Entry 1: Alhane wanted me to keep a journal. What do I say to a journal? I guess I will talk about the trip. Even that seems pointless. What is done is done. No one will ever know or care. So why write about it?
Patra-Bannk is made for soaring, even though the wind is still rough, so I must be on my guard. We had little trouble reaching Glintz, where I am now. The main thing is to guess how far inland the air starts rising and find the waves.
At Glintz everyone recognized me as an Alien immediately. Even if I hide my hands with only ten fingers, this Bannk everyone’s skin is getting dark and scaly, and there is no disguise I will always talk like an Alien. My voice isn’t flexible enough to make all the Tjenen sounds correctly. This problem is biological.
Taljen doesn’t want to talk to me. I think she still believes I am Polkraitz. Otherwise I am in high spirits and am sure the trip will succeed. One thing I forgot to tell Taljen: the last twenty thousand kilometers on my map showed no villages. Either we fly that gap in one hop or we wait till next Bannk and sail by boat.
Dear Alhane: I have also decided to keep a journal and address it to you. I am terribly frightened, frightened out of my wits. I have left my home, my friends, all that has made me feel safe and wanted. Now I am flying south in a mechanical bird that at times seems as if it could be snapped in two by an angry wind, flying south with an Alien who could easily have come here to destroy us all. I want to believe he is to be trusted, but he seems to haunt me, enjoying his ambiguity. I am ripped apart. Why am I doing this to myself? Is it to prove your theory wrong? Is it to prove that Ta-tjenen is indeed the might Ta-tjenen I had always thought? I am compelled to go with Stringer. But I need him to hold me, to give me shelter, and he so rarely does. I admire his ability to stand alone. I wish we could stand together. Oh, Alhane, Time Keeper, I do not want to vanish off the Edge of the World. I pray that your shadows are right; I pray that they are wrong.
The campfire was nearly invisible in the bright morning light, but the deceptive time did not prevent Stringer from being exhausted after the flight from Ta-tjenen. He wanted to collapse into sleep, but the men and women to Glintz gathered around and pumped him with questions.
Do you mean you came all the way from Ta-tjenen
in that solofar?
one of the men asked.
Yes, we did, and will go much farther still.
How long did it take?
A third of a beclad, perhaps. I’m not sure.
Stringer answered.
Surely that is a thief’s tale,
another man
offered.
We should build one ourselves and go to
Ta-tjenen.
Who wants to go to Ta-tjenen?
The discussion was too lively for Stringer, and he kept tossing off sleep
with a shake of the head. The man nearest him leaned over. Come. You two can sleep in my house and rest.
The house was small and everything about it was highly ornate. The walls were covered with paintings, unframed, colors colliding head-on. The giant montage of nudes, abstractions, everyday scenes, was so complex that Stringer could not sort it out. Jugs of water sat on the floor, unglazed so they would sweat and thereby cool their contents, but nevertheless ringed with angular scrollwork from top to bottom. A bookshelf, too, with bound volumes, stood from floor to ceiling. Stringer squinted around him, never having seen anything like this in Ta-tjenen except for the Time Keeper’s house.
My grandfather lived here and painted those. He was
also a great collector of books.
Stringer’s drowsiness lifted suddenly. You know
who your grandfather was and that he lived in this house?
The man, who was twice as old as Stringer, smiled. Ah,
you are from Ta-tjenen, that is right, even though you haven’t enough
fingers and your speech is spastic. Glintz was founded by those who didn’t
like the Parlztluzan and thus left Ta-tjenen. We have never used that
system. And, as a result, you see that Glintz is much smaller than
Ta-tjenen, or so I’ve been told. Of course, brief conjugal visits are
sometimes necessary.
Stringer didn’t understand that, but was too tired to get into another
discussion now. What is your name?
he asked.
Fent. Fent of Glintz, you can call me.
All right, I will.
Stringer took Taljen’s arm
and they were led into the next room. They slept very soundly. Stringer
awoke to Taljen’s embrace. She hugged him passionately, pulling his body
closer to hers than ever before. He thought his back would break and he
responded with eagerness. For a moment he forgot the time, the nebulous
time on Patra-Bannk of which he was never certain, but which was always
urging him on, pressing him southward.
Aftersex, when they had gotten up and dressed, he said to Taljen, I’m glad you aren’t angry at me any more.
Taljen hardly looked at him as she said matter-of-factly, I think part of me was trying to kill you.
Stringer
slumped back onto the floor and silently watched her walk into the
wind-scattered sunlight.
They had one more quick meal at Glintz. When the eating was done, Stringer
said to Fent, I can offer you little in return for
your hospitality other than a tune on my rodoft.
An excellent exchange!
