Neverness (5 page)

   Burgos left us, and my mother said to Justine, "You'll talk to Soli, won't you? I know he hates me. But why should he hate Mallory?"

   I kicked the heel of my boot against the floor. Justine traced her index finger along her eyebrow and said, "Soli's so difficult now. This last journey nearly killed him, inside, as well as out. Oh, I'll talk to him, of course, I'll talk on until my lips fall off as, I always do, but I'm afraid he'll just stare at me with his broody eyes and say things like, "If life has meaning, how can we know if we're meant to find it?' or, 'A pilot dies best who dies young, before crueltime kills what he loves.' I can't
really
talk to him when he's like that, of course, and I think it's possible that he thinks he's being noble, letting Mallory swear to die heroically, or perhaps he really believes Mallory will succeed and just wants to be proud of him - I can't tell
what
he thinks when he's all full of himself but I'll talk to him, Moira, of course I will."

   I had little hope that Justine would be able to talk to him. Long ago when the Timekeeper had let them marry, he had warned them, "Crueltime you can't conquer crueltime," and he had been right. It is commonly believed that it is differential aging, the alder, that kills love, but I do not think this is entirely true. It is age and selfness that kill love. We grow more and more into our true selves every second that we are alive. If there is such a thing as fate it is this: the outer self seeking and awakening to the true self no matter the pain and terror - and there is always pain and terror - no matter how great the cost may be. Soli, true to his innermost desire, had returned from the core enthralled by his need to comprehend the meaning of death and the secret of life, while Justine had spent those same long years on Neverness living life and enjoying the things of life: fine foods and the smell of the sea at dusk (and, some said, her lovers' caresses), as well as her endless quest to master her waltz jumps and perfect her figure eights.

   "I don't want Justine to talk to him," I lied.

   My mother tilted her head and touched my cheek with her hand as she had done when I was a boy sick with fever. "Don't be foolish," she said.

   A group of my fellow pilots led by the immensely tall and thin Sonderval, diffused like a black cloud through the professionals around us and surrounded me. Li Tosh, Helena Charbo, and Richardess - I thought they were the finest pilot's ever to come out of Resa. My old friend, Delora wi Towt, was pulling at her blonde braids as she greeted my mother. The Sonderval who came from an exemplar family off Solsken, stretched himself straight to his eight feet of height, and said, "I wanted to tell you, Mallory. The whole college is proud of you. For facing the Lord Pilot - excuse me Justine, didn't mean to insult - and we're proud of what you swore to do. That took courage, we all know that. We wish you well on your journey."

   I smiled because the Sonderval and I had always been the fiercest rivals at Resa. Along with Delora and Li Tosh (and Bardo when he wanted to be), he was the smartest of my fellow pilots. The Sonderval was a sly man, and I sensed more than a bit of reproach in his compliment. I did not think he believed I was courageous for swearing to do the impossible; more likely, he knew that my anger had finally undone me. He seemed very pleased with himself, probably because he thought I would never return. But then, the exemplars of Solsken always need to be pleased with themselves, which is why they have bred themselves to such ridiculous heights.

   The Sonderval and the others excused themselves and drifted off into the crowd. My mother said, "Mallory was always popular. With the other journeymen, if not his masters."

   I coughed as I stared at the white triangles of the floor. The singing seemed to grow louder. I recognized the melody of one of Takeko's heroic (and romantic) madrigals. I was filled instantly with despair and false courage. Confused as I was, vacillating between bravado and a cowardly hope that Soli would dissolve my oath, I raised my voice and said, "Mother, I swore what I swore; it doesn't matter what Justine says to Soli."

   "Don't be a fool," she said. "I won't have you killing yourself."

   "But you'd have me dishonor myself."

   "Better dishonor - whatever that is - than death."

   "No," I said, "better death than dishonor." But I did not believe my own words. In my heart, I was all too ready to accept dishonor rather than death.

   My mother muttered something to herself - it was a habit of hers - something that sounded like, "Better that Soli should die. Then you'd suffer neither. Death nor dishonor."

   "What did you say?" I asked.

   "I didn't say anything."

