Despite the
numbers and the animals and my own pessimism, nothing went wrong.
Goblin and I made repeated rounds of the circle and the tailback
running north up the protected road. We found everyone in a mood to
be cooperative. I suppose that had something to do with the shadows
clinging to the surface of our invisible protection and oozing
around like evil leeches. Nothing focuses the attention like the
proximity of a bad death.
“There are other ways in and out of this circle besides
the one we came in and the one we’re going to use
tomorrow,” I told Goblin. “How come we can’t see
them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s magic. Maybe you
ought to ask One-Eye.”
“Why him?”
“You’ve been around long enough that you
should’ve discovered the truth. He knows everything. Just
ask. He’ll tell you.” Evidently he was less worried
about his friend. He was back to picking on One-Eye.
“You know, you’re right. I haven’t had much
chance to talk to him but I did notice that he’s going
all-out to be a pain. Why don’t we go wake him up, tell him
he’s in charge, and get ourselves some shut-eye?” Which
is what we did, with slight modifications, after we made sure there
was a watch rotation for every potential entry into the circle,
whether it could be seen or not. With help from Gota and Uncle Doj,
One-Eye was still capable of contributing a little something to his
own protection. Not that he was willing to admit that.
I believe Goblin went off and whispered something to Tobo, too,
after we went our respective ways.
I had just gotten comfortable on my nice rock bed when Sahra
invited herself over for a chat. I really was tired and
uncharitable. When I sensed her presence, I just wanted her to go
away. And she did not stay long.
She said, “Murgen wanted to talk to you but I told him you
were exhausted and needed to rest. He wanted me to warn you that
your dreams may be particularly vivid and probably confusing. He
said just don’t go anywhere and don’t panic. I have to
go tell Goblin and One-Eye and Uncle and some others and have them
spread the word to everyone else. Rest easy.” She patted my
hand, letting me know we were still friends. I grunted and closed
my eyes.
Murgen was right. Night on the glittering plain was another
adventure entirely. The landmarks were similar but seemed to be
ghosts of their daytime selves. And the sky was not to be
trusted.
The plain itself was still all shades of grey but now with some
sort of implied illumination that left all the angles and edges
clearly defined. Once when I glanced upward I saw a full moon and
the sky crowded with stars, then only moments later, the overcast
was back and there was nothing to be seen at all. The characters
inscribed on the standing stones all seemed busy, which was not
something Murgen had noted during his own visit. I watched for a
moment, recognizing individual characters but no words.
Nevertheless, I had an epiphany I would have to pass on to Master
Santaraksita in the morning. The inscriptions on the pillars did
begin at the upper right and read downward. For the first column.
The second column read from the bottom upward. Then the third read
back down. And so on.
I became more interested in the things moving amongst the
pillars, though. There were some big shadows out there, things with
a presence potent enough to terrify and scatter the little shadows
radiating hunger as they crawled over the surface of our
protection. The big ones would not come closer. They had about them
an air of infinite, wicked patience that left me convinced they
would be out there waiting if it took a thousand years for one of
us to screw up and open a gap in our protection.
In dream, all roads leading into the circle were equally
well-defined. Each was a glimmering ruler stroke running off to
glowing domes in the distance. Of all those roads and domes,
though, only those on our north-south trace seemed to be fully
alive. Either the road knew what we wanted to do or it knew what it
wanted us to do.
In an instant I was amazed, bewildered, terrified, exultant,
having realized that in order to see what I was seeing, I would
have to be at least a dozen feet above my normal height of eye.
Which meant that I had to go outside my skin, the way Murgen did,
and while I had wished for the ability a thousand times and the
view was engrossing, the risks were none I cared to face when the
opportunity was real. I sped a prayer heavenward. God needs to be
reminded. I was totally, ecstatically, happy being Sleepy, without
one shred of mystical talent. Really. If it was necessary that
somebody in my gang do this sort of thing, Goblin or One-Eye or
Uncle Doj or almost anyone else could have the magic, sparing only
Tobo, despite him being the prophesied future of the Company. Tobo
was still a little too short on self-discipline to be handed any
more capabilities.
The presence of the small shadows was kind of like that of a
flock of pigeons. They were not silent on that ghost-world level
but they did not try to communicate unless with one another. It
took me only moments to shut them out.
The skies above were more troublesome. Each time I lifted my
gaze I saw that some dramatic change had occurred. Sometimes there
was an impenetrable overcast, sometimes a wild starfield and a full
moon. Once there were fewer stars and an extra moon. Once a
distinct constellation hung right over the road south. It conformed
exactly to Murgen’s description of a constellation called the
Noose. Hitherto I had always suspected the Noose to have been a
fabrication on Mother Gota’s part.
