The Magister (Earthkeep) (21 page)

"Zude."  Jez had stopped some feet behind her companion.

Zude turned, her eyes anxious.

Jez stood with that old light grace, her arms alive by her sides.  She sent her words directly to those uneasy eyes. 

"Zude.  It's been eighteen years since we last saw each other.  There has not been a day of any one of those years in which I have not thought of you, pictured you, wanted to come to you.  You will always be the one who first called up in me the best I've ever known of love.  And passion."  Jez paused.  "So we've got other allegiances now, both of us.  But please know: you will never be replaced or diminished in my heart, no matter what gifts any other woman may bless me with.  Never."

Zude stood like a statue.  In her search for words, she found only her tight throat and stinging eyes.  She opened her mouth, closed it, cleared her throat, swallowed.  "Jez."

"I had to say that."

"I know.  I just. . ."  Zude tightened her lips.  She drew a deep breath.  "I don't have to tell you, do I?" 

Jez shook her head.  "No."  She smiled.  "No, I knew."

Zude laughed softly.  "You always knew."  She lingered for just a moment on the sight before her.  Then she looked around the roof-garden.  "Well.  Shall we order the house special on drinks?  Are you hungry?" 

"I couldn't eat.  Or drink."

"Actually, neither could I." 

They both nodded, just a splinter short of unison.  Jez drew Zude to one of the chair circles by the parapet and they sat, more easy now with each other.  In the closing in of the desert night they spoke carefully but comfortably of the events of their lives since the Amah Academy, each acknowledging with ironic smiles the increasing distance between their diverging paths.

The threat of full nightfall prompted Zude to reach out for Jez's hand.  "Let me look at you a minute, Bella-Belle.  I feel so thirsty just for the sight of you."

"Well, I've had the advantage," Jez replied.  "I've seen you on public flat-transmissions many times."  She pressed Zude's hand.  "My Magister."

"And," Zude paused, "your adversary."

Jez dipped her head in brief acknowledgement.  "Once, in Toronto, I was waiting in the back of a live street crowd to challenge you.  About the Protocols, of course.  I had my strategy all laid out."

"But you didn't.  Challenge me."

"No.  I just watched you."  Jez covered their clasped hands with her free hand.  After a moment she disengaged her hands entirely and stood up.  "Zudie."

Ah, thought Zude, here it comes. 

Jez turned to the protective wall, looking out.  "The Anti-Violence Protocols.  They're a lost cause now."

Zude followed Jezebel with her eyes.  "I'd not say that.  I'd call them a non-issue."

"No.  The issue is still there."

Zude stiffened.  "I don't know how it's been in your part of the world, Jezebel, but from where I sit it's pretty clear that nobody's life is normal anymore."

Jez turned. 

"I know.  I know, Zude.  I've watched it happen all over.  In every tri-satrapy."  She suddenly understood even before she caught the stricken look on Zude's face.  "You've lost someone," she said abruptly.

"Well, not yet.  My chosen daughter.  And eventually, I guess, her brother."

"I'm sorry."

Zude smiled a little.  "It's okay.  Now."  She put energy into her voice.  "We've all lost.  Or we all will."

It was Jez's turn to nod.  "Zude, about what's happening — you must have lots more hard data than I do, and I've got plenty.  I've also got theories by the score, all of them with some sense to them, none of them satisfying me."  She sat again.  "None.  Except for one."

Zude looked at her intently. 

Jez searched the deep brown eyes.  "I'm not sure how to tell you what I've just learned."

Zude placed her forearms on her knees.  "Jez."  She leaned forward, smiling.  "Jez, it's got to be important.  You're here, by the Blessed Yarn, you're here!"  She laughed a little.  She flexed and extended her toes inside her boots.  She rubbed her hands together.  "Look.  I have something important to tell you, too."

Abruptly Jez sat back.  "Do it."

"Do what?"

"Tell me."

"Why me first, Jezebel?"

Jez's voice was playful and insistent.  "Because this is the most important scene in our story, Zude!  Look at it: a meeting of old lovers and adversaries after many years, when civilization is about to crumble, and in the story you have more political power.  It's only decent for you to begin disclosure."  She grinned as she recalled a rubric from their past.  "And besides, Zudie, I called it first!"

"Okay, okay, I'll tell!" Zude laughed.  There was an easy pause.  "Jez, I don't know where to begin.  And," she held up a forefinger, "I've got to have a guarantee."

