The Family Tree (23 page)

He concentrated on replenishing his coffee. “They were, yes. And microbiology and molecular biology, and half a hundred other ologies, but if you’re talking about the tree, the tree was just there. Whenever we see one like it, we know our people have lived there.”

“But nobody knows what kind it is.”

“I’m sure the Vorn do, but kids building tree houses don’t care much what kind. I don’t recall that anyone ever mentioned the species to me and I was never interested enough to ask.”

“How well did you know Jared?”

He looked at her narrowly. “He was older than I was by five years. He was Tom’s age. The only things I knew about him that were at all interesting were that he had been hit by lightning once and survived, and he was the only guy in high school who had a house of his own.”

Dora set her own cup down, spilling a little into the saucer. “He owned the place then?”

“His mother bought that house for him when he was only thirteen or fourteen. For him to have when he got ready to have a place of his own.”

“When he was thirteen?”

“Actually, that was very typical of her. She’s a very consistent person, Mrs. Gerber. An abstemious, unemotional, inquisitive, thrifty kind of woman. I’m sure she never spends a dime without reasoning it out. I’m sure no day passed that she didn’t tuck something away against a future need. She found a house that was rundown, going at a bargain price, and she bought the house in Jared’s name. It was Jared’s job to take care of it, right from the beginning. It was his place, and he did the work. Though my brothers said it was impossible, I suggested at the time that Jared’s having the house was the reason Cory ran off with him. They would have had a place to live.”

“I had no idea.”

“Oh, yes. He was digging the foundations for the ga
rage and patio, by hand, the summer he ran off with Cory.”

“Have you seen the place lately?”

“Not lately, no. We moved, and good riddance according to my father and brothers.” He summoned the waitperson and paid the bill, all in one quick motion, before she could offer to pay or share, then continued his account. “Sometimes I’d ride my bike over there, just to say hi. I saw Jared’s place when he had it completed. I must say, he kept the place very neat.”

“Too damn neat,” she muttered, then, noticing his weighing look, “Jared, I mean.” She shook her head. “Jared and his momma are very, very neat.”

He stared at her, then smiled, suddenly and shockingly, like an unexpected sunrise. “You’re fretting over Jared, aren’t you? Maybe feeling responsible? You shouldn’t. According to our religion, every man has a center of wildness in him, though in some it’s vanishingly small. Maybe it was that kernel in Jared that made him take up with my cousin, but believe me, if so, he used it all up in the few frantic hours he spent with her. He had no idea what he was connecting to. By the time she ran off, there he was, poor fellow, already drained, lost, only a shell. Be glad you realized it in time.”

“In time….”

“For yourself. Every woman has that fount of wildness, too. I’d guess you haven’t used yours. Civilization doesn’t give us many safe outlets. Either we repress, or we find it easy to get sidetracked into something evil or destructive. That’s why our people cling to our religion. It provides us a safe channel for the wildness in us all. With what’s happening now, there may not be any other safe channels.”

“What do you know about what’s happening now?” she challenged him.

“Not a lot,” he said, rising. “But I can see the forest for the trees. I can see that my people are concerned about what’s going on. My father, who seldom says he was mistaken about anything, was worrying recently that
some actions taken by the Vorn may have been mistaken, because they didn’t know this tree business was going to happen. It really worried him.”

“Personally, I like the trees,” she said stubbornly. “I like the birds. They’re full of music.”

He shook his head at her. “Well, maybe birds are the worst of it. I would hope they are. But from the comings and goings among my people, all the behind-closed-doors conferences, all the long faces, I’d say it’s more than that. They’re up to something, something big, and they have been for some little time now. I’m not privy to what it is, and even if I were, I couldn’t tell you.”

“That sounds unfriendly,” she said.

“Which is one of the arguments I’m constantly having with my father,” he said ruefully. “I don’t go much for secrecy. But then, when you’ve lived with it for a few thousand years….”

“That long?” she said, with a grin.

“So they say.” He pressed her hand in his own, raised it in rueful salute, and was gone.