Stringer played. His fingers were one with the instrument; his libido manifested itself in the energy of the music. For another moment he forgot the time and the sun at his back.
At the end, Fent slapped his knees. You are a master!
But your tunes are not those of Ta-tjenen.
I am not of Ta-tjenen, so my tunes are
different.
That you are not from Ta-tjenen is clear. Where are
you from?
Stringer liked Fent. I’m not sure myself any
more,
he said softly.
On the way to the beach they passed through the town. Nestled in the woods, all the houses were lively and gaily painted. Stringer thought that reckless in the face of the Bannk, the Killer Bannk; reds and blues absorbed heat.
Don’t worry,
said Fent. As
the Bannk wears on, we put the white sheet out. But a dreary white city is
not a crumb snatcher’s price to pay to lower the temperature a handful of
degrees.
You’re right,
Stringer agreed. By this time
they were at the sailplane, and Fent helped Stringer and Taljen into the
cockpit. I hope to see you again,
Stringer
said, at once realizing the hopelessness of the remark.
Yes, we will see each other, Stringer Who Is from
Ta-tjenen but Not.
Stringer knew that Fent had no conception of what
lay ahead for him and Taljen, if that were something possible to conceive
at all.
Boats by the hundreds had been pulled up on the beach from the still largely frozen ocean. Now they were cleared out of the way to make a runway for the sailplane. Men who had been fishing out on the ice came to watch the launch, and the beach was soon lined with thousands of spectators. The grask team had been waiting for Stringer’s final command, and now, after last-minute instructions, he gave it to them. In a moment they were airborne. Stringer took a turn around the town in a farewell salute and soared southward.
They watched the ice far below break up as the Bannk grew older. Small puffy clouds were beginning to form inland, and the prevailing winds were shifting south.
Always keep an eye on the clouds,
Stringer
explained to Taljen. They are our only markers for
finding rising air. And watch the hills. We’ll ride the air currents over
the hills. We need all the help we can get.
Taljen remained
silent. Finally Stringer said, Tell me, Glintz
does not have the Parlztluzan; why do you have it?
Or why don’t they have it?
Taljen, I’d be interested to know either way. The
Changing of Houses
is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of.
You don’t have it, either?
Of course not.
Stringer did not wait for the
silence this time. But if you know the reason for
its existence, I’d like you to tell me.
Taljen began slowly. I am told that it was organized
after the war against the Gostum when the Polkraitz left. The population
was decimated, and this would help restore it. Those who disagreed went to
Glintz. You see that Glintz is much smaller than Ta-tjenen.
Stringer mulled that over for a while. I don’t see
what difference it can make whether or not you rotate mates, as far as the
number of children produced.
All right, then, I will explain it to you as if you
were a child. You know that Ta-tjenen runs on clocks—
—or ignores them.
Everything runs on clocks, not necessarily
mechanical. Everything has its own cycle. Some cycles are long, like the
fertility cycles of males and females. In order to produce children, both
clocks must be on, both cycles must be matched. That does not happen very
often if mates are not switched. The clocks must be synchronized at the
Parlztluzan.
Men have breeding cycle?
Of course. Don’t you?
We are always
on.
So, you see,
Taljen said, ignoring the last
remark, after a war a Parlztluzan is a good thing to
institute.
Is it a good thing to keep?
With the mortality rate at Ta-tjenen?
Glintz does without it.
They merely used
brief conjugal visits
but kept permanent parents, and look at the
difference between Ta-tjenen and Glintz. But without one method or the
other, Patra-Bannk, pitted against the peculiar biology of these people,
would surely bring the species to a dead end. How they had evolved into
such a cul-de-sac without already being extinct was beyond Stringer. Their
original world must have been very kind.
Taljen continued, interrupting Stringer’s thoughts. And, Stringer, judging from the way you act, I wonder
if your society should institute it.
Perhaps.
Entry 2: Now we are at Godrhan, the city where Alhane claims to have confirmed his hypothesis. It didn’t take too long to get here from Glintz. If I am right, the trip will be easy and we will find Pike and Hendig by Bannk’s end. Taljen is learning to fly well.
I do not understand that very strange thing she said to me at Glintz, that part of her wanted to kill me. But she is good company even if we do argue a lot. She seems very vulnerable to both attack and affection. Part of me wants to do both, and I can never say which will come out.
The sun is rising quickly this Bannk, and I see, as Alhane foretold, it will shoot for the zenith. It worries me some, but so far all is well.
Alhane: Glintz was a strange place. How could anyone live like that? And Stringer…he is more Alien than I suspected. We are at Godrhan now, and I feel on the verge of running back to Ta-tjenen, but something tells me I won’t. The sun is getting high and I want to hide. Stringer is cheerful, but he does not know what is to come.