   She looked over my shoulder and frowned. I turned to see Soli, tall and somber in his tight black robe, pushing his way through the sea of people, He was leading a beautiful, eyeless scryer by the arm. I was struck immediately by the contrast of white and black: The scryer's black hair hung like a satin curtain over the back of her white robes, and her eyebrows were bushy and black against her white forehead. She moved slowly and too carefully, like a cold, marble statue brought to sudden - and unwelcome - life. I took little notice of her heavy breasts and dark, large nipples so obvious beneath the thin silk; it was her face that fixed my stare, the long aquiline nose and full red lips, and most of all, the dark, smoothly scarred hollows where her eyes used to be.

   "Katharine!" Justine suddenly exclaimed as they came closer. "My darling daughter!" She threw her arms around the scryer and said, "It's been so long!" They embraced for a while; then Justine wiped her moist eyes on the back of her gloves and said, "Mallory, may I present your cousin, Dama Katharine Ringess Soli."

   I greeted her and she turned her head in my direction. "Mallory," she said, "at last. It's been so long."

   There have been moments in my life when time came to a stop, when I felt as if I were living some dimly remembered (though vital) event over again. Sometimes the sound of thallows screeching in winter or the smell of wet seaweed will take me instantly back to that clear night long ago when I stood alone on the desolate and windy beach of the Starnbergersee and gave myself over to the dream of mastering the stars; sometimes it is a color, perhaps the sudden orange of a sliddery or a glissade's vivid greenness that transports me to another place and time; sometimes it is nothing at all, at least nothing more particular than a certain low slant of the sun's rays in deep winter and the rushing of the icy sea wind. These moments are mysterious and wonderful, but they are also full of strange meaning and dread. The scryers, of course, teach the unity of nowness and thenness and times yet to be. For them, I think, future dreams and self-remembrance are two parts of a single mystery. They, those strange, holy, and self-blinded women and men of our Order, believe that if we are to have visions of our future, we must look into our past. So when Katharine smiled at me and the calm, dulcet tones of her voice vibrated within me, I knew that I had come upon such a moment, when my past and future were as one.

   Although I knew I had never seen her before, I felt as if I had known her all my life. I was instantly in love with her, not, of course, as one loves another human being, but as a wanderer might love a new ocean or a gorgeous snowy peak he has glimpsed for the first time. I was practically struck dumb by her calmness and her beauty, so I said the first stupid thing which came to mind. "Welcome to Neverness," I told her.

   "Yes, welcome," Soli said to his daughter. "Welcome to the City of Light." There was more than a little sarcasm and bitterness in his voice.

   "I remember the city very well, Father." And so she should have remembered since, like me, she was a child of the city. But when she was a girl, when Soli had gone off on his journey to the core, Justine had taken her to be raised by her grandmother on Lechoix. She had not seen her father (and I thought she would never see him again) for twenty-five years. All that time she had remained on Lechoix in the company of man-despising women. Although she had reason to be bitter, she was not. It was Soli who was bitter. He was angry at himself for having deserted his wife and daughter, and he was bitter that Justine had allowed and even encouraged Katharine to become a scryer. He hated scryers.

   "Thank you for making the journey," Soli said to her.

   "I heard that you had returned, Father."

   "Yes, that's true."

   There was an awkward silence as my strange family stood mute in the middle of a thousand babbling people. Soli was glowering at Justine, and she at him, while my mother stole furtive, ugly glances at Katharine. I could tell that she did not like her, probably because it was obvious that I did. Katharine smiled at me again, and said, "Congratulations, Mallory, on your ... To go off exploring the Entity, that was a brave ... we're all very proud." I was a little irritated at her scryer's habit of not completing her sentences, as if the person she was talking to could "see" what was left unsaid and skip ahead to the crest of her rushing thoughts.

   "Yes, congratulations," Soli said. "But the pilot's ring seems a little small for your finger. Let's hope your pilot's vows aren't too great for your spirit."

   My mother cocked her head as she pointed at Soli's chest and said, "What spirit remains? Within the Lord Pilot? A tired, bitter spirit. Don't speak to my son of spirit."

   "Shall we speak of life, then? Yes, we shall speak of life: Let's hope Mallory lives long enough to enjoy the life of a new pilot. If there was a tumbler of skotch at hand we'd toast to the glorious but too short lives of foolish young pilots."

   "The Lord Pilot," my mother said quickly, "is too proud of his own long life."

   Justine grasped Soli's arm while she brought her full, pouting lips up to his ear and began whispering. He broke away and said to me, "You were probably drunk when you swore your oath. And your Lord Pilot was certainly drunk. Therefore, my lovely wife informs me, we've only to announce that the whole thing was a joke, and we are both finished with this foolishness."