Then, just beyond the golden pickax, I spied a strapping trio of
the uglies Murgen had reported meeting in that very spot his first
night on the glittering plain. Were they yakshas? Rakshasas? I
tried to shoehorn them into Gunni or even Kina’s mythology
but just could not make them fit. There would be plenty of room,
though, I did not doubt. The Gunni are more flexible in matters of
doctrine than are we Vehdna. We are taught that intolerance is our
gift of faith. Gunni flexibility is just one more reason they will
all suffer the eternal fires. The idolaters.
God is Great. God is Merciful. In Forgiveness He is Like the
Earth. But He can become a tad mean-spirited with unbelievers.
I tried desperately to recall Murgen’s report of his
encounter with these dream creatures. Nothing came forward despite
the fact that I had been the one who had written it all down. I
could not for certain recall if his night visitors had been
identical to these. These were humanoid and human-size but
definitely lacking human features. Possibly they wore masks in the
guise of beasts. Judging from their frenetic gestures, they wanted
me to follow them somewhere. I seemed to recall something similar
having happened during Murgen’s episode. He had refused. So
did I, although I did drift toward them and did attempt to engage
them in conversation.
I did not, of course, have a knack for generating sound without
a body or tools. And they did not speak any language I knew, so the
whole business was an exercise in futility.
They became extremely frustrated. They seemed to think that I
was playing games. They finally stamped away, obviously possessed
by a big anger.
“Murgen, I don’t know where you are. But
you’re going to have to spend some time clueing me in
here.”
The ugly people were gone. No skin off my nose. Now maybe I
could get some sleep. Some real sleep, without all these too-real
dreams and awful, improbable skies.
It started to rain, which told me which sky was the true sky and
paramount above the me that lay twitching fitfully as the cold
drops began to make themselves felt. There was no way to get in out
of it. There was no way to erect tents or other shelters on the
plain. In fact, the matter of weather had not arisen during our
planning sessions. I do not know why, though it seems that there is
always something big that you overlook, something to which every
planner on the team turns a blind eye. Then, when the breakdown or
failure comes, you cannot figure out how you overlooked the
obvious.
Somehow we must have concluded that there was no weather on the
plain. Maybe because Murgen’s Annals did not recall any. But
somebody should have noticed that the Captured made this journey at
a different time of year. Somebody should have realized that that
was sure to have some impact. Somebody probably named me.
It had been cool already when the rain began to fall. It grew
chillier fast. Crabbily, I got up and helped cover stuff to protect
it, helped get out means for recovering some of the water, then
confiscated a piece of tenting and another blanket, rolled up and
went back to sleep, ignoring the rain. It was only a persistent
drizzle and when you are exhausted, nothing but sleep matters
much.
Despite the
numbers and the animals and my own pessimism, nothing went wrong.
Goblin and I made repeated rounds of the circle and the tailback
running north up the protected road. We found everyone in a mood to
be cooperative. I suppose that had something to do with the shadows
clinging to the surface of our invisible protection and oozing
around like evil leeches. Nothing focuses the attention like the
proximity of a bad death.
“There are other ways in and out of this circle besides
the one we came in and the one we’re going to use
tomorrow,” I told Goblin. “How come we can’t see
them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s magic. Maybe you
ought to ask One-Eye.”
“Why him?”
“You’ve been around long enough that you
should’ve discovered the truth. He knows everything. Just
ask. He’ll tell you.” Evidently he was less worried
about his friend. He was back to picking on One-Eye.
“You know, you’re right. I haven’t had much
chance to talk to him but I did notice that he’s going
all-out to be a pain. Why don’t we go wake him up, tell him
he’s in charge, and get ourselves some shut-eye?” Which
is what we did, with slight modifications, after we made sure there
was a watch rotation for every potential entry into the circle,
whether it could be seen or not. With help from Gota and Uncle Doj,
One-Eye was still capable of contributing a little something to his
own protection. Not that he was willing to admit that.
I believe Goblin went off and whispered something to Tobo, too,
after we went our respective ways.
I had just gotten comfortable on my nice rock bed when Sahra
invited herself over for a chat. I really was tired and
uncharitable. When I sensed her presence, I just wanted her to go
away. And she did not stay long.
She said, “Murgen wanted to talk to you but I told him you
were exhausted and needed to rest. He wanted me to warn you that
your dreams may be particularly vivid and probably confusing. He
said just don’t go anywhere and don’t panic. I have to
go tell Goblin and One-Eye and Uncle and some others and have them
spread the word to everyone else. Rest easy.” She patted my
hand, letting me know we were still friends. I grunted and closed
my eyes.
Murgen was right. Night on the glittering plain was another
adventure entirely. The landmarks were similar but seemed to be
ghosts of their daytime selves. And the sky was not to be
trusted.
The plain itself was still all shades of grey but now with some
sort of implied illumination that left all the angles and edges
clearly defined. Once when I glanced upward I saw a full moon and
the sky crowded with stars, then only moments later, the overcast
was back and there was nothing to be seen at all. The characters
inscribed on the standing stones all seemed busy, which was not
something Murgen had noted during his own visit. I watched for a
moment, recognizing individual characters but no words.
