She nodded.
The Patternists had gotten wood for their cooking fire from a pair of ancient dead trees behind the ruin. Now they took more of the wood, and made a funeral pyre for the fallen Housemaster.
The woman, Rain, had washed smeared blood from Coransee’s face and closed his eyes. She had straightened his body on its pyre and wept over him. Now, as he burned, as Amber saw to it that he was completely incinerated, others wept too. Teray watched them impassively for a few moments, then walked away. There was something missing. He had hated Coransee. He had never been more pleased at another person’s death. Yet …
The mutes would have made a ceremony, a funeral. Mutes were ceremony-making creatures. Patternists had left such things to them for so long that there were almost no Patternist ceremonies left. For a funeral, ancient words would have been said, and the body consigned to the earth with quiet dignity. Even Patternists who thought no more of mutes than they did of draft animals attended such ceremonies with respect. They had become the due of any Patternist or mute who died—a time for friends, husbands, and wives to pay last respects. The ten who had belonged to Coransee, who now belonged to Teray, would have appreciated it.
Amber came to stand beside Teray. “It’s done.”
“All right.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get us out of here as soon as they’ve buried the ashes.”
“While you were unconscious, they asked me which of us would lead them—you or me.”
Teray turned to look at her, his expression cautious, questioning.
She smiled. “Would I have saved you if I wanted them that badly? You know they’re yours. His whole House is yours.”
“Did you … did you want it at all?”
“A House like that? If you had been anyone else, Teray, you and Coransee would have burned together.”
He shuddered, knowing she meant it, knowing that he was alive only because she loved him. Not for the first time, he realized what a really dangerous woman she could be. If he could not make her his wife, he would be wise to make her at least an ally.
“I’d give you that House if it weren’t so far from Forsyth,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t want you that far away from me if I succeed Rayal.”
“I think you will succeed him, but …”
“If I do, it will probably be in spite of whatever Rayal can do to stop me. But look, if it happens, I’ll try to find a Housemaster in Forsyth who’s willing to make a trade—move to Redhill. If I can’t, I’ll give you any help you need to establish a new House in Forsyth.”
“You’ve decided I’m going to settle in Forsyth.”
“At the very least, you’re going to stay in Forsyth. After all, I’m offering you a bribe.”
She laughed, as he had intended her to, but did not give him an answer, exactly. “Do you realize we’re linked again?” she asked.
That startled him. He could see at once that it was true, but he had not been aware of linking with her. He could not recall when it had happened.
“I was healing you,” she said. “I wasn’t shielded, of course, and you just caught hold.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You didn’t know what you were doing. You were just returning to a familiar position. I didn’t mind. Frankly, I was glad to have you back. If you wind up in Forsyth, one way or another, I’ll get a House there.”
He kissed her. She had put him in just the right frame of mind for the other thing he had to do. He went over to the cluster of outsiders and women who stood watching as Coransee’s ashes were covered with earth. When that was done, he spoke to them.
“Come back into the building and sit down,” he told them. “We have one more thing to do before we go on.”
They obeyed silently. Some of them, Rain in particular, clearly resented him, but they had seen him kill their Housemaster in a fair fight. Custom said they should lower their heads and accept him as their new Housemaster, unless one of them wanted to challenge.
“We’re surrounded by Clayarks,” he said. “If we go on through them the way we have, someone will be killed. Instead, I intend to kill the Clayarks. All of them. Now.” The ten Patternists understood him. They began to look apprehensive. “I need your strength as well as my own for this,” he continued. “I want all of you to open and link with me.”
Immediately there was protest.
“You don’t have any right to ask that of us,” said a man named Isaac. “Even if we could be sure you knew what you were doing that would be too much.”
Teray said nothing, just looked at the man.
“We hardly know you, and you’re asking us to trust you with our lives.”
“Your lives will be safe with me.”
“You say. Even Coransee never asked this of us.”
“I’m not asking it either.”
Isaac glared at him for a moment, then glanced out to where the ashes of Coransee were buried. Finally he lowered his head.
“Lord.” It was Goran who spoke. There was no hostility in his voice. “Lord, we are all far apart in the Pattern. Are you certain that anyone other than Rayal can bring us all together?”
“I can.” He was surprised to realize that he actually was as confident as he sounded. He had never gathered such a widespread group before, yet he had no doubt that he could do it, or that he should do it. “Open to me,” he said. “It will be easier on you if …”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Rain. Teray had expected to have trouble with her. “You think you can do what he could because you’re his brother? You think you’re as good as he was?” She was standing up now, and shouting. Teray spoke to her quietly.
“Sit down, Rain, and be quiet.”
“You’re nothing compared to him, and you never will …”
She was much stronger than Jackman, but getting through her shield was not too difficult. Very carefully, he pushed her into unconsciousness—that to prevent her from wasting her strength fighting him. He formed a link with her. The unity was not pleasant even while she was unconscious, but he would get used to it.