I
n a sumptuously furnished tower room high above the breakfasting travelers, the emperor set aside the manuscript he was working on and turned his attention to his solitary breakfast, taken upon a table set in a tall
window looking out over the Crawling Sea. When he had opportunity, he preferred to eat with his fingers, alone and messily, rather than observe the mannerly behavior required in public. Eating with utensils was time consuming, one of those picky customs that set his teeth on edge, like wearing boots when he could walk better in soft slippers, or keeping his voice down when he wanted to roar at underlings for their continual stupidities. Nonetheless, for the most part, he did keep his voice down, he did eat with utensils, he did wear boots. He could not expect the peoples of his empire to stop frightening or disgusting one another if he did not take steps to do likewise. Eating like a barbarian was all right in private, but it wouldn’t do at state banquets.

Which fact he had tried to explain to his nephew Fasahd on many occasions. Fasahd did not agree. Fasahd did not desire peace. Fasahd was going to make Faros break his oath to his sister, a sin which Faros regarded as only slightly less horrific than matricide.

“Sister,” he said into the quiet room, “how could you have borne two such different sons as these, one all friendly good sense and the other all fangs and claws?” He was speaking metaphorically, of course, Fasahd was a good deal more than fangs and claws, which was what made him dangerous. How would Fasahd’s mother have seen this current situation, if she had lived? Would she have taken Fasahd’s part? Or Fasal Grun’s? Or the emperor’s?

The emperor rose from the table and went to the mirror, to remind himself, as he often said, who he was. He saw a body of size and bulk that, despite the slightly humped shoulders his family shared as a characteristic, was nonetheless quick and agile. He saw a certain controlled ferocity in the face, an alertness of eye, a keenness of senses. He reached out a hand to stroke that image, not out of self-love but out of need to verify what his eyes saw. Eyes could lie. Faces could smile while hiding villainy. His own must not. He could do and would do what his father and grandfather before him had
done. He could do and would do what the future of the world demanded. He could and would carry out the plans arrived at with such effort and pain over so many generations.

And if, in order to achieve peace, he had to release himself from the oath he had sworn his sister, he would do so. Still, he hoped that would not be necessary.

He sat down at the table once again, reviewing the words he had just written, part of his work on the people of the earth.

“
Long ago, so it is written, when great Korè walked openly in the lands of the people, none were so fair to her as the kapriel who accompanied her journeys, who went with her into the forests and plains, clearing the way before her, plucking up flowers which they put into her hands. The kapriel, so it is said, remember the ways of the wild, and as animal handlers they have made a place for themselves which cannot be filled by any other people
.”

He took up his pen, only to be interrupted by the sound of a person approaching his door. He anticipated the knock, which came softly.

“Enter.”

The one who entered was a ponjic secretary, one who served as a kind of go-between whenever the emperor was away from his own court. The secretary bowed deeply, murmuring, “Your Excellency, I bring a message from the Prime Duke.”

“And what does my nephew have to tell me today?”

“He wishes to advise the Great One, his uncle, that travelers have arrived telling of strange omens.”

“Sorcery?” he demanded, with a curl of his lip.

“No, Your Effulgence. Omens, fortunes, predictions originating among the Seers of Sworp. An onchik with a geas dating back many years. A scuinan with a lost fortune. A ponja retelling a prophecy that is years old.”

“Hah,” he murmured. “Have they come to consult the seers?”

“It is said they are on their way to the Hospice of St. Weel.”

The emperor looked up with slight impatience.

“One of them, the scuinic prince, much desires an audience with your Mightiness.”

“Does he say why?”

“To bring greetings from his father, the sultan of Tavor.”

The emperor waved this away, as unimportant.

“It might be very wise, however, for you to meet with the ponjic prince. He speaks of a danger that is coming. A horror that confronts the world. Something of that sort.”

“Again! What in the name of Korè is going on?”

“I know no more than Your Excellency does.”

“We’ve worked so hard. We’ve accomplished so much!”

“Certainly.”

“By all the former gods, Zarl. By the ages and the sages—”

“Something else.”

“And what might that be?”

“The ponjic prince. I heard him saying something to the other ponja, one dressed as a male but female for all that, though the prince is seemingly unaware of it. He was talking about certain trees they encountered during their journey and he used the phrase, ‘natural selection.’”

“He what?”

“Your Excellency heard me the first time.”

“He could have arrived at the phrase independently.”

“Unlikely, sir.”

“Do you suppose there’s another…?”

“Another library, sir?”

“Yes. I mean, we know there were others. Do you suppose others have survived?”