"Of what?"

"That you won't say, I told you so."

"You've got it."

Zude picked up a small stone from the graveled rooftop and studied it, rolling it between her fingers.  "Jez."  She looked up.  "I've got an angel."

"You have a what?"

"Well, she's probably just an electronic emission.  She follows . . . no, she leads me.  Everywhere.  Through everything.  I call her the Swallower."

"Is she here now?"

"Yes, but hiding."  Zude dropped the stone and turned her chair so she could face Jezebel.  "And," she began.  She looked away, then back to the night-darkened face before her.  "Jez, I've talked with the animals."

Jez simply looked at her.

Zude laid her words carefully on the air between them.  "The Swallower led me to them.  In the ocean.  Every kind of sea life the world has ever known.  I swam with them, moved among them.  For an eternity, it seemed.  And I talked to them.  No, scratch that.  They talked to me."  She took Jez's hand again.  "What a tale it is to tell!"  She stopped suddenly.  "What is it, what did I . . . what?"

Jezebel's cheeks were wet and her lips were trembling.  "Zudie," she began.  Her voice was strong even through the fast-flowing tears.  She sat very still, erect, her eyes closed.  Her tears continued to fall, patterning the softshirt that caught them. 

Zude peered at her face, that moving landscape of sorrow and wonder.  She could barely see it in the accumulating darkness. She waited. 

Fortuitously, the coming of night caused a dusky glolobe to ignite within the branches of an overhanging mesquite tree,   highlighting Jez's next remark.

"Part of what I have to tell you, Zudie," she said, "is that I've done that, too.  Talked with the animals."

Zude simply looked at her.

"I got the air-and-land contingents."  She released Zude's hand and pulled a handkerchief from her trews.  "No!  There were fish.  But not many.  It was mostly mammals.  And insects.  And snakes and birds."  She wiped her cheeks.  "Tell me, did they say words to you?"

"No words.  Some of it was pictures, extraordinary vast pictures, eons old, but it was more like . . . knowings, like what is. . . and what they are. . .I can't explain it."

"You don't have to."

"Was it the same for you?"

Jez nodded.  "I seemed to know it all: where they came from, why they left, how they're only a vibration away from us right now.  It was like looking into the heart of the universe."

A long silence.

Then Zude whispered, "I haven't been the same.  Not since then."  She paused.  "And there's been more," she said, "more . . . psychic stuff."  She shot a glance at Jez, then hurried on.  "It's prepared me for losing so much, for all the changes that are coming." 

She was on the High Road again, holding Regina. 

Then she added, as easily as she could, "Everything's going to be just fine, no matter how many children die, no matter if no more are born.  We've had our moment in the sun and it's time to go.  And that's okay.  It's all been a gift."

Jez started to speak, then stopped.

"But that's another world," Zude was saying, "another order of knowing.  We're still here, here on this physical plane.  And there are things we can do.  Things we must do."

The subtle desert sounds modulated into another key.  Jez lifted herself into the new ambience.  "Do you believe that?"

Suddenly, Zude wanted a cigarillo, even a seaweed cigarillo.  She took a deep breath and spoke.  "That there are things we must do?"

"Yes."

Zude hesitated.  Something had changed.  A judicious sharpener had brushed lightly over the words Jez was speaking, over the posture of Jez's shadowed figure.  Zude felt her own idling defenses leap into alertness.  She studied Jez's face.  "Yes," she said, finally.  "Yes, I do believe that." 

"I'm glad," Jez said.  She rose and faced the desert.

Zude folded her hands between her knees and waited, watching Jez's back.

Jez looked toward the mountains.  "Because, Zude, there's something you must do."

Zude frowned, even as her voice attempted lightness.  "Are you trying to persuade me, my righteous, non-combative Jezebel?"

Jez turned.  "I am."

Zude stared.  "I see."

Jez spoke steadily.  "It's maybe the only thing that will guarantee that human beings survive.  I know that sounds grandiose.  And impossible.  But I believe you can do it.  In fact, you're the only person who can do it."

"I'm flattered."  Zude leaned back in her chair, interlacing her fingers around a lifted knee.

"Zude, don't you go numb on me!"