“I understand her problem,” he told the others. “I realize that some of the rest of you feel the same way. That’s why I’ve been patient. But now I’m through being patient. Those of you who refuse to open, I will force—not necessarily as gently as I forced Rain. Goran?” He had chosen Goran because he knew the young outsider would not refuse.
Goran opened. Beside him, taking her cue from him, Lias also opened. That got things started. It was not necessary for Teray to force anyone else.
Within seconds, he controlled the combined strength of ten Patternists. He had linked, then taken from all ten at once. The exhilaration he felt was something totally new to him. The canopy of his awareness first seemed almost as broad as the sky itself.
Feeling like some huge bird, he projected his awareness over the territory. He could see, could sense, the lightly wooded land dotted with ruined buildings. He could see the distant ranges of hills, was aware of the even-more-distant mountains. The mountains were far beyond his striking range. In fact, they were near Forsyth, still over a day’s journey away, but he could see them. He swooped about, letting his extended awareness range free through the hills and valleys. Then, finally, he settled down, and focused his awareness on the Clayarks who formed a wide half-circle around his party. He swept down on them, killing.
Before, with Amber, he had killed dozens of Clayarks. Now he killed hundreds, perhaps thousands. He killed until he could find no more Clayarks over all his wide range. He even checked the system of underground tunnels. When he was finished, he was certain that there were no more Clayarks anywhere near enough to affect him or his party.
Then suddenly Rayal was with him.
You’ve done well, young one. Very well. But be careful when you let your people go. Release only their strength. Keep your links with them.
&nb
sp; What am I being careful of? he asked coldly. You or my people? He would never forgive the old man for refusing him help when he needed it so desperately. Rayal picked up his thought.
I don’t care whether or not you forgive me, young one. But keep in mind what you told Coransee’s people a few minutes ago. I suspect I’m even less patient than you are.
Teray took the hint. What do you want of me?
Let the woman know that you’ll be unconscious for a while once you let go of your people’s strength. Tell her not to try to help you—just to keep your people off you. She did it once. She’ll have to do it again. It’s a good thing you hadn’t taken from her too.
He had not taken strength from Amber because she had obviously been tired. She had done her share for the day, he had thought. Now, obediently, he relayed Rayal’s thought to her. Rayal continued before she could reply.
Now let them go. All at once, the way you took them. If you try it one at a time, you might kill the last ones by giving back too much to the first one.
Teray obeyed, let the strength of the ten Patternists snap away from him like a released spring.
The breath seemed to go out of his body. There seemed to be nothing left of him. He sagged, the strength of his muscles gone. The strength of his mind kept him alive, but it did nothing more. He could still understand Rayal’s mental voice speaking inside him, but it would be a while before he could respond.
It’s never easy, sent the old man. But the first time is always the worst. Ten or ten thousand, it doesn’t make any difference if they aren’t compatible with you. You pay for the power you take from them. You pay whether you take it through a few temporary links or through the Pattern itself.
Can you tell whether the others are all right? Teray could not project the thought. He had no strength for that. But he hoped Rayal would pick it up.
They’re fine. Even the one you had to knock out is still all right. They wonder what’s the matter with you.
They aren’t the only ones.
Rayal projected amusement. You’re fine. Recovering faster than I expected. You’d better be fine. I’ve stayed alive fifteen damnable years longer than I wanted to, waiting for you.
In his surprise, Teray could not form a coherent thought.
Surprised, young one? It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re good enough to succeed me, nothing else matters.
But why would you wait for me? You had chosen Coransee.
Coransee had chosen himself.
But he said …
That’s right. He said. Of course, he could have succeeded me. No doubt he would have if you hadn’t killed him.
But you didn’t want him to?
He wasn’t good enough, young one.
He was stronger than I am.
That’s not surprising. He was stronger than I would be alone—though I never let him know it. But the strength was all he had. That healing ability that your Amber found in you was all but missing in him. She’s not the only healer who’s tried to teach him.
But why would healing ability be that important to a Patternmaster?
The healing part of it isn’t. It’s the way a healer can kill. The way Amber taught you. Without that method just now, you would have killed at least three of the people you just took power from. Three out of ten. You would have been punching holes in Clayarks, wasting strength that wasn’t yours to waste. Imagine killing thirty per cent of the Patternists in even an average-size House.
Teray winced away from the idea. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell him? If he understood, he might not have had to die.
I wouldn’t have sacrificed one of Jansee’s sons if he hadn’t had to die. Do you really think anyone could have talked him out of wanting the Pattern?
You could have, perhaps.
Young one, me least of all. Think! The only thing that kept him from attacking me outright to take the Pattern was the belief that it would come to him without a struggle if he waited a little longer.
Could he have taken it?
Very possibly.
Teray sighed, feeling the strength flowing back into his body. He could have opened his eyes if he had wanted to and seen Amber next to him waiting.