“Would you like to grant him an audience?”

“By all means,” whispered Faros VII. Oh, yes, Zarl. By all means. With him alone.”

P
rince Sahir was seriously annoyed.

“Why do you get a private audience?” he demanded. “Why not me?”

Izzy spoke between his teeth. “Did it ever occur to you I may be in serious trouble here?”

Sahir snorted. “Why?”

“Oh, my prince,” I cried, greatly distraught, “you know why. Perhaps the emperor knows that Izzy used magic to save us from the Dire Duke.”

Sahir fell silent. He had not considered that possibility. He lowered his eyes, though he did not go so far as to apologize. “Perhaps that is so. I forgive you.”

“Kind of you,” said Izzy. “If I end up sentenced to death, just remember your forgiveness. Use diplomacy. Tell the emperor you’ll be his fast friend forever if he lets me go back to Palmia safely.” He shuddered. He’d been shuddering ever since Faros VII had summoned him and asked that he come alone.

“I think that person is looking for you,” I whispered,
indicating a liveried ponja standing in the doorway.

Izzy took a deep breath, rose, smoothed down his jacket and followed the ponja. Though I did not go with him, he told me all about it, later.

He followed for some little time, up flights of stairs and across open courtyards and down other flights of stairs, finally ascending what seemed to be the central tower.

“What’s the protocol?” he murmured to his guide, when they stopped at last outside a gilded door.

“He’s not much for head banging,” murmured the other. “Bow on entering, speak when spoken to, bow before leaving, and that’s about it.” He turned to knock, then turned back. “Oh, yes. Don’t use any words with bahs in them.”

“Bahs?”

“The letter Bah, right.” The secretary rapped, entered and summoned Izzy into the presence.

“Prince Izakar of Palmia,” the secretary announced.

Izzy bowed.

“Come on over here,” said a gruff voice.

Izzy looked up to confront an even larger version of Fasal Grun. This person was becoming grizzled with age, but his movements were agile as he beckoned to Izzy to come forward, to sit opposite him on one of the chairs set within the curve of an oriel window that looked out over the sea.

“Would you like some wine?” the emperor asked. “Cakes?”

“We have just had b—a meal, Your Majesty,” said Izzy, carefully spelling each word to himself. The words, of necessity, were hesitant.

“Zarl’s told me about your group,” the emperor said, examining Izzy closely. “Some sort of a fortune lost? Some sort of prediction?”

Izzy took a deep breath. “Ah, Prince Sahir, of Tavor, was directed b—that is, received directions from a seeress to go to the Hospice at St. Weel, else some great disaster might bef—that is, happen. In my case, the
prognostication came from the seeresses. I am to solve the Great Enigma or our posterity may b—that is, ah, is endangered.” He fell silent, wiping his face with his pocket handkerchief.

The emperor gave him a sympathetic look, nodding. “You’ve been prince of Palmia for some time now.”

“I have,” Izzy responded.

“Nice old castle you have there. Palmody, isn’t that the name of the town? Old town. Must go way, way, way back.”

“Oh, it does, your Majesty. Way, way, way…in the past.”

“Of course, your people don’t believe anything went that far back, do they?”

Izzy took a deep breath. “No. No, they don’t…accept any past that’s very distant.”

“I, on the other hand,” mused the emperor, “and certain other people as well, do believe in a distant past.”

“Do you, indeed?” said Izzy in his politest voice. “That’s very interesting.”

“We believe many things are left over from distant times,” the emperor continued. “Ourselves, for example. Certain other creatures. Even some buildings. This one, for instance. I would say this building is at least a thousand years old.”

“Amazing,” murmured Izzy, wiping his face once more.

“And the building I occupy when I am at home…well, it’s older yet. All of two thousand years. And what do you suppose exists beneath it?”

“Be—that is, under your castle, Your Majesty?”

“Exactly. What do you suppose?”

“A…cathedral?”

“What would that be?”

“I’ve heard…that some kind of religious build—that is, structures underlie current structures.”

The emperor examined him narrowly. “Come, come, Prince Izakar. Our interests are not opposed. Isn’t there
something else that could underlie an old fortification?”

“Perhaps,” Izzy said desperately, “Perhaps a…repository for, ah…manuscripts?”

“Why don’t you say it? A library. A place for keeping books.”

