Return to the Whorl (The Book of the Short Sun #3)

Return to the Whorl (The Book of the Short Sun #3) Page 57

"Good Silk!" Oreb called by way of farewell.

His hands were still now as he watched Remora's retreating back. A minute passed, then two. A rockwren sang in the tree in which Oreb perched, then flew away, singing still.

"Poor Silk," Oreb remarked with simple sympathy. "Poor, poor. Poor Silk!"

He rose and began to pace the length of the little garden, left toward the docks and the sea, right toward the farms and the mountains, then left again. "I am a prisoner in a cell," he told Oreb, "and that tall man in black will return with my death warrant. I know it, and can't do a thing about it. Tell Nettle I loved her, please. Will you do that?"

"Bird tell."

"Thank you." He sat again, his head in his hands. "I loved Sinew, too. And Hoof and Hide and Krait. Jahlee and Seawrack. I should not have loved any of them-they were almost as selfish as I am, Oreb. But I did, and I asked the Greater Scylla on the Red Sun Whorl how I could find Seawrack again."

Oreb whistled sharply.

"She taught me how to communicate with her sister here. That was our bargain; but I have not used the information. I would never have used it while Nettle was alive."

"Good Silk!"

"Most of all, I loved Silk. I tried to model myself on him, and see what a mess I made of it. When at last I was given the chance to actually do something for him, I failed."

Returning with a worn volume, Remora had caught the last few words. "You did not-um-miss the mark. Ah-Horn. Yes, Horn."

"You are too kind, Your Cognizance. I did."

Resuming his seat, Remora said, "Possibly you have-umobserved that I have been calling you Patera?"

"Yes, Your Cognizance. Many people do, because of the robe, though I am aware that I am no augur. I've grown tired of objecting and generally let it pass."

"I, er, comprehend." Remora held up his book. "The Chrasmologic Writings, hey? From, um, your own Sun Street Quarter. Salvaged from the-ah-conflagration. By me, Patera. See where the cover's scorched?"

"Yes, Your Cognizance." He touched the discolored leather tentatively, as though it were a serpent. "This was Silk's? He used to read from this-from this copy-at manteion when I was a boy?"

"Um-ah-no. Not, er, exactly, Patera. Yet you are-humnearly correct. A-ah-near miss. To the point now, eh? Permit me."

"Of course, Your Cognizance."

From his branch, Oreb called, "Watch out!"

"It was from this that I read at the, er, nuptials. I have-ahsearched? Scrutinized it to discover the passage I rejected. Erroneously, eh. Hubris. I, um, conceived that it would be better if you did not, hum? But in error. In error. Not irretrievable, eh? I retrieve it now. Right the wrong."

The vague ache he felt in his chest at times had returned. He took as deep a breath as he could manage, recalling the swords of the torturer's tower. Men were required to lay their heads upon the block, to be lopped off by those swords; and they did it, often with great courage.

"Will you-ah-peruse it, Patera? I have, um, marked the place."

Someone else, someone very far away, said, "I cannot imagine that there is anything in the Writings that I should not read or hear read, Your Cognizance."

"It's, um, here."

The open book lay in his lap. He grasped it with both hands and raised it until his shadow no longer fell upon the print.

Though trodden beneath the shepherd's heel, the wild hyacinth blooms on the ground.

He wept; and another distant voice, Remora's, said, "Horn did not fail us, Patera. Calde. You see that now?"

Silk nodded.

AFTERWORD

The three volumes of this account were written almost entirely by their protagonist, the former Rajan of Gaon, who described in considerable detail his (?) search for the fabled town of Pajarocu and tragic adventures on Green, as well as his reign in Gaon and journey to New Viron. These we have left as he composed them, save for correction of obvious errors, division into chapters, and titling those chapters and his volumes.

He left us no written record of his brief sojourns in Old Viron and the West Pole, but he spoke of them often. In this volume we have re-created them to the best of our ability, based upon those conversations. What is most certain is the point most frequently doubted by those who have read earlier drafts of the present volume: that he abandoned his search for Silk in order that his chance-met friend's vision might be restored. He agreed to accompany Hari Mau to Gaon if Hari Mau would transport Pig to the West Pole. Both men might easily have broken their promises; both men kept them. We three who knew him well (as this account shows) find it easy to believe that he acted as he did. Readers who did not must bear in mind that he could not be certain that Silk was still in the Whorl. It may have seemed to him that Silk had quitted Old Viron, and might well have left the Whorl for Blue. It should also be borne in mind that the divine Silk was possessing Pig. (Pig appears to have visited the manse in which Silk had lived with Hyacinth for this reason.) In benefiting Pig, he was also benefiting Silk.

