The stone ramp was a quarter of a mile long, inclined gradually for carts. Kit hiked up, and the noises dropped behind and below him. The barriers that would keep animals (and people) from seeing the drop-off to either side were not yet complete: there were always things left unfinished at a bridge’s opening, afterthoughts and additions. Ahead of him, the bridge was a series of perfect dark lines and arcs.
The ramp widened as it approached the pillar, and offered enough space for a cart to carefully turn onto the bridge itself. The bed of the span was barely wide enough for a cart with two oxen abreast, so Nearside and Farside would have to take turns sending wagons across. For now, Kit thought. Later we can widen it, or build another. They. It would be someone else.
The sky was overcast with high clouds the color of tin, their metallic sheen reflected in the mist below Kit. There were no railings, only fishskin ropes strung between the suspension cables that led up to the chains. Oxen and horses wouldn’t like that, or the hollow sound their feet would make on the boards. Kit watched the deck roll before him in the wind, which was constant from the southwest. The roll wasn’t so bad in this wind but perhaps they should add an iron railing or more trusses to lessen the twisting and make crossing more comfortable. Empire had sent a new engineer to take care of any final projects: Jeje Tesanthe at Atyar. He would mention it to her.
Kit walked to one side so that he could look down. Sound dropped off behind him, deadened as it always was by the mist. He could almost imagine that he was alone. It was several hundred feet down, but there was nothing to give scale to the coiling field of hammered metal below him. Deep in the mist he saw shadows that might have been a Big One or something smaller or a thickening of the mist, and then, his eyes learning what to look for, he saw more of the shadows, as though a school of fish were down there. One separated and darkened as it rose in the mist until it exposed its back almost immediately below Kit.
It was dark and knobby, shiny with moisture, flat as a skate, and it went on forever—thirty feet long perhaps, or forty, twisting as it rose to expose its underside or what he thought might be its underside. As Kit watched, the mist curled back from a flexing scaled wing of sorts, and then a patch that might have been a single eye or a field of eyes or something altogether different, and then a mouth like the arc of the suspension chains. The mouth gaped open to show another arc, a curve of gum or cartilage. The creature rolled and then sank and became a shadow and then nothing as the mist closed back over it.
Kit had stopped walking when he saw it. He forced himself to move forward again. A Big One, or perhaps just a Medium-Large One. At this height it hadn’t seemed so big or so frightening. Kit was surprised at the sadness he felt.
Farside was crammed with color and fairings as well, but Kit could not find Rasali anywhere. He bought a tankard of rye beer and went to find some place alone.
* * *
Once it became dark and the Imperial representatives were safely tucked away for the night, the guards relaxed the rules and let their friends—and then any of the locals—on the bridge to look around. People who had worked on the bridge had papers to cross without charge for the rest of their lives but many others had watched it grow, and now they charmed or bribed or begged their way onto their bridge. Covered lamps were permitted, though torches were forbidden because of the oil that protected the fishskin ropes. From his seat on the levee, Kit watched the lights move along the bridge, there and then hidden by the suspension cables and deck, dim and inconstant as fireflies.
“Kit Meinem of Atyar.”
Kit stood and turned to the voice behind him. “Rasali Ferry of Farside.” She wore blue and white, and her feet were bare. She had pulled back her dark hair with a ribbon and her pale shoulders gleamed. She glowed under the moonlight like mist. He thought of touching her, kissing her, but they had not spoken since just after Valo’s death.
She stepped forward and took the mug from his hand, drank the lukewarm beer, and just like that the world righted itself. He closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him.
He took her hand and they sat on the cold grass and looked out across the river. The bridge was a black net of arcs and lines. Behind it the mist glowed blue-white in the light of the moons. After a moment he asked, “Are you still Rasali Ferry, or will you take a new name?”
“I expect I’ll take a new one.” She half-turned in his arms so that he could see her face, her eyes. “And you? Are you still Kit Meinem, or do you become someone else? Kit Who Bridged the Mist? Kit Who Changed the World?”
