Barbalan grabbed Taljen’s hand and quickly pulled her into the room that would take them to Triesk. Taljen stumbled after her, the door shut, and they were on their way. Sitting down, Barbalan pulled her hair back and let a heavy sigh of relief escape her lungs. She felt safe now, a feeling that would hold for ten telclads. It wasn’t often in recent memory that she had felt safe.
Taljen did not speak at all for most of the trip but just stared gloomily
at the floor. Finally Barbalan asked her, Do you
understand, Taljen, that I must take Stringer south?
Taljen nodded without looking up.
I hope you understand that I must take him south
to meet the others. He will be safe now, I am sure. But you would be in
danger where he is going; I am also sure of that equally well. So it is
necessary to bring you back to Triesk. I am sorry that you must leave
Stringer.
Taljen raised her head and looked at Barbalan, saying nothing still for a
long time. Finally she cleared her throat and spread her palms on her
thighs. Perhaps, Barbalan, Met in the South, it is
time for me to leave Stringer. Do you know that Stringer and I traveled
farther than I thought the world was wide? There was hunger, sickness;
death was close many times. We were lovers—
You experienced a great deal together; I can
understand your happiness.
No. My unhappiness is not at leaving him. There is
still much I don’t understand about Stringer. I gave him more of my life
than I ever conceived of giving to anyone. But he wanted something from me
that I still don’t understand. He is searching for something that I don’t
comprehend. Sometimes I think he just hasn’t grown up right; other
times…Barbalan, With Darker Hair Than Mine, you seem like Stringer in a
way: often silent but knowing much more about this world than I do. I envy
you that.
Barbalan shook her head. My comprehension is no
greater than yours, I am afraid. Almost everything is beyond me and I act
as a blind woman, only guessing which way to turn. Why I must take Stringer
south, I do not fully understand; why people are going south, I don’t know
yet, either. What this room is that is now taking us to Triesk is as much a
mystery to me as it is to you. There is a lot in this world that I do not
understand.
Taljen managed to smile a little. You sound a little
like my old teacher, the Time Keeper. He always said that he never
understood anything. I never thought he did, either; everything he said was
so contrary to fact. But then Stringer arrived, and everything the Time
Keeper said turned out to be true. So I wonder how little you know,
Barbalan.
I think that after seeing so much of the world,
you probably know much more than I.
We stopped at dozens of villages. Most never heard
of mighty Ta-tjenen. Many said that they did not use the Parlztluzan,
although they can all trace their ancestry back to Ta-tjenen. It was so
hard to comprehend the way they lived. Do the Gostum use the
Parlztluzan?
Barbalan shook her head. I have never heard of
it.
And was Stringer right about that, too?
Taljen’s
voice rose in pitch. Is he ever wrong? This is all
too much for me. I cannot separate illusion from reality any more. I think
I am as afraid to go back to Ta-tjenen as I was to leave it. I am only part
Tjenen now. Please, Barbalan, if you ever succeed in what you are trying to
do, tell me. I would like to think that I am a part of this new world.
Yes, I will make a point of that, Taljen.
One thing more…
Yes?
Take care of Stringer, especially protect him from
himself. He has never understood how dangerous he can be. Oh, Barbalan,
Stringer is such a contradiction to me. He could do many good things; his
energy seems boundless, like the Time Keeper’s. But he walks like a blinded
man, not seeing where his energy is spent. The same hand that spins a tune
on the rodoft will slit a throat. Always I had missed seeing the tension
within him until I saw him kill your companion on the beach. Then I came to
know that whatever world bred him was a much harsher place than
Patra-Bannk. That struggle is not in Ta-tjenen, was not in me. That is why
I missed seeing it; that is why we have failed to understand each
other. Barbalan, take care of Stringer, especially from himself.…
I shall make the attempt. I promise.
Taljen smiled now, openly, but the conversation lapsed into silence again, this time until the trip ended with a faint thud. They emerged into a stala very much like the one they had left, but larger, much larger.
Although Barbalan had never been there before, she easily found the exit. The door slid open as always and the hot air rushed in.
