The Ordinary (33 page)

“My doubts about who and what we are have grown stronger, if that's what you're asking.”

“Why?”

He looked into the clouds as if to compose himself. “You'd understand if you'd seen this world, Mallie. Sah-Nal is full of miracles that even the Prin couldn't easily accomplish, and yet none of what they do is called magic, and all of it has an explanation in their science, which is their word for a way of observing the world and learning about it.”

“Our people are beginning to think that way, too,” Malin said. “Under the new sky.”

“The people in that world call themselves Hormling. There's very little in their world that the higher forms of magic could not do, but the scale of it, the billions of them and the billions of their machines, the sum of it is staggering.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

“No. Not that way. The way of Wyyvisar, the way of Eldrune, both of these ways will prevail over anything Sah-Nal can offer; I'm sure of this, since I've tested it. Once we make devices in that world, once we make the gate into stone, this way of ours will prevail there, if we wish. But that still doesn't tell me what it is, this power that we use. Or what God is, who taught it to us.”

“She's God. The power is God's power.”

“Is it? Is she really God? Or is she something else?”

“Like what?”

“If living things can make so much happen simply through study and consciousness, if Sah-Nal can come into being with all its technology without our magic, then what more might technology do?”

“I don't follow you.”

“For all I know, there's a technology and a science at the core of YY, of God, that we simply don't know and can't see. For all I know, these languages of power that we use are simply ways to tap into that technology.”

“Then why would magic work at all beyond the gate?”

“Because YY reaches beyond the gate, too. Or wants to. Because whatever technology she uses that we think of as magic can affect that place, too.”

For a moment Malin understood, glimpsed the world as he saw it; but the image was too much too fast, and fell apart. She stood and paced a few feet. “Is any of this in the King's book?”

“Yes.”

“I think I want to read it.”

“When you learn Wyyvisar, you'll have no problem opening the outer box whenever you like. Did you bring your copy?”

“No. I'll send for it. I took it with me to the old house at Carathon. I left it in Edenna's library.”

He nodded. He was still thinking about the rest, the new universe that he was trying to show her. “A good place for it,” he said, absently.

“You say this world, Sah-Nal, is connected to other places? You're sure of it?”

“Beyond the gate are millions of worlds. Most are at vast distances, and quite unreachable. But every star you see in the new sky is a sun, and many have planets of their own. Some have life, like the Hormling, only it evolves as a matter of course over billions of years, as they claim happened on Earth. Unthinkable, but true.”

“But that didn't happen with us.”

“No. We have a lot of evidence to the contrary. The forty thousand were real. We did not evolve. We were created.”

“Then what are we?”

“Something else. Something different from all the rest.”

“And this place?”

“At first I thought it was an incubator. A place to house us and to protect us while we learned what YY created us to learn.”

“But now?”

“I haven't given up that idea, because it makes sense. But it isn't the whole story. This world, Irion, Aeryn, whatever we call it, is a crossroads, I think. A place between other places, one that YY made herself.”

“A crossroads?”

“Beyond the ocean is Sah-Nal, if one learns to cross it the right way. Beyond the mountains is Zan; we know this from our history even if we can't reach it ourselves. The Drii came from there, according to their stories. I think they're true, who knows? The Drii had to come from somewhere.”

Wonderstruck, she sat there, as the world grew bigger and changed. A peaceful bird song strayed from a lark nearby and filled her head with its intricacy. She said, “There might be routes to other places that we don't know about.”

“It's possible.”

“And God?”

“Maybe she's simply something far older and far more knowledgeable than we are,” he said. “Some like these Hormling might become, if their technology and science go on improving to their limits. Maybe that's what a god is to begin with.”

“Maybe.” She felt small and young again, and wished he would say something to comfort her. The truth made her cold inside. “Does this have anything to do with your bringing me here to teach me?”

“Of course it does. It's our work, my dear, yours and mine, to discover whatever else is out there. To discover who YY-Mother is and where she came from. We have no choice now.”

“Before, when we talked, you said there were others like you.”

“Like us, I said. Yes.”

“Do you know more?”

“Some. I can teach you that, too. We'll be safe here for a long time, until the gate is made into stone, at least.” He had led them back to the wicker chairs, the low table where the teapot still sent up its trail of steam.

They sat for a while, and made plans for what they needed to accomplish, restoring Uncle Jessex to the office of Thaan, and moving part of Malin's household to Chalianthrothe. Only later, when Uncle had departed for more meetings with his builders, did she understand that her lessons had already begun.

In story and song, so easy it was to swear to love forever, through all eternity. But the truth of a long life, as Malin learned it, was in the forgetting and not in the remembering. She had her uncle as a guide, and he had been guided by those before him; still, the lessons were not pleasant. No human mind could contain the memories of a thousand years; her early life was not in danger, but the memories of the middle years faded, and would have been lost except for what Uncle taught her. One night with Jedda, one night of the deepest, most sudden kind of love, could not defeat the centuries that passed, one by one, while Malin studied under her uncle's tutelage, while Kirithren grew, while, in the ocean, the fleet of wooden ships struggled to begin the building of the Eseveren Gate.

