DAW 30th Anniversary Science Fiction Part 12

He had never, ever stayed so long in the not-place. The longer he stayed, the more he sensed things he had never sensed before. Silent waves of color washed around him. Deep chords of silence hummed and thrummed about, quivered and shivered, whispered and sang.

It was something he had often sensed before, but never in the not-place, always in the real. Now, with a sudden, awesome burst of understanding, he knew what the hum and the thrum was all about. It was the lines. There was no mistake about that. But what were they doing in the not-place, what were they doing there?

The question had scarcely taken shape before the answer came: The lines and the not-place were one and the same. That's what the not-place was about-if yon knew how to use it, it was the door, the pathway into the lines. . . .

Khiri was startled by this amazing new knowledge-so vibrant, so clear to him now, he wondered why he hadn't understood it all before.

And there was more, so much more-all the maybes, all the heres and theres, all the somewhens and the wheres.

He knew, too, that now he could not be Khiri-here and Khiri-there. If he followed the lines, he would have to let the Khiri-shadow go. And how could he dare to do that? The Khiri-shadow was the only thing that could take him back to real.

He remembered, then, the real was not all that safe just now. The Fathers were there. They were there for Ghiir's bloodsmell. If he went back now, therewould be a Khiri bloodsmell, too.

He knew, with a fear that made him tremble within his sh.e.l.l, that he was slipping back, that he had stayed in the not-place much too long, that the shadow-self was desperately pulling him back.

And, if he could not go to the real, there was only one place to go. He would have to take that step from the not-place, into the I'nes, into a place that was nowhere at all. . . .

7.

It was real, in a way, but not the real he knew. If he looked back at the not-place it was wavy and indistinct-a pale tracery that winked in and out.

The world he saw before him was a thing he had never imagined before. High above him was a ball of every color, squeezed into a hotness so strong it seemed to burn through his sh.e.l.l.

There were other things to see. p.r.i.c.kly-colored things beneath his feet.

Stone things, immense and unbelievably high. Things that were near. Things that were farther than anything could be.

"You are Khiri. I know who you are."

Khiri was so absorbed in the new things around him he didn't see the Father.

He jerked up, nearly frightened out of his wits. He had never really seen a Father. Not like this!

The Father seemed unconcerned with his fear. "If you have found your way here, you are ready to go to work. You are not a child anymore. You cannot stand around and stare at the sky. I am busy, and have no time to show you what to do."

"You do not have to show me," Khiri heard himself say. "I know what to do."

The Father didn't answer. As suddenly as he had come, he was gone.

Khiri did know.

He was not a child anymore. He knew what he was, and he knew what to do. And, for the first time in his life, he was not afraid of the Fathers anymore.

He was not afraid, for he was one of them too.

8.

He worked with the others who were new. No one told him what the lines were for, or where they had to go. He knew, though, what was right and what was wrong. He knew if the no-colors felt the way they should. He knew if the silence, if the hum, if the song was the way it ought to be. If it wasn't, he told a Father who was always nearby, a Father who knew what to do.

That was his job. He was a Listener, because he was new. Later, if helearned his job well, he would be a Toner, working in the lines, working in the great, wondrous Pattern itself. The Pattern was what the lines were called, when they all came together exactly as they should.

Khiri came to know other Fathers, those who were new like himself. The older Fathers seldom spoke to him at all. He knew, now, onlv those who found their way out of the dark down below ever made it to the lines. He remembered Jhiril and Dhiss. He remembered Ghaan. He learned that very few from a single birthing found their way up to the lines.

He worked, and he learned. He learned what his kind were called. They were S'ai, and a S'ai was a grand thing to be, for only the S'ai could do what they could do.

He learned-to his surprise-there were other beings who were not like the S'ai. There were Sacar, great, heavy creatures built close to the earth. Their skin was on the outside, hard, mottled and the color of stone.

