A Dream of Ice (14 page)

Hands touched hands as the swaps were made, fingers trailing in lingering, comforting gestures. Everyone's faces were lost in downward looks so Mikel couldn't see their expressions. He could not hear them nor see what was on the parchments. He let his eyes wander through the many shadows.

For a library, the chamber was remarkably ill lit. One could retrieve parchments from the shelves, then move to the upper walkway to read them, but that would require holding them dangerously close to the open flames in the braziers. Below, there seemed to be no way to read closely at all. Perhaps the ink glowed, Mikel thought, like the olivine in the stone he was holding. Maybe they had a phosphorous content that glowed when exposed to light?

Or perhaps the parchments weren't the point. Along the floor-level walkway, statues were arranged among all the furniture. Mikel's eye had skipped over them; he'd assumed they were decorative. At second glance, he realized that the furniture was oriented toward the statues, regarding them. He studied the figures more closely with rising excitement. They were all black basalt human forms but they were not paeans to the elegant musculature and shape of the human body. The asexual torsos and arms were exaggerated in size, while the rest of the bodies were carved wearing long robes that seemed to cling only occasionally and only at the bottom to indicate the position of the feet.

Why the feet? And the hands?
The hands were oversized, and they displayed a wide variety of different positions and gestures.

Mikel moved closer without changing the position of his hands. He felt like a kid with his nose pressed to the candy store glass. He wanted more.

The easiest statue for Mikel to see in the dim space stood straight with the robes hiding its feet. The left arm was close to the torso but the left hand pointed away from the hips with all fingers parallel to the floor. The right arm was crossed diagonally over the chest and the right hand pointed with all fingers across the left shoulder. Mikel felt that he'd seen this placement of hands before but he didn't have time to rake through his memories. Absently, he moved a thumb as he tried to lean closer still.

“Damn it!”

The tableau jumped ahead. There was suddenly more light in the room. Was it earlier? Later? Mikel had no way of knowing. He remained still, not wanting to miss anything. There was so much to see.

Excitement washed over him as he left his hands splayed wide and let the drama play out. A tall man with Dravidian skin and rugged features unfolded himself from one of the couches. By his undeniable sense of belonging, Mikel guessed this was the librarian.

“
Egat anata cazh
 . . .”

“So, we attempt the ritual . . . ,” the tall man was saying.

Somehow, Mikel understood the words.
But wait, the tiles couldn't have been translating; English hadn't existed then
. There was some other mechanism at work.

But before he could put his mind to it, a door banged open, wood against rock, and a short man with a splendidly curled white beard hurried into the room. The man left the door open and Mikel could see to the room beyond. Like a horde of red ants, glaring red-orange lava was inexplicably moving
up
a trellis forming a spiral not unlike those on the library walls. Pale yellow fumes were quickly pulled away from the growing column by a mechanical process that sent the smoke floating out of the building and across the blue sky.

“Pao,” said the tall man.

The man with the beard quickly retraced his steps and shut the
door, commenting as he went, “Vol, why are we doing this
now
with all that's still going on in the next room?”

Vol smiled. “Why don't you read our declaration. It's quite—”

“I'm asking
you
,” said Pao.

Vol's smile faded. “We must know if the ritual works.”

“But how can you know unless you
die
?” Pao asked.

“The soul lives even when the body dies,” Vol replied. “There are risks in everything a person does. That's why
we
have all signed a declaration.” His emphasis seemed designed to remind Pao that he had not affixed his own signature. “My friend, don't you think the Technologist plan has risks?”

“Of course,” replied Pao, “But there are controls built into
that
process.”

“So we're told,” Vol said. “Does anyone outside the elite core know what those are?”

“We know these people well,” Pao said. “They are honorable. This ritual—we just don't know what it will do, what it
can
do.”

“Which is why we must try it,” Vol replied patiently.

“I don't agree. It's premature,” Pao said, stroking the rolls of his beard. “I've been watching the Technologists' project. It shows promise.”

Vol smiled. “You know the saying: ‘Give all a chance, but trust your instincts.' ”

Pao frowned. “That wasn't a saying. It was from one of my poems.”

“And wise words they were,” Vol said, nodding. “My instincts, our instincts”—he indicated the others—“tell us that this is the right path. Come back to us, Pao. Come
with
us. Help us to find out.”

The two men stood like the statues. Then the tall man extended his arms. The bearded man accepted them and the two men linked forearms, lightly, the shorter man seemingly fearful of a tighter embrace.

“We loved, once,” Pao said. “Was that not a bond greater than the flesh?”

“You know it was,” Vol replied. “But the body was a part of that, an important part.”

“That is an understatement,” his companion replied.

Vol smiled. “True enough. Now we must know if that flesh can be shed.”

“
Votah!
Inevitably we
will
lose our bodies, death will see to that,” Pao said. “Why be impatient?”

“To learn,” Vol said. “To see if we can become Candescent.”

Pao's face twisted unhappily and he released the arms of the other. “That is Rensat's influence, my friend. She still lives on the myths of the past. Legend will not save you . . . but the Source might.”

“So might the ritual that you yourself composed,” Vol said.

Just then, at the command of one of the women, half of the people in robes and carrying parchment moved through the room and filed through the door. The others appeared to be trying to see over their shoulders but were not allowed beyond the entrance.

“Pao, Pao!” an older woman called as she passed through the doorway.

Pao looked up to find her, but a moment later she was barely visible as the other parchment bearers swept into the room beyond.

Vol tilted his head at his bearded friend with blatant judgment. “We said no physical attachments before this test. You know this, Pao. The connection must be
solely
of the spirit. When we achieve that, without distraction, then the body can be trained to move aside at will.”

“I tried to create distance,” Pao said, “but she comes to me—”

“And your focus changes to the physical.”

