The Usurper (14 page)

Chapter Eleven

In order to clarify certain events, soon to be recounted, it seems to me germane to deal briefly with certain issues, scientific, historical, and institutional.

There is no doubt that the Telnarian empire existed, or exists. Which is not clear. Is it still with us, somewhere? Much depends on the rooms of space and the mansions of time. Surely evidence abounds in its many dimensions, archaic words, place names, linguistic affinities, customs, day names and month names, holidays, folk tales, legends, a thousand annals, and chronicles, coins, artifacts, the remains of fountains, now run dry for centuries, fallen statues, perhaps of unknown heroes or gods, half-effaced inscriptions, perhaps recounting glories, scraped into unintelligibility by zealots, the watchers or guardians, crumbled walls, damp, worn, overgrown with moss, the ruins of aqueducts, such things. One does not know if the Telnarian empire was founded here, or if it intersected with our world for a time, perhaps in some form of transit. Perhaps it was here, while it passed through. It is hard to know about these things. Are there worlds, and tangled histories of worlds, diverse lines of reality, which might, for a time, touch one another, and intertwine, however briefly? Could it disappear, and reemerge? Is there a circuit in such things, as some believe, as in the routes of comets?

Sometimes one fears the sky, dark with ships.

The orthodoxy on this point is clear, an orthodoxy which I, of course, celebrate and unhesitantly affirm. Make no mistake in this. I, as all good and wise men, subscribe to the correct view. Who would be so unwise as to do otherwise? The countless forms of evidence, so abundant, so seemingly incontrovertible, of so many kinds, scattered over its thousands of latimeasures, is fraudulent, primarily contrived, however inexplicably, or pointlessly, by heretics. Perhaps there was, for a time, a Telnarian empire, but it was a small, untoward sort of thing, a matter of villages, or isolated towns, at best a temporary step, soon left behind, on the path to our contemporary world of simplicity and pastoral perfection. One need only go to the casement, to see the peasants contentedly toiling with their hoes in the field, see the smoke emerging from the chimneys of the tiny, happy cottages in the distance, hear the hourly, monitory chimes of the bells in the watch tower.

We know the stories told of the Telnarian empire, of its galactic tentacles, its thousands of worlds, and such, must then, at least for the most part, be mythical. What a strange way they had of thinking about the pleasant lamps in the sky! It is quite possible they did not even grasp the fact that the universe was created for us, a fact which becomes clear when it is recognized that our world is the single, only world, and that it lies at the exact center of the universe, where there is room for only one world, of course, just one, ours, this indisputably demonstrating our special and privileged position in the cosmos.

How fortunate for our vanity!

How humble we must be, finding ourselves so situated, despite our unworthiness, our lacks and faults, at the very pinnacle and center of all time, truth, and reality!

So reads the orthodoxy.

Who can believe such nonsense?

Almost all who have been so instructed.

Fruitful and abundant are the comforting joys of abject ignorance!

Why bleed on the blade of truth?

I shall pause for a time.

The watcher has been announced.

I do not think I need fear him, at least overmuch.

He is a good man, and, happily, cannot read. I shall reiterate the declarations which he requires, and share some
kana
with him. He looks forward to that. I must not disappoint him. There is some protection, of course, in being a recluse, an eccentric inquirer into obscure things, presumably innocent, antique things. Too, my needs are simple, and I have little to do with others. I have little to fear. I am harmless. I threaten no one. I am safe.

What is an empire, what is an institution?

An empire, clearly, though it may extend in space and endure through time, is not a thing in any usual sense; for example, it is not like a tree or rock. Some empires may perish before a tree might bear its fruit and others might challenge the longevity of a rock. But they are not rocks and trees. One can see soldiers and ships, and walls and roads, but one cannot see an empire. Standards and flags, perhaps, but not empires. Yet not all empires wear the garments of power openly; as did, or does, the Telnarian empire; not all march with legions, and ship with fleets. Institutions, in their various sorts, are invisible, but sometimes real with a terribleness which would trivialize the splittings of worlds and the explosions of stars. Institutions differ. Some redeem and profit a species; others sink poisoned fangs into the mind; some transform and ennoble lives; others sicken quadrants, infecting them with the most virulent of plagues, those which prey on the innocence and vulnerability of the soul, particularly that of the young. How cunningly, cruelly, and arrogantly they groom the young to do their bidding and carry their burdens!