Zude was immediately forward again.  "Jez, I didn't mean to be flippant.  You just make me sound so powerful.  I promise you, I've never felt less powerful in my life!"  She covered her face with both hands, then pushed her knuckles against her eyes.

"You're a Magister, Zude!" Jez insisted.  "And, what's more, you're probably the most highly regarded person on the planet!  What's more powerful than that?"  Suddenly, Jez pulled herself up short and dropped to her knees in front of Zude.  "Oh, Zudie," she whispered, "Zudie."  With a light touch she drew the reluctant forehead toward her until it touched her own.  She closed her eyes.  "I'm not listening to you.  I wish it undone.  Erase?"

Zude took Jez's head in her own hands.  "Erase," she said. 

They let themselves be held in the sway of the old ritual.

It was Zude who broke the contact, urging Jez into the chair so they could face each other once more. 

"So, my worthy misanthrope," she ventured, now dry-eyed, "why are you trying to save the human race?  You used to say we're a flawed species, an evolutionary blunder, that we're up 'way past our bedtime."

Jez pondered.  "I've changed."

Zude trod carefully.  "Even about men?"

Jez stared beyond Zude, out into the desert.  "Particularly about men."

Zude waited for several heartbeats.  "What is 'it,' then, Jezebel?  What's the 'it' that I must do?"

Jez placed her face in the full light of the glolobe so there would be no mistaking her words.  She drew in a long deliberate breath and spoke very slowly. 

"Zude, you have to dismantle the Kanshoubu."

Zude stared at her, the remnant of a smile still dwelling at the corners of her mouth.  Then the remnant faded.

Jez repeated the words in her mind, pushing them one by one into the guarded eyes before her.

At last she spoke aloud again.  "All of it, Zude.  Not just your Vigilancia, but the Amahrery and the Femmedarmery, too.  The Foot-Shrieves, the Sea-Shrieves, the Sky-Shrieves, the Flying Daggers.  The whole of the peacekeeping forces on Little Blue.  It's all got to go."

Zude closed her eyes and shook her head, fiercely wrinkling her brow.  Then she released her eyebrows, letting her eyelids snap open so she could blink several times — at her boots, at the mesquite branches above her.  "I'm not hearing this," she told the roof-garden very softly, still moving her eyes over its many varied parts.

Jez waited.

Zude looked sideways at her.  "Say it again."

"You have to dismantle the Kanshoubu."

"I have to dis. . ."

"Dismantle.  Disassemble.  Dissolve."  Jez spoke faster.  "Abolish, undo, erase, eradicate."  Relentlessly now.  "You have to demolish it, Zude."  She could not read beyond the unwavering brown eyes before her.  "You've got to annihilate it," she concluded.   

Zude's head was spinning.  She stifled the impulse to shoot out of her chair.  Instead she closed her eyes and masked her face with one hand.  She spoke calmly.  "Now tell me why I must do this."

Jez leaned forward, arms on her knees.  "Because the whole  human enterprise has been about understanding violence.  Not about stopping it.  About understanding it.  But right now we're at a strange juncture, because we can't hope to understand it until we do stop it.  The Kanshoubu is the biggest barrier we have to stopping it.  The Kanshoubu perpetuates violence."

"You mean the vicious circle.  That violence begets violence."

"More than that.  As long as there is the
fear
or the expectation of violence, there will be violence.  The Kanshoubu exists out of fear; it exists in the expectation of violence."

Zude said nothing.

Jez continued quietly.  "You have participated in a great epic, Zudie.  The Kanshou have literally held things together on Little Blue for sixty years — over half a century!  They've done it justly and worthily.  We're as good as we are today only because of your work and the work of the Vigilantes, the Amahs, the 'Darmes." 

She shifted herself slightly forward, anticipating some dismissive gesture from Zude.  When it did not come, she continued.  "But their work is no longer appropriate.  It is done.  Finished.  The Kanshoubu has to move out of the way and let the next step take place."

"And what's that?"

"Zudie, we can no longer believe in violence."

Zude threw out her hands.  "Just like that!"

"Yes, just like that!"  Jez leaned forward again.  "Change it, Zude!  Change it by thinking differently!"  She paused.  "Or, change it by an extraordinary act of faith that is born of your deepest desire, the desire for real peace!  Find a place somewhere in your heart that knows we can demolish the Kanshoubu and still survive."

Zude pulled away from the force of those words.  But Jez's voice still held her.