“Even the trees live longer than we do,” Emtash’s voice was saying plaintively.
And not one nut out of the thousand a pine produces makes a tree …
Gilzara raised a hand, hearing his own voice far-off through the blood singing in his ears. “Enough. I understand what you want. I cannot summon the Zem’l to you in so important a matter; instead I will seek them out myself and lay your request before them.”
“You’ll do that for us?” cried Zidzod.
Gilzara gripped his staff to conceal the trembling of his hands. “Don’t be too hopeful. I can’t promise a favorable answer; the Zem’l are often unpredictable. But I can turn their wrath away from you; they will never harm the guardian of their shrine.”
“When – when will you ask them?” quavered Emtash.
“Tomorrow morning at sunrise. I must have time to meditate and to rest. Remember how old I am.” Gilzara’s laugh broke on the words. He looked at the faces gazing up at him, open-mouthed, bewildered, innocent. “Tiloi will see to your lodging for the night. Don’t be afraid. No Kaira has ever been harmed here on the ground where Lulzem shaped the Slate Men’s bones.” And he turned to retreat into the hut he shared with Javon.
* * *
She lay as she always lay these days – a shrunken bundle in the heap of fur robes, racked continually by the palsy that was shaking the life out of her. Her face, the color of faded coal ash, turned slowly to Gilzara as he entered. But the fire burned in the fire bowl with a clear red-gold flame, unfueled, indomitable. Javon’s power was greater than his; she could summon and bind fire to her will.
He lowered himself to a stool beside her, reaching to touch the thin braid of ash-gray hair that lay upon her shoulder. “Javon … ”
“I heard what you said to them. My outer ear may be weakening, but the inner is still strong.”
“They want to ask for extended life,” he whispered, kneading his hands together.
“What made you lie to them, Gilzara?”
“Lie?” He frowned upon her.
“You can summon Krozem to them. You can let them ask for this boon themselves. The Zem’l will not harm a person making a courteous request, no matter how unusual. They are angered only by willfulness, Gilzara.”
The angle of her eyes upon him, the twist of her voice, made him turn away and stretch out his hands to the fire. “No. I want to consult Krozem alone first. I have to know what his answer might be.”
“First you told them you could shield them from the Zem’l’s wrath. Then you reminded them no Kaira has ever been harmed on this holy ground. If they were not so simple, they would see contradictions in your words.”
“Stop it! What evil have you ever known in me?”
“None. But I have known – one who could not endure defeat … ” Javon’s voice faltered and her breath caught in a whine.
He was at her side, kneeling, his touch pleading with her. “Javon, what is it? If only I could help you … ”
“Nothing. I’m tired. Just give me a little drink of water.” And she began to drift away from him, into that world of half-dream that lies before the cave of death.
* * *
The climb in the predawn darkness took longer than Gilzara had anticipated and he arrived at the shrine as light was breaking, with barely a moment to recover his wind. Collapsing on his knees at the altar stone, he buried his sweating face in his hands, feeling the bite of the soundless dawn wind. He had scarcely slept that night and his thoughts were tumultuous, unshaped.
At last he lifted his head, looking west where the sun was rising over the black peak called Latwonas. Out of his eye’s corner he could see the glacial crown of the Starbell turning to fire. Already the circle of stones was emerging into light. He spread his arms. It was not difficult to summon a Zem out of the hidden realm. One had only to call, silently, with the mind. It was only an attunement of mind.
Slowly Krozem began to take shape within the ring of stones. He appeared always in human form, unlike the other Zem’l, who came frequently as fires or mists – shapes horrific and unpredictable. This time Krozem came robed with the dawn sun, blue-bodied as the fairest woman, with sky-colored hair. The sex of the Zem’l could shift; this time Krozem looked more female than Gilzara could ever recall. He swallowed the rising in his throat, remembering a youthful Javon.
Krozem seated himself gracefully on a stone. “Gilzara,” he said, with the voice of the created body. “How can I serve you?”