Science has become a secret thing, a thing of stealth and sorcerers. I have known men who believed that light was not simply there or not there, but that it moved, even as a horse or dog, and very rapidly. I suspect this is true. I have known men, too, who believed that the lights in the sky were not lamps, but distant orbs of flaming gas, some far away. Others, you see, besides myself, have read old books, sometimes hidden books, sometimes encoded long ago. Our science is the last word in all science, and the correct word, of course, for science is ended in our time, as we know all there is to know, or, at least, all that is worth knowing, but I know, too, there are a thousand sciences which differ from ours, doubtless therefore being incorrect, but I wonder sometimes if our science is correct, and I wonder, too, sometimes, if all these thousand sciences might not be incorrect. The world, even a small world, may be a difficult thing to understand. Fixed worlds, like tables, and borne lamps, are easier to fathom. We know about tables, and lamps, and candles. The annals hint at untold worlds, separated by almost inconceivable distances, of systems, and a galaxy, and of galaxies beyond galaxies. They suggest, too, routes, openings, crevices, passages, foldings, involutions, tunnels, and such, which, in some cases, would make far worlds neighbors. Two points on a map might be a yard from one another, but, if the map were folded in a certain manner, the yard might prove an illusion, and the width of a ribbon, two juxtaposed surfaces of the same map, pressed together, might bespeak reality.

I insist on my orthodoxy. What sane man would not? But in the inside, in the secret place, where there are no frames and ropes, and burning irons, one wonders. I do not fear thought, secret thought. It does not frighten me. It neither threatens nor jeopardizes my prestige, my position in society, my wealth, my power, or my livelihood.

So what is one to make of the Telnarian empire?

I think it existed, or exists.

Once my sleeve, long ago, briefly, brushed a golden column.

The watcher is gone.

I shall return to the accounts.

Chapter Twelve

“They learn quickly,” said Julian.

“They are intelligent, highly so,” said Otto.

“Barbarians are to be feared,” said Julian.

“I am a barbarian,” said Otto.

“I fear you,” said Julian.

“Abrogate the project,” suggested Otto.

“It is the only hope for the empire,” said Julian. “The common citizens care only for their ease and comfort, their pleasures and entertainments, and will have others feed them, support them, and defend them.”

“Not all, surely,” said Otto.

“No,” said Julian, “but many are beaten down, and disheartened, crippled by prolonged labor, particularly by the forced labor of
munera
, in lieu of taxation. Many are mired, too, in the legal bindings, now widely spread, where one must follow one's father's calling, craft, or profession, this intelligently instituted to stabilize the tax base, and others are landless tenants,
coloni
, and others are serfs who, as with the legal bindings, are bound to the soil, who must live and die on the same plot of land. Such folk have little in common but their misery and want, and their hatred for any better off than themselves, for landowners, clerks, officials, overseers, even for the empire itself, which they see as their foe and oppressor. And, too, there are the ambitious, who seek gain, and power, and would pursue their own fortune at the expense of the empire.”

“Such, of course,” said Otto, “are useful to predators, in equipping and funding incursions.”

“True,” said Julian.

“My people,” said Otto, “lack the skills, the expertise, the tools, the resources, the industrial base to design and build fearsome weaponry and ships.”

“Others will do so,” said Julian, “others who remain unnoted, on far worlds, who fear to press a trigger, or grasp a helm, who wait to creep forward and feed on the kills of lions.”

“I am dismayed,” said Otto.

“Be not so, my friend,” said Julian.

“I know something of the forging of a blade of steel,” said Otto. “I know nothing of the forging of a blade of fire.”

“You need not,” said Julian. “It is one thing to manufacture a rifle or pistol, and another to use it effectively.”

“I do not care for such weapons,” said Otto.

“You like to be close to your kills,” said Julian.

“One knows then what one is doing,” said Otto. “One sees the blood, and may consider how far to go.”

“Uneasy restless worlds, several with diminishing, but yet-unexhausted resources, back invaders,” said Julian.

“And you would arm such men to resist such men?” said Otto.

“Yes,” said Julian.

“It is an unwise shepherd who brings in wolves to guard sheep,” said Otto.

“Sheep cannot guard themselves,” said Julian.

“Or will not do so,” said Otto.

“The perimeter is penetrated,” said Julian. “Worlds are lost, or fall away.”

“Permit them to do so,” said Otto.

“Never!” said Julian.

“The palace will have them abandoned,” said Otto.

“It must not!” said Julian.

“Perhaps the empire has grasped beyond its reach,” said Otto.

“Never!” said Julian.

“Perhaps it will draw back,” said Otto.

“To what?” asked Julian.

“To the inner worlds,” said Otto.