“The words have bahs in them, Your Effulgence.”

“And so?”

“Your secretary told me….”

“Zarl?” Faros laughed, his humped shoulders shaking. “Up to his tricks again, is he. I despair.” The emperor stretched his lips into a toothy grin and shook his head. “He does that. It amuses him. I should have known. Here I am, trying to find out what’s going on, and here are you, busy spelling conversation to yourself. Now what is it that may lie beneath my old castle, Prince Izakar? That also, perhaps, lies beneath the castle in Palmody?”

Izzy took a deep breath and blurted, “A library, sir. A very ancient library. From times long gone.”

“Ahhhh.” The emperor sat back in his chair, his head thrown back, his fingers gripping the arms. “So there is at least one other.”

“I thought mine was the only one,” whispered Izzy.

“As I did mine, when I came to the throne,” replied the emperor. “As did my father and grandfather before me. My researchers have told me there must be others.”

“I had no idea,” murmured Izzy.

“Well, you should have had,” grumped the emperor. “Here I am, trying to unify the world so that it won’t go down the chutes again. I’ve been quite open about my motivation. Obviously, if I’m trying to prevent something that’s happened before, I must have had knowledge of what it was that happened before. Hah?”

“I take Your Effulgence’s point.” Izzy nodded, wondering why it had escaped him until now.

“So does Fasal Grun. Good lad, Fasal Grun.” He stared out the window for a long moment before continuing. “There’s a prince with you, from Tavor. Do you trust him?

“He’s been very generous during our travels, but I don’t know enough about him to say one way or the other. My inclination would be to trust his companion, Nassif, more than I would him.”

“She’s ponjic, as you are. That would be your inclination.”

“She?” Izzy gargled.

“She,” said the emperor. “Dressed up like a boy, but then, that’s for convenience sake, no doubt. I’ve heard the prince has an attendant with him, a big one?”

“Soaz? A mercenary, sir. A hireling. I would attest to his loyalty to the sultan of Tavor, but I know nothing about his sense of ethics.”

“How about the countess? I’ve met her. She’s always struck me as a practical person.”

“I would say pragmatic, sir. She was very helpful on the way here.”

“What about the armakfatid?”

“An enigma, Your Majesty.”

“And the onchiki?”

“Well, Your Majesty, so long as something didn’t come along to distract them, I’m sure they’d be quite trustworthy. If they remembered.”

“My observations as well. Distractable. Charming, nonetheless. Like children.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’ll leave it to you. Confide in whichever of them you choose, if you must. Otherwise, keep it to yourself.” He gloomed out the window at the sun, sparkling on the sea, restlessly combing his hair with his long fingernails. A silent time went by.

Izzy shifted. “Keep what to myself, Your Majesty?”

“Ah? Oh. Yes. Well, my problem is that everything’s falling apart.”

“Everything?”

“Well, some things. Unexpected things. This business with Fasahd! He’s always been belligerent, but he’s also been loyal, up until recently. Now what do I hear? Cannibalism, that’s what! You’re not the first to tell me that!
Fasahd isn’t bright, but he’s certainly not hungry! He didn’t think this up by himself. Someone has put him up to it. Then there’s the trees. Why on earth should the trees be upset? We’ve gotten along famously for hundreds of years!

“All this distresses me, so I go to the Seeresses of Sworp, who are normally very reliable, and they tell me of dark influences, dire happenings, inimical forces. And you show up, bearing prophecies and predictions. Now I ask you! What inimical force? Eh? I’m the emperor. Who else is there?”

“Nothing untoward happening?”

“Nothing dark! Nothing dire! All these predictions, and nothing evident! How can all this tragedy be gathering without showing some sign? I have my agents out, here, there, busy as wasps on a jelly-muffin, gathering. All they hear are rumors. The destroyer is coming. The terminator has been put into action.”

“What the trees call the ‘walker on fire feet’?”

“I suppose. Now how do you know the trees call it that?”

“Someone mentioned it,” mumbled Izzy, grasping for something to change the subject. “You think those…people at St. Weel could be involved?”

“Ah? It occurs to you too, does it? Process of elimination! Consider everyone else, and who’s left? Hah? Those at St. Weel.”

“Is Your Majesty considering conquering St. Weel?”