“Lord Krozem … ” He stopped, steadied his voice. “I come – with a question.”
“A question? Not a petition?”
Gilzara moved uneasily. He was never sure how much the Zem’l knew of his intentions before he summoned them. “And a petition also. Lord Krozem, it is a question of – the mortality of humans.”
The Zem waited, the liquid crystal of his eyes flashing through Gilzara.
“Lord Krozem, you have made humans to die before their lives are fulfilled, while the Troil … ”
“Troizem created the Troil, priest, not me. The medium is different. Ziraf set only one stricture upon us all: to produce variety in our creation. So the essential spirit-nature of the Troil and the simple life instinct of the animals were not enough. I gave your kind that mixed nature of which you are aware, Gilzara. Because of it, humans are bound by mortality, whatever they would do.”
The words chilled Gilzara like cold fingers laid against his heart and he cried out, “Why must that be? Why would you make us beautiful, vital, full of hopes and dreams and the will to strive, and then give us so little time? So little time to realize any of those hopes, those dreams … Look at Zhinthá, Lord. It stood at the foundations of time, and still dreams on … ”
“Even the Starbell,” said the Zem, “wears a face different from the one it wore at the foundation of time.”
Gilzara pressed clasped hands over his trembling lips. “Are you not Krozem the Creator of Humankind?” he whispered. “Have you no power to change what you have made? Give us time, Lord – time and the strength of body to answer the demands of Ziraf’s spirit.”
The eyes of the Zem seemed to absorb the sunlight from behind and pour it over his supplicant as a blue flame. “For whom are you asking?” he said. “For Emtash of Greivat – or for yourself?”
For the first time in Krozem’s presence, Gilzara felt afraid. “Lord, I ask – for all humans.”
“All humans cannot have what you ask. Their material nature binds them to produce offspring as strongly as it binds them to die. If all such were immortal, the world would be overburdened with them and the balance of Órozem would be upset.”
“Then, Lord, then – for some of us.”
Krozem was silent, his chin leaning on his hand meditatively as he surveyed Gilzara. Then something flickered in the depths of his eyes, and as if taking a sudden decision, he melted into a standing position. “This requires some pondering,” he said. “It requires consultation with the Six. Such a profound change in the nature of things affects the balances.”
Gilzara pushed himself up from the stone. “Lord, when will you … ?”
“This evening, at sundown. Come then.” Again the flicker of the eyes, remote, appraising – perhaps ironic. “Indeed, Gilzara, you may allow yourself to hope.”
* * *
He came into the hut and dropped to the floor beside his wife, gasping and laughing. “Javon – Javon – they have answered me! We must wait, but we can hope … ”
“Gilzara, you’ll kill yourself yet with your haste. Rest. Get your breath back.”
He clutched at her, holding her arms, seeking to subdue their tremor. “No. You don’t understand. I asked Krozem for time. He was receptive. He gave me no immediate decision, but he was receptive. I am to go back at sundown, to receive his answer.”
A sigh, tremulous, harsh, came from her throat.
“Javon,
he permitted me to hope.”
“Gilzara … ”
“Soon there will be no more shortness of breath – no shaking in the night – no pain eating the heart. Javon, we’ll run to the top of Ora Vakana and back down again – we’ll swim from island to shore as we did in our youth! Javon – Javon – we’ll climb the Starbell together!”
She stared into his face out of eyes startled, fearful. “’We?’”
His brow netted into a frown. “Did you think – you, the beloved of my youth and my age – that I would accept unending life and leave you behind to die?”
Her face twitched, eyes closing. “Gilzara, who was it that requested this favor?”
He drew back a little. “Emtash will have what he wants! But why, woman – why in Ziraf’s name, if an ignorant man like Emtash can have it, should we not have it, too?”
She was looking at him again, eyes bright with fear, and she said nothing.