Godrhan was not right on the coast, and after landing, Stringer and Taljen walked into the town unescorted. The first thing Stringer saw, lying level with the ground, was a small plaza, like that of Ta-tjenen but half as large. On the plaza wall a tall pole, three or four times the height of a man, supported on all sides by guy lines, and with a thin wire sticking up from the top. Many arms projected radially from the pole with weights hanging from their tips: plumb bobs, Stringer thought. A closer inspection also revealed levels mounted around the pole. Dirt blew up around it in the strong wind, forming a large cloud around the base.
That’s Alhane’s!
Taljen exclaimed when she saw
it.
Did I hear someone mention Alhane?
a
voice called from a nearby house. A woman, shorter than Taljen and heavier
by more than a hair, jumped out of the doorway and ran up to them. She was
wearing a sun suit. Did you say the name of
Alhane?
Yes,
Taljen answered.
Your accent is strange. From Ta-tjenen?
You are right.
Taljen smiled. And I know Alhane well.
The fatter woman grinned. Then you must come
out of the sun and talk. Did Alhane arrive safely back in Ta-tjenen?
Quite safe; I am sure he would thank you.
And did he prove what he set out to
prove?
He thinks he did; others aren’t so sure.
The other woman shook her head. That would be
strange indeed. I’m told by our scientists that, if true, Godrhan would be
displaced from the Center.
Taljen started and Stringer laughed, doubling over. His cowl, blowing because it was untied, wrapped itself around his face, and the three cloths tangled there.
How can Godrhan be the Center if Ta-tjenen is?
Taljen asked.
The reason Godrhan was founded was because
the founders decided that Ta-tjenen was not the Center after all and that
the Tjenens were mistaken to think so.
But Ta-tjenen means
The Rising at the
Center.
Words!
Taljen sighed and the wind whistled. I am not sure
who is correct, but someone must be wrong.
Stringer untangled his cowl and interrupted. We
have been traveling a long time without a sleep. Do you have any food you
could offer us and a place to hide from the sun?
Of course,
the woman replied. Come with me.
Stringer grabbed his rodoft and followed her.
Stringer had his eyes riveted on the map viewer as he stood by
Nothing, waiting to depart. The next town
is far,
he said, looking up at Taljen. farther
than we have come already. My map says about four thousand kilometers. And we
must get there. Are you well rested?
Just as he looked up, Taljen hid something behind her back.
What have you got there?
Nothing for your eyes.
Come on,
Stringer said, making a playful dive
at the piece of paper. What have we here?
Taljen smiled meekly as she released the paper. I’m
scared.
Stringer took the parchment and looked at it. It was a small copy of the map from the great meeting tent which had Ta-tjenen in the Center and Godrhan at the bottom. The collector of winds was not far, according to the map.
Stringer was about to rip up the chart but instead gave it back to
Taljen. Look at my map,
he said, and Taljen
did. We will see who is right, I think. If you
die, remember, I am only in the next seat and will join you shortly.
Okay,
Taljen said.
Stringer grinned at her simple Bitter. Okay.
For the first time this Bannk, Stringer wiped the sweat off his brow. Then he put on his cowl, checking his salt and water flasks, and entered the sailplane. The first teclad of this Killer Bannk was more than half gone, and then still had a long way to go.
So, you see,
said Stringer when they had flown
another one thousand kilometers or more, your map
is wrong and we have not been collected with the winds, nor have we fallen
off the Edge of the World.
Taljen hesitated before speaking. She folded the map on which she had kept
a watchful eye and placed it in her bag among her few belongings. It seems that you may be right, Stringer,
she said
slowly. If the world has an edge, it is not
here. Patra-Bannk looks to be larger than I expected.
She wiped a tear
from her eye. Are you satisfied?
Me? What good does it do me? Perhaps you now see
that Ta-tjenen may not be the Center.
Perhaps.
Entry 14: The Bannk is totally with us. The sun is already higher than it was last Bannk and has turned from friend to enemy. It is very hot, hotter than a desert on Two-Bit, but swamped in humidity. Clouds are beginning to diffuse the sun and whiten the sky. But so far, we have been able to reach each village in one hop from the last. What luck! We are losing weight. Food on this planet is not plentiful. Shade is not plentiful, either. The pod-tree forest ended long ago.
Most villages are only specks on my map and hardly have any contact with the others. None have any idea that their own planet is round. Sometimes I think everybody here is stupid. At least none but Ta-tjenen and Godrhan think that their village is the Center.
