Shadows of the New Sun: Stories in Honor of Gene Wolfe (36 page)

“She speaks truth—we won’t die?” he asked, his large blue eyes turned up to mine.

“She speaks truth,” I said. Somewhere about his person I sensed love, hope, and desperation. “You wear your mother’s charm, don’t you?”

Chettor plunged his hand into the small purse at his hip and drew forth a mass of colored string tied in complicated knots.

“There, you have your protection,” I said, with as much sincerity as I could muster. I heard the brassy tang of a needful lie in my voice, and hoped he did not discern it. I was glad he could not share my sensitivity or know my fears. The world had become too strange for me to cope with it.

Our lives had begun their inevitable change months ago, when we departed from our age-old home within the Citadel in Nessus. The Order of Esoteric and Practical Knowledge, or witches, as we were known by outsiders, had always occupied a courtyard and tower close by that of our brothers the torturers, whose official title was the Order of the Seekers for Truth and Penitence. Where their home was metal and seemed made to withstand a cataclysm, ours had the air of a folly, put up by its architects in a mood of whimsy and left to deteriorate and be patched as needed. In spite of its appearance, I never felt that our home lacked any requirement. We made and made do, as any thrifty house wife without the Citadel’s mighty walls, but a sturdy structure was not important to any of us. If we were warm in the steadily lengthening winter and cool enough in the shrinking summer, had enough to eat and drink, and were free of fear of assault from without, what mattered were our studies.

Alongside the armorers and engineers, we stood as a bulwark between the Autarch and his or her enemies. Our activity was scarcely noted most of the time. We detected subtle upsets in the aether, studied, and then reported on them to our Guildmistress. Sometimes a subject would undergo study for days or centuries before any official notice was taken of it. We interacted often with the cacogens who moved freely among our number. To the ordinary citizen of Nessus, they might be fearsome and deadly; to us, they were fellow seekers.

Our studies and interactions were not always welcome among the common folk. The two chief reasons we lived within the Citadel were that the Autarch might require immediate knowledge of our discoveries, and that at times our received and gleaned knowledge was unwelcome or frightening. We as its messengers were often assailed for the content of our revelations, though we were not responsible for the answers.

We couldn’t always provide those answers. The wisdom of the Autarch understood that, and was not angry when we could not offer counsel. He (and it was always he, until the last Autarch before the New Sun, Valeria) kept us safe to use us as a resource, a haven against those who did not understand those who could perceive beyond normal human senses. Always it has been human nature to fear what you could not understand, and kill what you feared before it could kill you. The wise among us knew that was the way of the world, just or unjust, and troubled not to protest over it. Why rail against the wind? Save your breath to cool your soup!

With the coming of the New Sun, however, we had to leave our safe home. For thousands of years, we had portents that one day the dying sun would be superseded by another that came in a fountain of white light. Before it came to pass, the psychometricians among us sought a place on the map to which we could retreat. Nessus would be drowned deep, as has been proved true.

On the day of our departure from Nessus, we left in a group protected well by the House Guard. The Autarch Valeria accepted that we required to go and had given permission. To avoid panic, we let it be known we witches were being exiled from the Citadel. Jeering mobs turned out in force along our road until we reached the Piteous Gate. Then they turned back and left us to find our way to our new home. The Lady Valeria escaped when the floods came, I heard, but I know not where. That matter is in the purview of one or another of my sisters, and I have no need of knowledge of her whereabouts. I am glad of her safety.

Since the coming of the New Sun, the ice caps that bedeck verdant Urth, now called Ushas, at its top and toe have receded from their occupancy of a quarter of the globe, and Ocean has risen to cover much of the land. The first onslaught of tidal waves happened so quickly that millions drowned. Those sensitives among us attuned to our fellow man heard their death cries. Since then, land that the cooling sun left dry among ice fields has been returned to concealment under Ocean. In every splash of the waves, I feel particles of the lost cities and towns, the pride, the dread, the high hopes and aspirations, and the drudging toil that made them.