I will never gather the strength of the Pattern in my mind again, sent Rayal. It would kill me. When the need arises next, young one, the Pattern will be yours. That will kill me, too, but at least I’ll die alone—not take thousands of people with me.
But you can’t just give it to me. Others will contest…
I will give it to you. You’d win it anyway if there was anyone better than you around, I wouldn’t have chosen you. And once you have it, with your health and strength, those who contest will be no more to you than that girl Rain. Remember that and treat them gently. Your only real opponent is dead.
But another healer … a better healer. …
You’ve got a better healer sitting next to you. And she’ll always be a better healer. You won’t ever surpass her in healing skill. And she won’t ever surpass you in strength. There are plenty of better healers, but no stronger healers. And no weaker healer could survive what you just survived. You have the right combination of abilities.
Teray sighed, opened his eyes, and sat up. He looked at Amber and she nodded slightly.
“I’m receiving too,” she said. “He wants me to know.”
Teray addressed Rayal. You couldn’t have kept Coransee from killing me, could you?
No. Not unless I fought him. He had already made up his mind about you—and from his point of view, he was right. You were definitely a danger to him even though at first you didn’t want to be. I didn’t dare fight him. There was too much chance of his winning. So it was all up to you.
And you couldn’t very well tell me without taking the chance of also telling him. Teray shook his head. You’ve been bluffing everyone for a long time, Lord.
Only for the past couple of years. Only since I’ve become so weak and sick that taking strength from any but the most compatible of my people would have killed me.
Still a long time to bluff people who might have read any slip in your thoughts.
A long wearying time, the old man agreed. Hurry and get here. You have no idea how tired I am.
A Biography of Octavia E. Butler
Octavia E. Butler (1947–2006) was a bestselling and award-winning author, considered one of the best science fiction writers of her generation. She received both the Hugo and Nebula awards, and in 1995 became the first author of science fiction to receive a MacArthur Fellowship. She was also awarded the prestigious PEN Lifetime Achievement Award in 2000.
Butler’s father died when she was very young; her mother raised her in Pasadena, California. Shy, tall, and dyslexic, Butler immersed herself in reading whatever books she could find. She began writing at twelve, when a B movie called Devil Girl from Mars inspired her to try writing a better science-fiction story.
She took writing classes throughout college, attending the Clarion Writers Workshop and, in 1969, the Open Door Workshop of the Screenwriters’ Guild of America, a program designed to mentor Latino and African American writers. There she met renowned science fiction author Harlan Ellison, who adopted Butler as his protégé.
In 1974 she began writing Patternmaster (1976), set in a future world where a network of all-powerful telepaths dominate humanity. Praised both for its imaginative vision and for Butler’s powerful prose, the novel spawned four prequels, beginning with Mind of My Mind (1977) and finishing with Clay’s Ark (1984).
Although the Patternist series established Butler among the science fiction elite, Kindred (1979) brought her mainstream success. In that novel, a young black woman travels back in time to the antebellum South, where she is called on to protect the life of a white, slaveholding ancestor. Kindred’s protagonist stood out in a genre that, at the time, was widely dominated by white men.
In 1985, Butler won Nebula and Hugo awards for the novella Bloodchild, which was reprinted in 1995 a
s Bloodchild and Other Stories. Dawn (1987) began the Xenogenesis trilogy, about a race of aliens who visit earth to save humanity from itself. Adulthood Rites (1988) and Imago (1989) continue the story, following the life of the first child born with a mixture of alien and human DNA.
Fledgling (2005), which combines vampire and science fiction narratives, was Butler’s final novel. “She wasn't writing romance or feel-good novels,” mystery author Walter Mosley said. “She was writing very difficult, brilliant work.” Her books have been translated into several languages, and continue to appear widely in school and college literature curricula.
Butler died at home in Washington in 2006.
Butler, age three, sits with her mother for a photo in Los Angeles in 1951.
Butler at age thirteen. She began writing the year before when a science fiction film—the cult favorite Devil Girl from Mars—inspired her to create something of her own.
Butler’s 1965 senior class photo from John Muir High School in Pasadena, California.
Butler reading a book in 1975, the year before she published Patternmaster.
Butler on a book tour for Parable of the Sower in New York City in 1993.
Butler addresses the audience at Marygrove College, Detroit, during the Contemporary American Author Lecture Series in 1994.
Butler won both Nebula and Hugo awards for her contributions to the science fiction genre. (Photo courtesy of Anna Fedor.)
Butler with authors Tananarive Due, Jewelle Gomez (standing), Samuel R. Delany, and Steven Barnes (sitting) at Clark Atlanta University’s conference for African American science fiction writers—the first of its kind—in 1997.
When Butler passed away in 2006, the New York Times eulogized her as a world-renowned author whose science fiction explored “far-reaching issues of race, sex, power and, ultimately, what it means to be human.”