“No. Why would I? What’s to conquer? It’s a tiny little place, set high up on a cliff overlooking the sea. If those there are responsible for this disorder, I could blockade the place! Let no one in, no one out. That would stop the influence. But I’m not sure, don’t you see? Maybe it’s them, and maybe it’s someone else.”

“Your Mightiness wants me to find out which?”

“Exactly. Find out which.”

“And Your Mightiness would rather not go yourself.”

“Can’t,” brooded the emperor. “Simply can’t. Who
ever, whatever is prying and plotting, they’d like nothing better than for me to be off somewhere, out of touch, unable to control what’s going on. No. You go. You and the Countess Elianne and the rest of you. Find out, and send me word.”

“Your Mightiness…”

“Yes. What?”

“If…if I needed to use some method of which Your Mightiness would ordinarily disapprove. That is, those at St. Weel are reputed to be wizards….”

“Magic? You want my permission to use magic?”

“I am merely seeking a sense of Your Greatness’s wishes.”

The emperor turned away, his great humped shoulders shaking. In a moment, Izzy realized he was laughing.

“By all means,” the emperor said. “Use what you like. Just don’t tell anyone I said so.”

In the rose garden, the conversation that had taken place between Izzy and the emperor was quoted almost verbatim (so Izzy insisted) to me and the countess. We sat near an ornamental wall over which one could look over the city of Gulp to the surrounding hills or the sea. Before telling us anything, Izzy swore us to secrecy, and it was only after taking a really disgustingly terrible oath that the countess and I learned about libraries. And history. And cycles. And the fact that things in our world were much more complicated than either of us had ever known—or cared to know.

It was clear to me why Izzy had chosen the countess to hear this story. She was a very practical person who had studied the theory of government. She was, at least, able to follow what he was saying and make some sense of it. Why he had chosen me as a confidante, I had no idea. Perhaps it was merely that we were both ponjic. Though I eschew bigotry, similar racial backgrounds do count for something. I learned later he had found out I am female, and females have always been the confidantes of adventurers. It is called pillow talk—even
when no pillows are involved—and it is very ancient.

“So the emperor will help us get to St. Weel?” asked the countess, cutting to the heart of the matter.

“He’ll send imperial troops with us,” Izzy confirmed. “There’s a road from here, not a good one, but one that goes the whole way. He’ll furnish wagons. We don’t have to walk.”

“And he postulates some inimical force?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“He does. And he has no more idea than we do who or what it might be. He has spies everywhere. Rumor is rampant and proof of anything disastrous is totally lacking.”

“I simply can’t imagine,” the countess said, her brow wrinkled. “Fasahd is evil because he’s envious, because he has a personality disorder. At least, that’s what Blanche calls it. I’ve assumed it was just him, that he was the problem, so to speak, but you say the emperor believes it’s someone or something else who’s using Fasahd.” She rotated her head upon her neck, as though working out kinks, or perhaps to make her brain work better. Her wig came a bit awry, and she straightened it, unconscious of what she was doing.

“I can’t come up with a why! I am a member of the Council of Governments. Every few years we meet to discuss improving the lot of our people. I’ve met all the rulers, or their envoys, from Isfoin and Tavor, from Wycos and Palmia and the shore counties. By and large, all the peoples of the world—at least, as much of the world as I know about—are reasonably well housed and fed. We have sent a committee to investigate the Onchik-Dau for failure to maintain the crofts of the onchiki, but even there the evidence of misfeasance is slight. The Onchik-Dau have been heaving themselves around on the shores of the Crawling Sea, bellowing at one another for who knows how long, and we’re not going to change them now! There have been no sicknesses for some time, none of those plagues we hear of in ancient tales. Festivals are frequent and well attended. Taxes are low.
Recompense is fair, and benefits for the orphaned or aged are adequate, due much, if I do say so myself, to my influence with the other rulers.

“During our next few sessions, I have hope that the various nations will see fit to offer benefits to those wanderers who contribute so much to our enjoyment: the players, the traveling musicians, the peddlers, the craftsmen, but even now, their lot is not a bad one. Conspiracy springs from disaffection, so I have been taught, and I simply cannot think of a disaffected class whose needs are not being addressed!”

“It might be something quite outside our usual sphere,” commented Izzy. “Some magical or demonic force? Some invasion or subversion by foreign powers?”