The day of the coming of the New Sun was one of grand rejoicing among our Order. The blaze of light that filled the sky cast many to the ground with its force, I among them. When I came to my senses, the sky was many times lighter than it had ever been in my lifetime, the stars that we could pick out concealed behind a firmament like a great, pale agate bowl. We all abandoned our dignity to lie on our backs and stare up at the beauty of it. I fell asleep with that wonder in my eyes.

But when I awoke, it was to the call of a voice of deepest maroon. Our Guildmistress stared down into my bewildered eyes. I realized not only that Urth’s setting was altered, but we were all changed in some way by the New Sun’s rising. Every voice and noise wove a tapestry of color around me. Sounds made me see colors. The feel of objects brought forth the thoughts of those who had made or possessed them. Shapes evoked emotions. Everything had a second chord that I had never perceived before. And music, which I dearly loved, became too painful to enjoy. Any song moved me from tears into despair. A long piece overwhelmed me so much I felt it must kill me. No brew or simple could cure me. No device in our infirmary or library could deaden the sensation.

There was no time to deal with my pain. Immediately, our Order was besieged with questions from the survivors of the flood. From being reviled and feared, we were suddenly a source of answers. In a way, no one seriously expected an ancient legend to come true, certainly not in their lifetimes. Most undoubtedly believed that if such a thing ever came to pass, it would change nothing else— but that could not be further from the truth. The people required guidance. They had no one to whom they could turn.

The Autarch had vanished with Nessus. Rumors spread over the land like the teeming waters that Severian the Lame had returned, rejuvenated, to herald the new light. If so, where was he? Was it true that he was the Conciliator come again? Who could make sense out of our world as it was now?

Unlike the Torturers, we witches almost never departed to other cities or villages out in the wide world. We were too vulnerable. Our clients must come to us. Yet this was a time that required sacrifice. For the first instance in our history, our Guildmistress sent many of us to the various centers of population, offering good sense and practical knowledge. We must keep fear from taking hold while we rebuilt, or the return to civilization would be delayed for years, if not centuries.

The rest of us were set to finding the answers. With the aid of the cacogens who still remained, chief among them the Cumaean, now unbelievably ancient, we did our best to seek out the path of the Autarch. Two of our number went off planet in search of Yesod. Others received missions here on Ushas. With my heightened senses, the Guildmistress directed me to the depths of Ocean, to plumb for drowned Nessus and whatever clues remained there. We must bring the Autarch back, to guide us forward under his New Sun.

Dark green shouting brought Chettor and me to our feet. The door of the cabin slammed open. A fresh gust of spray swept in, mirroring the sense of urgency of the barefoot seafarer who followed it.

“Mistress,” the young woman panted. “The sea has a face. And a hand.”

We hitched our way outward. I felt shipwrights of the ages in the rails that I clutched.

The sea still tossed, its fleering whitecaps taunting us, but the ship seemed to have been set in glass, so motionless it stood. I gasped as I perceived the reason: The bow was clutched in a massive hand as white as death.

Before it, Iria stood, looking as satisfied as any witch could. She beckoned me forward.

Chettor clung to me as I made my way to the side. The hand, larger than a goods wagon, each finger longer than my body, was attached to a salt-white arm. The curling water played around the enormous elbow like a frilled lace sleeve.

The face beside it, upturned, even in its monstrous size, was lovely enough to break my heart. I found deep satisfaction in the shapeliness of her cheekbones and chin. Long tresses of green and purple- brown hair floated upon the surface like sea wrack. As soon as I appeared, the gigantic eyes widened, and the plump lips parted to show white pointed teeth. Her other hand broke water in eager swirls and eddies. Before I could retreat, it seized me. A sorrowful yellow cry from the deck followed me down, until, with a metallic blue plunk, the sea closed above my head. Bubbles danced in my eyes.

The icy waters derided me, numbing my limbs. I had only half a breath of air. The pressure, both from within and without, threatened to crush my lungs.

I kicked and struggled to free myself. The creature’s grip was too strong to break. The gray sky vanished behind veil upon veil of green-gray seawater. My eyes stung. I squeezed them closed and pleaded with the Incarnate for mercy. I had been a good daughter of the faith. I was not so young that I was unaware of death. I had already borne children and given another generation to the guild, but I had so much more I wanted to learn and do. My hair streamed upward. The air in my lungs ran out of nourishing oxygen. I choked, and inhaled a mouthful of seawater.