   Beneath the silk of my robe, I felt hot sweat running down my sides in rivulets as I asked, "You would do that, Lord Pilot?"

   "Who knows? Who knows his fate?" He turned to Katharine and asked, "Have you seen his future? What will be done with Mallory? Should he be kept from his fate? "To die among the stars is the most glorious death' that's what the Tycho said before
he
disappeared into the Solid State Entity. Maybe Mallory will succeed where our greatest pilot failed. Should he be kept from fate and glory? Tell me, my lovely scryer."

   Everyone looked at Katharine as she stood there calmly listening to Soli. She must have sensed their stares because she put her hand into the side pocket of her robe, "the pocket of concealment," where the scryers keep their tub of blacking oil. When she removed her hand, her forefinger was covered with a cream so black that it shed no light; it was as if she had no finger, as if a miniature black hole existed in the space that her finger occupied. According to the custom of the scryers she daubed the oil into the hollows of her eyepits, coating the scars with concealing blackness. I looked at the hollows above her high cheekbones; it was like looking down two dark, mysterious tunnels into her soul where windows should have been. I looked at her for only a moment before I had to look away.

   I was about to tell my sarcastic, arrogant uncle that I would do as I had sworn no matter what he decided when Katharine let out a clear, girlish laugh and said, "Mallory's fate is his fate, and nothing can change ... Except, Father, that you
have
changed it and always will have..." And here she laughed again, and continued, "But in the end we choose our futures, do you see?"

   Soli did not see, and neither did I nor anyone else. Who could understand the paradoxical, irritating sayings of the scryers?

   Just then Bardo ambled over and thumped me on the back. He bowed to Justine and smiled before quickly looking away. Bardo - he had always tried to keep it a secret, but he could not - lusted for my aunt. I did not think that she lusted for him, nor did she quite approve of his brazen sexuality, though in truth, they were alike in one certain way: They both loved physical pleasure, and cared little for the past, nothing at all for the future. After being introduced to Katharine, he bowed to Soli and said, "Lord Pilot, has Mallory apologized for his barbaric behavior last night? No? Well, I'll apologize for him because he's much too proud to apologize, and only I know how sorry he really is."

   "Pride kills," Soli said.

   "'Pride kills,'" Bardo repeated as he smoothed his black mustache with the side of his thumb. "Of course it does! But where does Mallory get his pride from? I've been his roommate for twelve years, and
I
know. 'Soli is mapping the core stars,' he used to say. 'Soli almost proved the Great Theorem.' Soli this, and Soli that - do you know what he says when I tell him he's insane for wasting time practicing his speed strokes? He says, 'When Soli became a pilot, he won the pilot's race, and so shall I'."

   He was referring, of course, to the race between the new pilots and the older ones held every year just after the convocation. For many, it is the high point of the Tycho's Festival.

   I was sure that my face was red. I could hardly bear to look at my uncle as he said, "Then tomorrow's race should be challenging. No one has beaten me for ..." His eyes suddenly clouded, and his voice trembled, slightly, and he continued, "for a long time."

   We spent a short while debating the aerodynamics of racing. I held that a low tuck was more efficient, but Soli pointed out that in a long race - as tomorrow's race would be - a low tuck quickly burned-out the muscles of the thigh, and that one must practice restraint.

   Our conversation was cut short when ten red-robed horologes marched out onto the dais and took their places by the Timekeeper, five to either side. In unison they sang out, "Silence, it is time! Silence, it is time!" and there was a sudden silence in the Hall. Then the Timekeeper stepped forward, and he announced his summons and called the quest for the Elder Eddas. "The secret of Man's immortality," he told us, "lies in our past and in our future." I felt Katharine's shoulder brush my own, and I was shocked (and excited) to feel her long fingers quickly and secretly squeeze my hand. I listened to the Timekeeper repeat the message that Soli had brought back from the core; I listened and for a moment I was enraptured with dreams of discovering great things. Then I happened to look at Soli's brooding eyes, and I did not care if I did great things. In my single-minded way I cared about only a single thing: that I should beat Soli in the pilot's race. "We must search for the mystery," the Timekeeper continued. "If we search, we will discover the secret of life and save ourselves." At that moment I did not care about secrets or salvation. What I wanted, simply, was to defeat a proud, arrogant man.