My hands are nothing but calluses from holding the stick for telclads and dragging Nothing around after we land. Taljen’s skin is dark and leathery this Bannk. She is unrecognizable from last. She is still beautiful, but it is a new kind of beauty, a beauty for surviving, not for watching. I think if she had looked this way when we first met, I would have thought her ugly, half reptile. Maybe my tastes have changed. My own skin used to be a dull gray-green; now it is splotched over with brown and black. Taljen is better at keeping time than I am, but both of us are losing track of how long we have been gone.
Alhane: Where we are, I don’t know, nor could I conceive of how to tell you. I am very confused. Most of the villages we have met are but minute specks on Stringer’s map, but, to them, Ta-tjenen is only a name, far away. When I try to tell the people of the wonders of their parent city, they only shrug. The Parlztluzan is almost an oddity; some towns use it and others do not. Nothing is constant.
Stringer’s rodoft sees us through. We have nothing to pay our hosts but music, and it is gratefully accepted. Stringer is wonderful when he plays his rodoft. He said he took it up just for diversion, but you can see that he speaks to it as he plays. His playing is not quite as forceful as it used to be but is richer and means more to me.
I think you have a pretty planet,
Stringer
said as he leaned back, tuned his rodoft, and looked out over the misty
blue ocean.
Taljen, in front of him, banked the plane and shook her head. No Tjenen would ever agree to that, my Alien.
Stringer laughed and plucked a chord. That’s
because you’ve never had a chance to enjoy it. If you could, then you would
realize it is very pretty and unspoiled compared with mine.
What is your planet like?
Small, infinitesimally small compared with this
one. My planet would disappear if it were spread out on this one. And it’s
mostly people. It’s very crowded, so not one gets too upset if anyone is
killed in a fight—big or little. There are lots of fights; there are no
nestrexas. Like Alhane, everyone grows up with a permanent family. Sometimes
there is a big war or famine and the population goes down a little. Then it
goes up again, then down again. I think sooner or later something will have
to give. We colonized a few sister worlds in our solar system but that
didn’t help much. They’re as crowded as Two-Bit now. Then we built ships
like the one that brought us here. Everyone is so eager to have them that
the government spends a lot of time trying to make sure they’re used
right. But the government is a flop. I’m not sure why the ships were built
at all, or why there is such a big fuss about them. They’re so expensive
that only the biggest businesses can afford them. They can’t bring back
much. They can’t carry many people. The few colonies that they’ve
established on nearby planets are small. It’s too expensive to bring back
what little they make and soon, I guess, those worlds will be crowded
too. Maybe now that we’re discovered Patra-Bannk everyone will come
here. That will solve the problem.
There is a lot to it, I see.
Yes, twenty-five hundred Two-Bits’ worth, at
least. I wish the scenery would change a little though. You’d think we’ve
gone nowhere instead of more than twelve thousand kilometers, two
continents’ worth of distance.
You may have your wish soon. Look ahead.
Stringer did and saw huge mountains rearing in the distance, the same he had seen on the northward journey. It was difficult to say how far away they were. Guessing on any planet was hazardous; on Patra-Bannk impossible.
And what of you, Stringer?
Taljen asked
suddenly. You have told me of your world but have
never said anything of your own life.
Stringer sighed and paused. What is a life? I
don’t know.…Jumbled memories of people and places best left
forgotten. Jumbled fragments of might-have-beens and whiffs of dreams
destroyed. There are too many dark corners, occasionally illuminated by a
stranger who, for a time, becomes a friend, until random events, trapdoors,
yank you down different corridors of the maze. It is a maze of dead ends
and broken paths where each event, each turning point, is like the murder
of an unborn self, until you are finally left with but one path to follow
and have become what you were never meant to be.
After a long silence Taljen spoke. You’ve never said
anything like that before.
It is difficult to always sound like yourself,
Stringer chuckled. I wouldn’t hold your breath for
more. My life is just a life, nothing else.
Entry 20: Several beclads ago we landed, and just as we did, a control wire for the elevator snapped. I repaired it with the extra wire we brought along, but the accident shows us how lucky we are to get this far unhurt. Luck has gotten worse since then, and I wonder if that small event was the turning point of our journey. At each stop I sand down the flakes peeling off the sailplane, reshellac, and peel the burned skin off my own face. Taljen is miserable after what happened earlier.
Alhane: I am very unhappy. We just stopped at a small village. The villagers saw the solofar coming down and ran out to meet us, but they carried weapons and were not very friendly.
Why are you here?the big man asked us.
We must travel south,I told him, although it was almost impossible to understand what he said, the accent was so strong.I remember what he answered.
We have been asked to go south, too. Something is up, but I am not sure what it is all about. And tell me, where do you come from?
Ta-tjenen,I answered.
I have never heard of it,the man said.I wanted to cry.