“Names in the city do not mean the same thing,” Kit said absently. “Did I change the world?” He knew the answer already.
She looked at him for a moment as though trying to gauge his feelings. “Yes,” she said slowly after a moment. She turned her face up toward the loose strand of bobbing lights: “There’s your proof, as permanent as stone and sky.”
“'Permanent as stone and sky,’” Kit repeated. “This afternoon—it flexes a lot, the bridge. There has to be a way to control it but it’s not engineered for that yet. Or lightning could strike it. There are a thousand things that could destroy it. It’s going to come down, Rasali. This year, next year, a hundred years from now, five hundred.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “All these people, they think it’s forever.”
“No, we don’t,” Rasali said. “Maybe Atyar does, but we know better here. Do you need to tell a Ferry that nothing will last? These cables will fail eventually, these stones will fall—but not the dream of crossing the mist, the dream of connection. Now that we know it can happen, it will always be here. My father died. My sister Rothiel. My brother Ster. Valo.” She stopped, swallowed. “Ferrys die, but there is always a Ferry to cross the mist. Bridges and ferryfolk, they are not so different, Kit.” She leaned forward, across the space between them, and they kissed.
* * *
“Are you off soon?”
Rasali and Kit had made love on the levee against the cold grass. They had crossed the bridge together under the sinking moons, walked back to The Deer’s Hart and bought more beer, the crowds thinner now, people gone home with their families or friends or lovers—the strangers from out of town bedding down in spare rooms, tents, anywhere they could. But Kit was too restless to sleep and he and Rasali ended up back by the mist, down on the dock. Morning was only a few hours away and the smaller moon had set. It was darker now and the mist had dimmed.
“In a few days,” Kit said, thinking of the trunks and bags packed tight and gathered in his room at The Fish: the portfolio, fatter now and stained with water, mist, dirt and sweat. Maybe it was time for a new one. “Back to the capital.”
There were lights on the opposite bank, fishers preparing for their work despite the fair, the bridge. Some things don’t change.
“Ah,” she said. They both had known this. It was no surprise. “What will you do there?”
Kit rubbed his face and felt stubble under his fingers. “Sleep for a hundred years. Then there’s another bridge they want, down at the mouth of the river, a place called Ulei. The mist’s nearly a mile wide. I’ll go down and look at the site and start working on a budget.”
“A mile,” Rasali said. “Can you do it?”
“I think so. I bridged this, didn’t I?” His gesture took in the bridge and the woman beside him. “Ulei is on an alluvial plain. There are some low islands. That’s the only reason it’s possible. So maybe a series of flat stone arches, one to the next. You? You’ll keep building boats?”
“No.” She leaned her head back and he felt her face against his ear. She smelled sweet and salty. “I don’t need to. I have a lot of money. The rest of the family can build boats but for me that was just what I did while I waited to cross the mist again.”
“You’ll miss it,” Kit said. It was not a question.
Her strong hand laid over his. “Mmm,” she said, a sound without implication.
“But it was the crossing that mattered to you,” Kit said, realizin
g it. “Just as with me, but in a different way.”
“Yes,” she said and after a pause: “So now I’m wondering. How big do the Big Ones get in the Mist Ocean? And what’s on the other side?”
“Nothing’s on the other side,” Kit said. “There’s no crossing something without an end.”
“Everything can be crossed. Of course it has an end. There’s a river of water deep under the Mist River, yes? And that water runs somewhere. And all the other rivers, all the lakes—they all drain somewhere. There’s a water ocean under the Mist Ocean and I wonder whether the mist ends somewhere out there, if it spreads out and vanishes and you find you are floating on water.”
“It’s a different element,” Kit said, turning the problem over. “So you would need a boat that works through mist, light enough with that broad belly and fishskin sheathing; but it would have to be deep-keeled enough for water.”
She nodded. “I want to take a coast-skimmer and refit it, find out what’s out there. Islands, Kit. Big Ones. Huge Ones. Another whole world maybe. I think I would like to be Rasali Ocean.”
