felt as if they all spilled out feet-first as though Arth were a giant helter-skelter. So strong was this impression that, when the light ceased to dazzle her, she looked upward, expecting to see Arth hanging above like an enormous blue tornado, or at least the
twisted tail of it joining them to wherever they were now.
Blue was certainly what she saw, but it was the clouded blue of sky appearing through dark, shiny leaves. Among the leaves were small white flowers and round golden fruit. They were in a grove of fruit trees, and the light was, in fact, only bright after the darkness in the base of the citadel.
“What did you do?” Josh asked. He was collapsed on the grass with all four legs folded. Deep dents in the soft turf showed where he had landed and staggered before folding. Even so, he was keeping a firm arm around Marcus, who was struggling to get himself and his bag of toys off Josh’s back.
“Daddle,” Marcus announced.
“I didn’t do anything,” Zillah said.
“Yes you did,” said Philo, who was clinging to the nearest fruiting tree. He looked as if he might fold like Josh without it. “I never felt power like it!”
“Daddle!” insisted Marcus.
There was a small lake, or large pool, of an extraordinary fresh blue-green in the center of the grove. A play of mounded water and white bubbles near the middle showed where the pool was being fed constantly by a spring. Zillah could not blame Marcus for wanting to paddle. It was hot in this grove. But the whole of it had a look that was somehow—special.
“Better not, Marcus,” said Philo. “This all belongs to the Goddess.”
Over the days of their acquaintance, Marcus had decided Philo was the wise man of the party. He did not protest. He nodded gravely at Philo. “Dow?”
Zillah helped Marcus slide down off Josh. “Have either of you any idea where we are?”
“It feels like the Pentarchy,” Philo said decidedly. “But how far south or north we are depends—this hot, it could be summer in central Trenjen or winter in south Leathe. These orange trees don’t give much away. If only we knew what season—”
“Spring,” said Josh. He pointed to where, between two orange trees, some small blue-gray irises were flowering.