“Javon.” Gilzara sat back. “Javon, have you forgotten the dreams we once had? To leave the mountains of the Crown – to see Gold Haven – the Songmist and the Highshadow – the great valleys of the south? We were going to journey to the farthest reaches of the world, where the Kairam have never journeyed – into those inconceivable lands that have no heights upon them, to the shores of the waters that run unbroken even to the edges of the world! We wanted to see for ourselves if there are giants with gold skins and topaz eyes who sail on those waters, and women with bone-white bodies and hair colored like the sunrise. Javon, if the Zem’l grant this prayer, we can do those things yet – we can do them together, when we are five hundred years old!”
As tears blinded him, he felt her quivering hand brush him like the wings of a wind Troi.
“Gilzara, I’m afraid – afraid for you, not for myself. You want this too badly. You have forgotten how Lord Krozem plays with those he created. He gave them a will and set them free, and then he tests that will. He sets traps for them, Gilzara; you mustn’t trust him. A hundred times you’ve seen this, but now you want something too badly, and you forget.”
In a moment he said in a shaking voice, “I cannot believe that Krozem would play games with something so painfully essential as the mortality of humans.”
She was drifting again, but the thin whisper of her voice still reached him. “Gilzara, think … Gilzara … be careful … ”
He mounted to his feet, running a hand over his face. The flame in the empty fire bowl was flickering feebly. “Javon, I have to do this,” he whispered. “If there is a risk, I must take it. There is so much both of us have missed.”
Going out of the hut, he called Tiloi to sit with Javon, then informed Emtash perfunctorily that the decision would come that evening. Leaving the garth, he again set his steps toward the heights of the Giant’s Head, to spend some time alone with his thoughts.
* * *
All day Gilzara wandered among the dark outcroppings and wind-twisted trees of Tin-Arul Island, seeking out the places where one could see the Starbell, meeting no sentient being except a shy wind Troi of the heights, who never spoke, only brushed him with multifold, transparent feathers and purred cold laughter in his ear. He drank the water of the rock pools, but he ate nothing all day. By afternoon he was exhausted, but somehow he could not bring himself to return to Javon.
Near sundown he went to the shrine and stood at the altar waiting, with the sun declining behind him, sending a long shadow of himself westward. Then, unsummoned, Krozem was there, robed in the silver-blue of the rising moon.
“You are prompt, Gilzara,” he said.
The old man sank to the ground behind the altar stone, gripping it. “I’m ready to hear your answer, Lord.”
“Are you?” Krozem’s head tilted a little. “State your request again, then, since you have not changed your mind.”
Gilzara stretched out his hands. “Lord,” he whispered, “time – undying time – and everlasting soundness of the body – for – for … ” He stopped.
“For yourself?” queried Krozem imperturbably.
“Lord, for – whomever you in your omniscience see fit to bless with it.” And a hollow opened in Gilzara’s breast.
Krozem nodded as if satisfied. “I mean to grant your petition. Wait!” He had raised a hand against the impulse of the priest’s voice. “In order that you may know I have the power – in order that you may comprehend the potency … ” He spread his arms and, bursting fiery on the sight, the other Six surrounded him, sitting on their stones.
Gilzara cowered and gasped, shielding his face. He had seen each Zem before but never all together at one time – the blackness of the cave-eyed Harzem, the brilliance of Zálazem Dreamer of Life and Light – the amiable grotesquerie of Troizem – lastly, the Yalosh, the Great Triad: Nírazem the Motion Dreamer, the Engenderer, hidden in a lightning-veined cloud; serene Lulzem, Mother and Shaper, figured in molded stone; Órozem Lord of Order, whose shining web held Ziraf’s world firm in its changeless turning.
“The Zem’l set the seal of Ziraf to Krozem’s works,” came the hollow voice of Harzem. “Listen to his words, Man, and take heed.”
Krozem said, “Look again, Gilzara.”
He lowered his hands and saw only the Creator of Humans, alone once more, sitting cross-legged upon his stone, his hands slack in his lap.