Fool! I chided myself.

Before blackness filled my eyes, I had the presence of mind to fumble in my sodden scrip for my necklace. I put it on. An envelope of air surrounded me. I drew a deep gasp, and coughed out brackish water. I fought down my gorge. The supply of oxygen would not last long. We sank rapidly through the silken waters. Now that I did not fear immediate suffocation, I sought knowledge that would aid my escape, if not my quest.

I knew my captor. She was one of the Undines, the brides of Abaia, ruler of the abyss. Such creatures were subjects of our study. They were intelligent but rarely motivated to do anything outside their own interests.

I wriggled in the huge female’s grasp and pounded my fists on the edge of her palm to draw her attention. She stopped her descent and bobbed in place, then drew one massive eye down to the level of my head. Cnidaria and anguillas swirled around us like living streamers. I held the bubble formed by my necklace against her nose.

I beseeched her. “Sister, I will die if you take me to the depths.”

Her eyes crinkled with merriment. The very lines at the corners radiated amusement. Her voice caused my whole body to resound like the head of a drum.

“You shall not die!”

She brought her tremendous mouth up and pressed her lips to mine, penetrating the necklace’s bubble. Suddenly we seemed of a size, though I was still trapped within her hand. Her arms surrounded me, and one leg hooked behind my knees, pressing our bodies together. The kiss was as silken as a lover’s, but went deeper than any ever had, suffusing me not with warmth but with coolness. I trembled desperately, feeling as if I would break all my bones. Then suddenly, the shivering ceased.

The Undine poked a long fingernail under the circle of my necklace and flicked. The circlet broke and sank into the depths. I cried out, then realized I could breathe.

I had always liked the taste of salt, but it seemed that when I respired seawater, the flavor was lost to me. I should have been choking my lungs out, but they had turned to an expanded gill that filled my chest, giving me oxygen. Whether it was a permanent gift, it saved my life. But how could she be two sizes at once?

The Undine left me no time to ponder.

“What seek you here in my lover’s domain?” she asked.

Her voice boomed with colors of wine and ultramarine, like horns and harps together. I felt in her skin nothing but gentle curiosity. She truly meant me no harm. I relaxed and summoned my wits.

“The Autarch Severian,” I said. “He vanished with the waters from Nessus. Now Ushas floods, and we seek his guidance for the way forward.”

“Nessus is here,” she said, gesturing downward with her huge hand, a move that made me tremble. Beyond the murky currents I could see faint shapes, gray on gray. “But Severian is not.”

“Then I seek his wisdom,” I pleaded. “His words. He wrote his memoirs and left them in the library of the Citadel. So much has changed that the knowledge left behind of the old world has scattered, drowned, or dissolved, but wisdom is eternal. We need guidance. Those memoirs would offer a concrete symbol that would give hope to the people who survived.”

She shook her head, and the tresses of purple- green hair traced puzzled curves in the water.

“I know not of that. Such things are of little importance to us.”

“But you befriended our Autarch!” I said.

“Not I; one of my sisters, Juturna.”

“May I speak with her?”

Again, the hair danced in the current.

“You seek dreams. Nothing is eternal. You seek to follow one who has stepped out of your world.”

“Then, give me dreams,” I said, firmly. “Ideals are always dreams. Kingdoms have been built on less.”

She smiled. “For those, you must ask my master.”

My heart pounded. My voice rose to a thin, white pipe. “Abaia? Where . . . where must I go?”

“Nowhere and everywhere,” the Undine said, her white teeth a threat in her soft mouth.

I felt the sea around us warm slightly. The water became thicker, like honey. Fear built in my heart, until it hammered at my ribs, demanding escape. What little light there had been, fled. This was my darkest fear, drowning in the dark. I struggled to escape. Nothing held me, but there was nowhere to go.

Gradually, I became aware of a voice of the deepest red. As the Undine said, it came from nowhere and everywhere. My body thrummed with it, became part of it.