We are indebted to His Cognizance Patera Remora for his account of their final interview. His Cognizance could not reveal the details of our protagonist's shriving; nor would we wish him to.

Following that interview, he was seen only by Daisy, who was returning to her father's boat for her sewing basket and found him provisioning the Seanettle, assisted by a strikingly beautiful young woman who had only one arm. Just as Hoof wrote his own accounts of certain events in which the rest of us played no part, Daisy will append hers of their meeting.

This Book of the Short Sun (as we have tided it) has been issued by us, two brothers and their wives, residents of Lizard Island and citizens of New Viron. We are Hoof and Daisy, Hide and Vadsig. This is the second year of Blazingstar's caldeship.

At the time, I knew Hoof (who would so quickly become my husband) only as a friend and fellow student. We lived in Lizard on Lizard, as they say. That is, in the village called Lizard on Lizard Island. My father and my brother are fishermen. My mother and I usually remained ashore, although we assisted them in cleaning and smoking their catch, and sometimes accompanied them to New Viron to sell it.

When I was younger, my mother had wanted me to learn to read, write, and cypher, things she herself could not teach me. She had become acquainted with Nettle and sent me to her to be taught with her sons. For that we paid one large or two small fish per week. This arrangement ended a year before the opening of the present narrative.

We were invited to Hide and Vadsig's wedding, as everyone on Lizard was, and sailed to New Viron to attend. Our boat required recaulking, and my father decided to put it in dry-dock there, where there were ample supplies of tar and tow. Thus we remained there several days after the other guests from Lizard had returned to their homes.

While returning to our boat for the reason mentioned above, I was very much surprised to encounter the tall, white-haired man Hoof and his brother called Father. He was carrying a sack of potatoes, and had slung two large sacks across the shoulders of a tame hus. I think one held apples and the other a ham and other smoked meats.

Having seen me a few days ago at the wedding, he recognized me and congratulated me upon having survived the attack of the inhumi. I told him quite truthfully that I would have perished had Hoof not come to my rescue, and showed him the bandage on my neck. We talked about the wedding and the battle that had followed it in a friendly fashion, and when we reached his boat, he introduced me to Seawrack, who was stowing supplies on it and who plays so large a role in the first volume of this book. Although she was strong for a woman, she had difficulty handling certain things, and I was able to help her as well as the iron-faced sibyl. Lovely though Seawrack was, with her snowy skin, blue eyes, and fair hair, there was something animal about her. It seemed clear to me that she trusted only "Father," and would have put her long knife into any other person as readily as I would gut a fish.

"We will sail tonight," he told me. "Would you be willing to make my farewells to Hoof and Hide? Nettle is making her own, and cannot be bothered with mine."

I hesitated, and he said, "I've been dreading it-in a sense, I have killed their father, though the Outsider surely knows that I never meant him the least harm. I don't want to have to face his sons, and we have a great deal to do before we go. Won't you do it for me?"

"Bird say!" his pet announced.

"I know you did," he said, "but I'd like this girl to do it, too. Will you, Daisy? Will you say good-bye for me?"

I asked where they were going, and Seawrack said, "To find Pajarocu. There will be a lander that can fly there. Or one will come, and if they will not give it to us, we will take it."

"Back to Viron," the old sibyl confided.

And he: "To the stars."

Soon after that I left them and went to my father's boat for my sewing things, thinking only about the wedding and how beautiful it had been before the inhumi attacked. And never thinking at all of these books he left behind on Lizard, which I knew nothing about then but over which I have labored for hundreds of hours now.

The faint, blinking star that old people call the Whorl is fainter than ever. I went outside to look at it a moment ago, and although I could make it out with the telescope, it is no longer visible to my naked eyes.

They are in it, I hope, he and his eerie young woman, Nettle, the old sibyl, and their bird, on course upon a greater sea to strange new islands. Good fishing! Good fishing! Good fishing! Good fishing! Good fishing!