“The least retreat,” said Julian, “will be understood as a sign of weakness; it will arm enemies, and inspirit defiance. The first rock removed from a wall makes the second easier to dislodge.”

“Surely the inner worlds are more secure,” said Otto. “Will the palace not have it so?”

“The emperor is a boy, with the mind of a child, coveting toys and fearing insects,” said Julian. “He counts for nothing. His sisters are scarce worth a collar. Power is vested in the empress mother, a vain, timid old woman under the baleful influence of a courtier, one who fears me, and a new order in the palace, one intent to keep things as they are, one intent to protect himself, his position, and his power at all costs, though the empire crumbles.”

“Perhaps he merely sees the empire differently,” said Otto.

“The situation is desperate,” said Julian.

“So desperate that you would arm barbarians,” said Otto.

“Who else would have the courage and will to face foes so fearful, so dangerous and determined?” asked Julian.

“Hereditary enmities exist amongst tribes,” said Otto, “which you would seek to exploit.”

“One seizes what weapons lie at hand,” said Julian.

Here we may suppose that Julian had in mind, in particular, the hostilities between the tribes of the Vandals, amongst which was that of the Otungs, or Otungen, and those of the Alemanni, whose largest tribe was the Drisriaks.

“I respect the empire,” said Otto, “as I might respect the seasons or the stars, the vi-cat or the
arn
bear, but I do not esteem it. I do not love it.”

“Therein we differ, dear friend,” said Julian. “Understand it. See in it
civilitas
, the hope of a thousand species.”

“
Civilitas
, under the sword,” said Otto.

“
Civilitas
cannot survive without the sword,” said Julian.

“You are my friend,” said Otto.

“
Barbaritas
?” smiled Julian.

“Yes,” said Otto.

“So simply?” said Julian.

“So simply,” said Otto.

“Is it not much like the bond of the
comitatus
?” asked Julian.

“I think so,” said Otto.

“One would die for one's friend,” said Julian.

“
Barbaritas
,” said Otto.

“
Barbaritas
,” said Julian.

“You pause, you muse?” said Otto.

“I sometimes fear the future is yours, my friend,” said Julian, “where the blood is hot and fresh, and flows strongly, like a scalding, rushing stream in the veins.”

“The empire has always been,” said Otto.

“Not always,” said Julian. “Once there was no empire. Once there were only nine villages along a river, on a small, unimportant world.”

“Long ago?” said Otto.

“Very long ago,” said Julian.

“It is said the empire is eternal,” said Otto.

“Let it be so,” said Julian.

“Yet I fear for your empire,” said Otto.

“And well you might,” said Julian.

“No longer,” said Otto, “are its standards borne bravely.”

“The thousand suns must flash again on them,” said Julian.

“You weep,” said Otto, puzzled.

“Men no longer seek adventure and conquest,” said Julian. “They now seek comfort and protection. Even a fortress of iron may be eaten away by the rust of neglect, and, when its walls collapse, the vermin within will be prey for the vi-cat and
arn
bear, or die of hunger and cold.”

“Perhaps they will merely change Masters,” said Otto.

“And their new Masters,” said Julian, “will be the lions of the future.”

“You fear for the empire,” said Otto.

“Yes,” said Julian. “I fear it is no longer loved.”

“Surely a thousand worlds will stand for the empire,” said Otto.

“On many worlds,” said Julian, “there is the loss of soil, soil drained of nutrients, borne away by the wind; there is erosion, widespread desiccation, a scarcity of water, and its contamination; there are seas enfilthed with pollution; there are swamps one cannot approach without protective gear; there is the destruction of forests; there is the abandonment of mines, the exhaustion of mineral resources, cavernous shafts emptied of ore and metals; there is the debasing of currency, famine, disease, chaos, banditry.”

“It is so, and yet the empire sleeps?” said Otto.

“It must awaken,” said Julian.

“To some nightmare,” said Otto.

“No,” said Julian. “But to a new dawn.”

“A new dawn,” said Otto, “but of whose day?”

“Let it be that of Telnaria,” said Julian.

“Resources are finite,” said Otto. “They diminish. The time will come when few will be able to step amongst stars. Engines will be cold. Radios will be silent. Worlds will be alone. The theaters and stadiums will be empty, the altars untended. The vi-cat and the
arn
bear will reclaim their ranges. The time will come when the forging of the steel blade will become more common than the forging of the blade of fire.”

“Let the empire be eternal,” said Julian.

“As you will,” said Otto.

“The empire is eternal,” said Julian.

“How so?” asked Otto.

“I will have it so,” said Julian.