When the gate was complete, when her own teaching was finished and she had learned how much more of magic there was than she had guessed as a Prin, she was only occasionally tickled by the memory of the evening of Uncle Jessex's state dinner so many centuries ago. The careful plan unfolded, the gate allowed commerce between Senal and Irion. By then Malin had traveled in the Hormling world herself, and had understood that what separated her from Jedda was still time more than space.

The answer might have been in the King's book, but she kept the box closed until one day when she walked into the audience hall of Shurhala and found the Hormling delegation waiting, among them Jedda Martele, who spoke Erejhen, who had no idea who Malin was.

In that moment, what was important was not the memory of an evening that had happened for Malin a long time ago, which had clearly not yet happened for Jedda. What was important was that when Malin looked at Jedda now, she could hardly put her eyes anywhere else, even at this moment of crisis, when the battle that Uncle Jessex had been predicting for so long was about to begin. She could hardly take her eyes off Jedda, and wondered what would follow. How long would it be before Uncle Jessex took this Jedda back to that night so long ago? How much longer would Malin have to wait?

She went alone to her rooms that night and sat with the box in her hand, palms smoothing the wood, oiling it, then, finally, she touched the box at the corners and said the words she had known for a long time. The seal opened. The leather of the cover was a deep blue, almost purple, and smelled new. She drew out the book and held it in her lap.

At the last moment before Irion sent Jedda back, the ring gripped in her fist, she thought to ask to read the letter he had written; but it was already too late and she could feel the wrenching of her gut as she traveled.

Pain hit her all at once and she slipped on the ring. She fumbled and for a moment had a terror she would drop the thing and then it was on her finger and she felt better, at least, for having done that much. At first she felt no different, only waves of pain that were increasing now, and a laxity that seeped into her limbs from the ground. She was relaxing but some hand was holding her in place and at the same time she was wracked with pain in all her joints, as if her bones were exploding, and yet she could neither move nor make a sound. She hung there in the hand that she could not see. She had never felt such agony in her life. The world, the storm over Arroth, her companions in the putter, of these she could see not one trace. After a few more moments, even her sense of her body became less.

When she felt the familiar withdrawal, the retreat of her consciousness that was the effect of the ring, she could hear a strain of music. She pictured herself touching the ring, fingertips to the stone; the music came from there and she listened and the pain became as if it were something walled away from her.

Panic, then. Something panicked and tried to hurt her more, and at first she felt it, every racking of her body, and she tasted blood in her mouth and realized she was digging her own teeth into her cheeks and lips; and then she heard the music and went back into that safer space, from which she could watch her body as a distant object, one whose hurts were not so personal. She stayed there and waited for the taste of blood in her mouth to grow less and waited till the pain itself subsided.

The sound of something dripping, water, pinging a distance onto stone. She listened through the layers of consciousness that the ring provided. The ring itself had vanished from her finger altogether, though the inner part of herself could sense its presence at times, so that she knew it was not lost. To remove the ring she would only have to want that, not even to will it but to want it, truly; at the moment she could hardly conceive of that. She was in a space, a room, now. She had been moved somewhere, time had passed since the storm. Had Arvith come back, too? What had happened to the putter, and to the others?

When she opened her eyes a figure faced her, tall and slim, robed in dark reds and golds. She knew the figure even from behind. “Welcome,” Irion said. “You're awake.”

“Yes.”

“You know where you are?”

She shook her head.

“But you know who I am?”

She gave him a long look. She would have known anyway, she would have guessed. So she simply nodded. “You're the one called Irion. You're the master of this place.”

His face was cold and still. His eyes sharpened on her for a moment, and she felt the chill of him, the harshness. Not even a moment of pleasure or triumph, not a hint of fear. “You do know me. Very good. You are wearing a ring. You must take it off and give it to me.”

She shook her head. If he were able to get it off himself, he'd have taken her finger with it by now. “I'm not wearing anything.”

“I shall touch you with my bare hand if you disobey me. Take off the ring and give it to me, this instant.”

She shook her head. He reached for her.

He merely took her hands, and she started to scream. He examined every part of her hands and the pain wracked her and wracked her, nothing could stop it. He laid fingers through the ring and still could not find it. His hands moved through her flesh, through her hands, and she felt tearing all through her tendons and screamed and screamed.

Was she making a sound?

She was coming to pieces in his hands. She could give him the ring and end this. It was what he wanted, but why? He wanted to be the real one? This Irion? Wanted to do away with the other one, and so he was taking Jedda to pieces in his bare hands to find the ring because it came from the real one. His eyes were burning. Jedda looked down at herself. How could she be alive and see her own heart beating in his hand like that, how could she feel her insides torn open like this and still be alive? She was gasping, looking at him, hating him, and knowing she had only to wish and she could give him what he wanted, and just as she was about to say the words, make the wish, he grew frustrated and stopped. A change, something on his face. A look of distraction, and then of effort. About the same time she heard the singing in the distance, the low thread of it.