Yes, this is the longest Bannk,
she said,
stepping into the light of the unmerciful sun burning down from above,
though not as high as in the south. Taljen drew on her cowl and followed
Barbalan out. The Gostum woman moved away from the stala and saw that it
had been camouflaged with earth and fern-moss. From any distance it would
not be visible. It stood hidden from sight in the bottom of a small
clearing, which itself was nestled in a valley surrounded by hills on all
sides.
Where is your city?
I’m not sure. I have not been here before. Maybe
that way.
Taljen pointed south and they set off. They climbed for two
or three telclads over the hills, barren but for fern-moss and a few
shrubs. From the final summit they looked down. There was Ta-tjenen beneath them.
So that is Triesk.
Ta-tjenen,
Taljen corrected.
A great city. But you did not know of the stala,
just over the first hills?
No. We rarely go in that direction, if at all. Why
should we?
A curious people, these Trieskans. Will you tell
them about it?
About what? If I could find the spot again, would
the stala, as you call it, be there? Or will the magic disappear with you?
Would anyone even believe me to go and look? Or would the stala be
reconciled to the Golun-Patra? Do I believe it? Of course not. How can I? I
don’t know.
Then before I roast alive, I think that it is time
I leave you. Triesk isn’t a good place for Gostum, is it?
No, it isn’t; there is more than certainty in
that. Good-bye, Barbalan. I hope you—
Yes, I know. So do I. Have a good life, Taljen,
and do not mourn Stringer too long. He is not one to be mourned yet, I
suspect.
Taljen was silhouetted against the daylight, so Barbalan did not see her smile. Both turned away at the same time and parted company.
Taljen opened her water flask, found it empty, as it always seemed to be, and scurried down the north hills. She saw the black remains of the forest that had burned out last Bannk and knew that soon she would be working overtime to collect fuel and ensure that the supplies were more than adequate. The houses, she could see with solofar eyes, were repaired, as well they should be past Mid-Bannk. Ta-tjenen was still Ta-tjenen. The wind caught her hair, a drier and cooler wind than at Pant, but, nonetheless, the same wind that had carried her so far south. Or was all that just a dream? Taljen could hardly decide was was only glad that here, at the Center, the sun was more merciful than it was beyond the Edge of the World.
At last below the city, she began to climb up the wide steps cut into the flank of the citadel. The streets were totally deserted. She should have expected that in the Killer Bannk, but for some reason she was surprised. Taljen passed one group of people hauling logs. They stared at her, not shouting any greeting. Was that because they were Tjenens or because she was not welcome?
But the plaza was still white, and the sun’s hazy shadow, peering through a thick atmosphere, stopped abruptly at the shortest of the metal scales, indicating early afternoon for this longest Bannk. Taljen saw the marker for the Parlztluzan. Who would be her nesta next Bannk?
An old woman—a member of the nestrexam?—was making her hurried way to the meeting tent. Taljen did not understand why the meetings were being held Above this Bannk. For a scorching second the woman halted and gaped at the newcomer, then turned and scurried off. Taljen knew that her arrival was now public.
A few belclads more and Taljen was at the outskirts of town, near Alhane’s house by the city wall. His yard was covered with new instruments of shiny metal glistening in the sun and hot to the touch.
Inside, she heard voices. Certainly one was Alhane’s; the other voices must be his children’s. Taljen listened.
You see the tangled mess it is! I can’t make it any
simpler, even as my father failed to do.
Then why don’t you listen to what he in his
writings told you and the Alien said also: Put the sun in the center.
But how ridiculous can that be? Would nature allow
such a thing, I ask you? No, it is too hard to accept.
Taljen stepped in at that moment, and the bitterness in her voice was
unmistakable. Why don’t you put the sun in the
center and see what good it does you?
Taljen!
Alhane shouted. Is that you? By Lashgar, I never though I’d put my eyes
to you again! You dared come back. Amazing!
He ran up to her and hugged
her rigid body. How did you get back? Yes, this
is interesting!
I…I don’t remember.
Are you telling me falsely?
Taljen shook her head; she wasn’t lying. No, I can’t
remember. I don’t know. But Stringer wanted me to give you this.
She
handed Alhane the battered journal. Then she began to cry and didn’t stop
for a very long time.