“You will come to Ulei with me?” he said but he knew already. She would come, for a month or a season or a year or even longer, perhaps. They would sleep tumbled together in an inn very like The Fish or The Bitch, and when her boat was finished, she would sail across Ocean, and he would move on to the next bridge or road. Or he might return to the capital and a position at University. Or he might rest at last.
“I will come,” she said. “For a bit.”
Suddenly he felt a deep and powerful emotion in his chest: overwhelmed by everything that had happened or would happen in their lives, the changes to Nearside and Farside, the ferry’s ending, Valo’s death, the fact that she would leave him eventually or that he would leave her. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m not,” she said and leaned across to kiss him, her mouth warm with sunlight and life. “It is worth it, all of it.”
All those losses, but this one at least he could prevent.
“When the time comes,” he said: “When you sail. I will come with you.”
A fo ben, bid bont. To be a leader, be a bridge.
Welsh proverb
Novel: Winner
Among Others, Jo Walton (Tor)
Novel: Nominees
Embassytown, China Miéville (Macmillan UK; Del Rey; Subterranean Press)
Firebird, Jack McDevitt (Ace Books)
God’s War, Kameron Hurley (Night Shade Books)
Mechanique: A Tale of the Circus Tresaulti, Genevieve Valentine (Prime Books)
The Kingdom of Gods, N. K. Jemisin (Orbit US; Orbit UK)
Novella: Winner
“The Man Who Bridged the Mist,” Kij Johnson (Asimov’s Science Fiction, October/November 2011)
Novella: Nominees
“Kiss Me Twice,” Mary Robinette Kowal (Asimov’s Science Fiction, June 2011)
“Silently and Very Fast,” Catherynne M. Valente (WSFA Press; Clarkesworld Magazine, October 2011)
“The Ice Owl,” Carolyn Ives Gilman (The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, November/December 2011)
“The Man Who Ended History: A Documentary,” Ken Liu (Panverse Three, Panverse Publishing)
“With Unclean Hands,” Adam-Troy Castro (Analog Science Fiction and Fact, November 2011)
Novelette: Winner
“What We Found,” Geoff Ryman (The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, September/October 2011)
Novelette: Nominees
“Fields of Gold,” Rachel Swirsky (Eclipse 4, Night Shade Books)
“Ray of Light,” Brad R. Torgersen (Analog Science Fiction and Fact, December 2011)
“Sauerkraut Station,” Ferrett Steinmetz (GigaNotoSaurus, November 2011)
“Six Months, Three Days,” Charlie Jane Anders (Tor.com, June 2011)
“The Migratory Pattern of Dancers,” Katherine Sparrow (GigaNotoSaurus, July 2011)
“The Old Equations,” Jake Kerr (Lightspeed Magazine, July 2011)
Short Story: Winner
“The Paper Menagerie,” Ken Liu (The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, March/April 2011)
Short Story: Nominees
“Her Husband’s Hands,” Adam-Troy Castro (Lightspeed Magazine, October 2011)
“Mama, We Are Zhenya, Your Son,” Tom Crosshill (Lightspeed Magazine, April 2011)
“Movement,” Nancy Fulda (Asimov’s Science Fiction, March 2011)
“Shipbirth,” Aliette de Bodard (Asimov’s Science Fiction, February 2011)
“The Axiom of Choice,” David W. Goldman (New Haven Review, Winter 2011)
“The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees,” E. Lily Yu (Clarkesworld Magazine, April 2011)
Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy Book: Winner
The Freedom Maze, Delia Sherman (Big Mouth House)
Norton Nominees:
Akata Witch, Nnedi Okorafor (Viking Juvenile)
Chime, Franny Billingsley (Dial Books; Bloomsbury)
Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Laini Taylor (Little, Brown Books for Young Readers; Hodder & Stoughton)