“I don't have time for this,” Irion said, and dissolved into what looked like liquid shadow.

Leaving like that, pieces of her in a room. Sobbing, the pain like fire through her hands, her legs, her gut, but easing now as she let the sound of the singing fill her. Closing her eyes, she felt the music take her, becoming a separation from her body. She had only to relax. Could she learn to stay here, safely at this distance from her pain, even when he touched her?

He had traveled. She was realizing this as she stood there. He had traveled in the way that Jessex had traveled. Kinisthal. Meaning he was near a tower. Unless he was only hiding himself? But no, it looked the same.

Was she still in the tower, then, the one over the Winter House?

There was a tower over Arroth and a tower over Cunevadrim, too, she thought. She was less certain of the second, but it was a stronghold that had been used against Irion in the Long War; if she remembered the history. Meaning it most likely had a high place.

She was near a tower, and now she probably knew which one. She had her eyes open looking up at the ceiling, afraid to look at herself, afraid to look for windows in case she could accidentally catch a glimpse of herself, and for a moment the pain came back and she could feel herself gasp but with the most sickening wetness in the sound. There was no question of moving. She could feel her arms or legs but they felt as if they had been taken off her body, as if she might see them across the room; she felt as if she were going mad.

She concentrated on her surroundings and found she could see a lot without moving her eyes very much. She was studying the patches of light and dark stone, the careful workmanship, seams perfectly joined without a trace of mortar, that marked Tervan stonework from any other. She had learned that from Arvith during her tour of the house in Telyar. A fact could be such a comforting thing. She thought of the ring on her hand and her mood brightened, in spite of the ache in all her joints and the fire in her hands, and she gave a little laugh at the absurdity. Truly, to have such thoughts.

Were the pain not so vivid, she might have begun to wonder at her sanity as well; could she be hallucinating at this point? She remembered the days in Inniscaudra clearly but did that mean they were real?

But the fabric held together; when she looked around the room, it was always the same, nothing in it changed, including the feeling that she was trapped, that no effort of hers to move herself would do her any good. Something stood between her mind and her body. Always the same, consistent pain, nothing sliding into anything else, no dreamlike effects, simply pain and a dark stone room with a feeling of a vault overhead. A breath of air stirred, the scent of sewage. She moved her thoughts to the ring again and sought more distance; let time pass over me, she thought, and heard the faint sounds of music again.

He was here again, she could feel him.

He hardly looked like Irion at all. She was not at first sure she could focus her eyes on him, because the pain was wracking her again, and it consumed her and she tried to scream and made a kind of gurgling sound that frightened her more. “Give it to me and this ends,” he said, and she shook her head, and the pain grew worse, and she could feel the wish coming out of her body in spite of herself, she could feel the ring slipping off her finger, and she caught a glimpse of herself, dismembered, gutted, strewn over tables, nerves stretched out like the strings of some ghastly instrument; she made the gurgling sound again and wept, felt the wetness on her eyes and cheeks and he took the ring and held it, his eyes darkening to hollows.

She had no idea what language he was speaking. The effect was odd, like mentext but more audible. It was as if she received some pure stream of intent or meaning from him that resonated in all sorts of words from languages and dialects she knew.

A feeling of despair came over her, cold and persistent, and she felt with dread that she could not take any more, that this would have to end now. He had what he wanted.

A woman stood behind him. She was very bent, and very old, clothed in grays and browns, a long skirt and loose blouse, a shawl and a stick to prop on. The man, Irion, straightened from Jedda and turned.

At this new presence, Jedda sensed Irion's deep disturbance, and a sense of his menace that was absolute. He turned again to Jedda and lunged at her with those red hands and at once he was gone, completely dissolved and gone.

The woman looked at Jedda. She was old but in no obvious way, her streaked hair tied back, her face gentle and radiant. She walked step by step across the room and Jedda became whole again, could feel herself in one piece, and the pain eased and ebbed and vanished by the time the woman lay her hand on Jedda's brow. A feeling of well-being, of perfection, flooded Jedda as she watched the old woman, her beautiful gray eyes; the woman leaned down and kissed Jedda on the lips, pressing the ring into Jedda's palm. Such a feeling of gentleness flooded Jedda that she was shivering.

Then, with no transition, instead of the woman, Jessex stood where she had been.

He wore the gray robe in which she had first seen him, embroidery on the hems and along panels in front, the rich color that was warm and cool at once. “It's all right now,” he said. “It's over.”

Jedda had no voice. He passed his hand along her and must have felt that her pain was gone. He looked very tired, as if he were hardly able to stand. The wind was tearing through the tower.

“Close your eyes,” he said, his voice gentle. “I want to put you to sleep for a while.”

“Am I all right?” Her voice felt like a croak coming out.

“Yes.” He touched her cheek. “You need to rest, and I need to get you down from here, to where Malin is. Do you trust me to do this?”

She nodded. He blew a breath over her. She smelled something like a garden full of flowers and fell asleep.