“Of course.”

Vol gripped Pao's arms. “I cannot blame her, or you,” he contin
ued sadly. “It tortures
me
not to have a physical connection with my lovers. A complete connection, to accompany the spiritual.”

“Then
make
that connection with whomever you wish,” Pao said, urging him. “But give
this
up, at least for now.”

Vol deflated. He released his friend and turned away. Then he stopped and looked back.

“Pao,” the librarian said, pressing him, “you once had more faith than any of us. Yet now you want to put your trust there?” He pointed toward the door.

“Not trust,” Pao said. “Hope? Optimism? The point is, we
don't
have to decide that now, which is why I ask you to wait.”

Vol eyed his friend carefully. “Tell me. Do you truly believe in what the Technologists are attempting to do? Or is it that you lack faith in the alternative, in us?”

“Both,” Pao admitted. “More study is required on both sides.”

Vol regarded his friend silently. The door was shut and the remaining dozen people had now gathered loosely around the two men. Vol turned from Pao and began to walk around the basalt arm of the spiral.

“Pao,” a woman called and took several steps toward him. “Do not let Technologist propaganda cloud your eyes.”

Pao regarded her with fondness. “You have no fear about what we do?”

The woman's eyes grew stern. “I
am
afraid, yes. To die, to ascend, but not to transcend—eternity on earth, immaterial and alone? That frightens me more. But there are other views, even among the Technologists. The earth is restless, the ice moves, the animals are fearful. We may not have time to explore alternative rituals as much as we would like.”

“Certainly not if we continue to debate the topic,” Vol pointed out, turning to Pao.

Everyone was silent.

Vol walked toward the woman and took her arms as he had taken
Pao's. “I will be honored to go forth with you, Rensat, but I do not want to take you from him whom you love.”

“I love you both,” Rensat told him. “Ultimately, however, I love the Candescents above all. If I cannot have that, no life, no love, is worth possessing.”

Her words had an impact on Pao. He moved closer to the other two, and Mikel could feel their energy shift. “I have spent my adult life looking at existence from many viewpoints,” Pao told her. “That is why I have written—not just to share ideas but to see them as if they belong to someone else, to consider them impartially. And I have come to believe some of what we believe but also aspects of what the Technologists believe.” He faced the other members of the Priesthood. “There are basic questions that remain to be answered. I say wait.”

“What questions?” Rensat asked.

“The question of infusing ourselves into the cosmic plane.”

Vol released Rensat and waved with disgust. “The Technologists are not planning an ‘infusion,' ” he said. “They are planning to
break into
the highest plane, like thieves. Never mind the animal violence inherent in that—by what logic can anyone think of overpowering limitless power? No.” He shook his head. “Our souls must bond. Together we must
present
ourselves to the infinite. We must merge with the cosmos. That is how the Candescents survived their obliteration.”

“You think
that
is what they did,” Pao said. “You believe that based on stories passed down since the world was young.”

Vol stood strong, wordlessly defending his faith.

“And you are wrong about the Technologists,” Pao said, correcting him. “They look to target a point in the cosmos, not to crack it or assault it.” Pao looked out at the others. “My friends, think about your approach. Even bonded souls may bounce from the cosmic plane like light from polished metal. One soul, a dozen, a thousand—it may not matter.”

“The Candescents proved it does,” Rensat retorted.

“And you suggest that rising like a geyser-powered stone on molten rock will achieve that goal?” Vol asked.

“I don't know!” Pao confessed. “I don't. That is why I say we must wait. The Technologists have built a device that may give us the opportunity to ascend. Even the legends tell us the Candescents rode into the cosmic plane on an inferno.”

“The word is
haydonai
and no one is sure what it meant,” Vol reminded him. “The ancient Galderkhaani may have meant ‘great glow,' not ‘fire.' The great glow may have come from luminous souls working together, not a column of fire. It may be figurative, not literal.”

Pao smiled thinly. “All I am asking is that we save, for later, the one option that might kill everyone here—and then prove too weak to allow us to reach any of the planes beyond death.”

“And I say again, there are risks inherent in all things,” Vol said. “
Your
thoughts and words and poetry were instrumental in creating the
cazh
. Do not abandon us now.”

Vol studied Pao's reluctant face. Then he made a little open-handed gesture, as if to say,
Join us
.

“I do not wish to,” Pao said at last. But then he looked long and openly at his two former lovers. Their faces were so familiar, so dear, that the thought of living without them was unthinkable. “And yet I cannot abandon you,” he said.

With an encouraging look from Rensat, Pao finally nodded. Vol clapped the man's shoulders joyously, then turned and pulled a parchment from its display on a wall and followed Pao as he strode without another word around the spiral toward its center. The other dozen arranged themselves along the basalt path so that they were evenly spaced, close to the fires floating on the water. Pao sat cross-legged in the center. Vol placed the parchment in Pao's lap, then stood behind him.

The bearded man looked around. He still seemed uncertain.

“These are your words,” Rensat reminded him.

Pao looked at the parchment. It was a gesture, no more, but he placed his name on the document. Then he took a dramatic breath and bowed over his knees, exposing the nape of his neck.

Vol stood before him with his feet shoulder-width apart and closed his eyes. His breath became tremulous. The others held a respectful silence. Vol opened his eyes and extended the first two fingers of his right hand to point exactly at Pao's neck. He raised his left hand above him and pointed those first two fingers at the lattice dome. Then he looked directly into Mikel's eyes and smiled.

“Welcome, all,” he said. “In the name of the Candescents, we commit our spirits to wherever the ritual takes us!”

Almost at once, an invisible surge began to manifest itself, a shock wave that grew in power until it was no longer rippling but forcefully expanding—