Everybody Sees the Ants, A. S. King (Little, Brown Books for Young Readers)
The Boy at the End of the World, Greg van Eekhout (Bloomsbury Children’s Books)
The Girl of Fire and Thorns, Rae Carson (Greenwillow Books)
Ultraviolet, R. J. Anderson (Orchard Books; Carolrhoda Lab)
Ray Bradbury Award for Outstanding Dramatic Presentation: Winner
Doctor Who: “The Doctor’s Wife,” Neil Gaiman (writer), Richard Clark (director) (BBC Wales)
Bradbury: Nominees
Attack the Block, Joe Cornish (writer/director) (Optimum Releasing; Screen Gems)
Captain America: The First Avenger, Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely (writers), Joe Johnston (director) (Paramount)
Hugo, John Logan (writer), Martin Scorsese (director) (Paramount)
Midnight in Paris, Woody Allen (writer/director) (Sony)
Source Code, Ben Ripley (writer), Duncan Jones (director) (Summit)
The Adjustment Bureau, George Nolfi (writer/director) (Universal)
2011 Damon Knight Grand Master Award: Connie Willis
Solstice Award: Octavia Butler (posthumous) and John Clute
SFWA Service Award: Bud Webster
1965
Novel: Dune by Frank Herbert
Novella: “He Who Shapes” by Roger Zelazny and “The Saliva Tree” by Brian Aldiss (tie)
Novelette: “The Doors of His Face, the Lamps of His Mouth” by Roger Zelazny
Short Story: “'Repent, Harlequin!’ Said the Ticktockman” by Harlan Ellison
1966
Novel: Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany and Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes (tie)
Novella: “The Last Castle” by Jack Vance
Novelette: “Call Him Lord” by Gordon R. Dickson
Short Story: “The Secret Place” by Richard McKenna
1967
Novel: The Einstein Intersection by Samuel R. Delany
Novella: “Behold the Man” by Michael Moorcock
Novelette: “Gonna Roll the Bones” by Fritz Leiber
Short Story: “Aye, and Gomorrah” by Samuel R. Delany
1968
Novel: Rite of Passage by Alexei Panshin
Novella: “Dragonrider” by Anne McCaffrey
Novelette: “Mother to the World” by Richard Wilson
Short Story: “The Planners” by Kate Wilhelm
1969
Novel: The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin
Novella: “A Boy and His Dog” by Harlan Ellison
Novelette: “Time Considered as a Helix of Semi-Precious Stones” by Samuel R. Delany
Short Story: “Passengers” by Robert Silverberg
1970
Novel: Ringworld by Larry Niven
Novella: “Ill Met in Lankhmar” by Fritz Leiber
Novelette: “Slow Sculpture” by T
heodore Sturgeon
Short Story: No Award
1971
Novel: A Time of Changes by Robert Silverberg
Novella: “The Missing Man” by Katherine MacLean
Novelette: “The Queen of Air and Darkness” by Poul Anderson
Short Story: “Good News from the Vatican” by Robert Silverberg
1972
Novel: The Gods Themselves by Isaac Asimov
Novella: “A Meeting with Medusa” by Arthur C. Clarke
Novelette: “Goat Song” by Poul Anderson
Short Story: “When It Changed” by Joanna Russ
1973
Novel: Rendezvous with Rama by Arthur C. Clarke
Novella: “The Death of Doctor Island” by Gene Wolfe
Novelette: “Of Mist, and Grass, and Sand” by Vonda N. McIntyre
Short Story: “Love Is the Plan, the Plan Is Death” by James Tiptree Jr.
Dramatic Presentation: Soylent Green
1974
Novel: The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin
Novella: “Born with the Dead” by Robert Silverberg
Novelette: “If the Stars Are Gods” by Gordon Eklund and Gregory Benford
Short Story: “The Day before the Revolution” by Ursula K. Le Guin
Dramatic Presentation: Sleeper by Woody Allen
Grand Master: Robert Heinlein
1975
Novel: The Forever War by Joe Haldeman
Novella: “Home Is the Hangman” by Roger Zelazny