Nevertheless, I had an epiphany I would have to pass on to Master
Santaraksita in the morning. The inscriptions on the pillars did
begin at the upper right and read downward. For the first column.
The second column read from the bottom upward. Then the third read
back down. And so on.
I became more interested in the things moving amongst the
pillars, though. There were some big shadows out there, things with
a presence potent enough to terrify and scatter the little shadows
radiating hunger as they crawled over the surface of our
protection. The big ones would not come closer. They had about them
an air of infinite, wicked patience that left me convinced they
would be out there waiting if it took a thousand years for one of
us to screw up and open a gap in our protection.
In dream, all roads leading into the circle were equally
well-defined. Each was a glimmering ruler stroke running off to
glowing domes in the distance. Of all those roads and domes,
though, only those on our north-south trace seemed to be fully
alive. Either the road knew what we wanted to do or it knew what it
wanted us to do.
In an instant I was amazed, bewildered, terrified, exultant,
having realized that in order to see what I was seeing, I would
have to be at least a dozen feet above my normal height of eye.
Which meant that I had to go outside my skin, the way Murgen did,
and while I had wished for the ability a thousand times and the
view was engrossing, the risks were none I cared to face when the
opportunity was real. I sped a prayer heavenward. God needs to be
reminded. I was totally, ecstatically, happy being Sleepy, without
one shred of mystical talent. Really. If it was necessary that
somebody in my gang do this sort of thing, Goblin or One-Eye or
Uncle Doj or almost anyone else could have the magic, sparing only
Tobo, despite him being the prophesied future of the Company. Tobo
was still a little too short on self-discipline to be handed any
more capabilities.
The presence of the small shadows was kind of like that of a
flock of pigeons. They were not silent on that ghost-world level
but they did not try to communicate unless with one another. It
took me only moments to shut them out.
The skies above were more troublesome. Each time I lifted my
gaze I saw that some dramatic change had occurred. Sometimes there
was an impenetrable overcast, sometimes a wild starfield and a full
moon. Once there were fewer stars and an extra moon. Once a
distinct constellation hung right over the road south. It conformed
exactly to Murgen’s description of a constellation called the
Noose. Hitherto I had always suspected the Noose to have been a
fabrication on Mother Gota’s part.
Then, just beyond the golden pickax, I spied a strapping trio of
the uglies Murgen had reported meeting in that very spot his first
night on the glittering plain. Were they yakshas? Rakshasas? I
tried to shoehorn them into Gunni or even Kina’s mythology
but just could not make them fit. There would be plenty of room,
though, I did not doubt. The Gunni are more flexible in matters of
doctrine than are we Vehdna. We are taught that intolerance is our
gift of faith. Gunni flexibility is just one more reason they will
all suffer the eternal fires. The idolaters.
God is Great. God is Merciful. In Forgiveness He is Like the
Earth. But He can become a tad mean-spirited with unbelievers.
I tried desperately to recall Murgen’s report of his
encounter with these dream creatures. Nothing came forward despite
the fact that I had been the one who had written it all down. I
could not for certain recall if his night visitors had been
identical to these. These were humanoid and human-size but
definitely lacking human features. Possibly they wore masks in the
guise of beasts. Judging from their frenetic gestures, they wanted
me to follow them somewhere. I seemed to recall something similar
having happened during Murgen’s episode. He had refused. So
did I, although I did drift toward them and did attempt to engage
them in conversation.
I did not, of course, have a knack for generating sound without
a body or tools. And they did not speak any language I knew, so the
whole business was an exercise in futility.
They became extremely frustrated. They seemed to think that I
was playing games. They finally stamped away, obviously possessed
by a big anger.
“Murgen, I don’t know where you are. But
you’re going to have to spend some time clueing me in
here.”
The ugly people were gone. No skin off my nose. Now maybe I
could get some sleep. Some real sleep, without all these too-real
dreams and awful, improbable skies.
It started to rain, which told me which sky was the true sky and
paramount above the me that lay twitching fitfully as the cold
drops began to make themselves felt. There was no way to get in out
of it. There was no way to erect tents or other shelters on the
plain. In fact, the matter of weather had not arisen during our
planning sessions. I do not know why, though it seems that there is
always something big that you overlook, something to which every
planner on the team turns a blind eye. Then, when the breakdown or
failure comes, you cannot figure out how you overlooked the
obvious.
Somehow we must have concluded that there was no weather on the
plain. Maybe because Murgen’s Annals did not recall any. But
somebody should have noticed that the Captured made this journey at
a different time of year. Somebody should have realized that that
was sure to have some impact. Somebody probably named me.
It had been cool already when the rain began to fall. It grew
chillier fast. Crabbily, I got up and helped cover stuff to protect
it, helped get out means for recovering some of the water, then
confiscated a piece of tenting and another blanket, rolled up and
went back to sleep, ignoring the rain. It was only a persistent
drizzle and when you are exhausted, nothing but sleep matters
much.