“Here is how to make someone immortal,” he said almost casually. “Select a token – any object will do as long as it is material in nature – a stone, a bone, or even … ” He leaned to pick up from the ground the bone-gray shards of a bird’s egg that the wind had flung there. “ … even so frail a thing as this eggshell.” He extended it upon his open palm. “Hold it in your hand as you see here and invoke upon it the Zem’l of Humans, of Life, and of Death – Krozem, Zálazem, Harzem – and seal it with the name of Ziraf. Then utter your own name and a binding in words of your own choosing. Thus you will seal your mortality into the substance of the token. As long as that token remains undestroyed, you shall then live forever in your prime. But if it should perish … ” And he crushed the eggshell in his hand and let the powder of it drift through his fingers to scatter on the wind. “ … then mortality will be turned back upon you; your life will be forfeited and your body will wither and die like the token.” He stared hard at his supplicant. “For, Gilzara, a human will always be bound by mortality. You cannot escape it; you can only elude it for a little while. Do you understand that?”
Unable to speak, Gilzara nodded, his fingers pressed to his mouth.
That same ambivalent flicker passed through the eyes of Krozem and disappeared. “But in fact I will give you more than that, Gilzara. You may work this finding upon yourself, but if you want others to join you in your immortal quest, you must yourself work the same binding upon them. And thus they may work also it upon others. Only one who has already received undying life may confer the Blessing. You, Gilzara, will be the first human to have this power. All human immortality will begin with you. What?” For his supplicant had cringed suddenly in the moonlight.
“Lord,” he stammered, “I had not asked for such a power as this. How am I to know … ?”
Krozem’s brow darkened. “What, then?” he said petulantly. “Could it be that you really desire immortality for no one but yourself?”
Foreboding shivered through Gilzara. A voice within himself said, Lord Krozem plays with his creation … He tests their wills … But the moment was too imperative; his mind was too shaken and fragmented, and he was stung by Krozem’s accusation. “No, Lord. You know I want it – not only for myself.”
The darkness of Krozem’s brow faded, but irony was evident in the movement of his mouth. “You can still reject both gifts. It is not too late.”
The stone bit into Gilzara’s palms. “No, Lord Krozem. I will – accept – what you offer me.”
The Zem sat back. “I place two strictures only on this: First, once you accept thi
s power, you may not turn from it – you must use it. Secondly, you must not misuse it. You may not keep it locked selfishly within yourself, but you must remember that man’s material nature will not change. He will remain prolific; some must die to clear the way for others. Therefore, confer undying life prudently; don’t squander it on foolish or evil men who will themselves misuse it. Do you understand, Gilzara?”
“Yes … I – understand … ”
“If you fail to keep either stricture, this gift will be withdrawn; immortality will be stripped from you and from all who have received it through you, and your name will become a curse to humankind.” Krozem’s voice was growing as hollow as Harzem’s, and his form was beginning to fade.
Gilzara’s hands went out. “Wait, Lord. Wait. Counsel me. There is so much that I don’t know … ”
“Then learn, Gilzara,” came the fading whisper. “You have ten thousand years … ”
Krozem was gone. Gilzara staggered to his feet, clutching his staff to steady himself. Above the mountains the full moon hung as delicate as silver-blue opal, although the shadows that it cast from the stone where Krozem had appeared were black
“I shall be immortal,” Gilzara whispered. “I shall have a power no one has dreamed of … ”
Then he jerked away from the stone. Javon. He could heal her. He could set them on their new life together.
Stumbling out of the clearing, he hastened down the path that would lead him back to Javon’s side.
* * *
Imperceptible to mortal eyes, the Zem’l continued to sit on their stones, watching Gilzara leave. Then Troizem shook his glittering head. “Really, Kro, I’m ashamed of you! What has that old man ever done to deserve such a fate?”
“‘Deserve?’” murmured Krozem, still watching the path where Gilzara had vanished. “Is it a matter of deserving? He has a mind of some substance. I made humans to have dreams of their own. Shouldn’t they have the opportunity to give reality to those dreams?”
“But under what constraints?” said Troizem sourly.