He didn't like the Sacar. He liked the Dri even less. Dn looked like brittle bundles of sticks. Sometimes, Khiri could catch the edge of their thoughts. When he did, he drew quickly away. The minds of the Dri were cold, colder than cold could ever be. The Sacar were often about, but the Dri kept to themselves.

Neither the Sacar nor the Dri worked on the Pattern. They knew it was there, but it was something they could only imagine, a thing they could never see. That was something only the S'ai could do.

Khiri learned about the stars. They were hot, fierce points of light, much farther than the one that warmed the world beneath him now. He learned there were other worlds, too, that one of those worlds was his own.

Finally, one of the older Fathers put pictures of that world inside his head.

Khiri was stunned. He had never imagined such a place before. He longed to go there himself some day. Could that ever be? The Father couldn't answer, the Father didn't know.

One day, a horde of strange creatures swarmed out of the high, rocky places and tried to kill the Fathers. Khiri, like the others, simply winked into the Pattern and disappeared.

The creatures were two-legs like the Sacar, only not really like them at all.

The Sacar tell upon the intruders, and tew of them got away.

"Why do they do that," Khiri asked a Father, who would sometimes speak to those who were new. "Why do they want to kill the S'ai!"

"This is their world," said the Father, whose name was Bhir. "It's theirs and they don't want us here."

"Why?" Khiri wanted to know "All the S'ai are doing is building a Pattern.

A Pattern is not a thing to fear."

The Father made a noise, the kind of noise an elder makes to show what he thinks ot the young.9 Sometimes, Khiri went with the other Fathers hack down in the dark. The Mothers tried to hide, to not-bc when they came. When they found a Mother who could not hide her color, she would shut down her senses, and pretend they weren't there. This was the way it had always been among the S'ai.

Often, he would search the dark for younglings, probing and snuffing for the scent of their fear. When he found one, he would rip it, shred it, tear it apart, until only the bloodsmell was there.

Khiri knew this had to be. Those who could not get away would never learn to leave the dark. They would never get past the not-place, never find the lines.

They would never truly be S'ai.

10.

Khiri knew he had been a Listener long enough. No one had to tell him, Khiri simply knew. He even knew what he would be. He would not be a loner, even though that was the next thing to be.

He was ready to be a Former now. He could feel the Pattern. He knew where it was going, knew how it should be. He could hear it quiver and sing.

He could sense it folding in upon itself in endless wheres and whens. He could help it become the very best Pattern the S'ai had ever made, Khiri found Thil. Thil was a Former. He had been a Former long before Khiri was born.

"Thil," Khiri said, "I am ready to take your place now. I must ask you to leave."

"Why would I want to do that?" Thil said. "You are only a Listener. Even if you were ready to be a Former, there are many ahead of you."

"I am better than they are now. 1 am better than you-" Thil winked out of sight. Khiri followed. The place Thil had chosen was a place Khiri had never been before, a place wild and shattered, a fearsome place to be. This was where the Formers came to gather the uncreated power for the Pattern. It was raw, unborn. Nowhere and no-when.

This was not a fight like Khin's tight with Ghiir. There would be no bloodsmell here. Khiri fought to lose, not to win. To win was to fade into the chaos of the uncreated void. To lose was to skirt the edge of being, to find that point, and leave Thil forever in what would never be.

Thil was good. But Khiri was right. He was better, and he alone returned to the real again.

11.

Khiri learned quickly. Soon, he was setting the pace for many of the older, more experienced S'ai. They didn't like Khiri, but they knew what he could do.

Finally, only Dhin was above him in his skills. Dhin was Master Former.He knew even better than Khiri how good Khiri could be. He showed Khiri everything he knew.

Khiri didn't dream of challenging Dhin's position. You did not tight to become a Master Former. That was a thing for lesser S'ai.

When the time came, Dhin knew it. He had worked long and hard. He had gained great honor and respect among the S'ai. He did not even think about staying to finish his final Pattern. He had done what he could. Khiri would add richness to the firm foundation Dhin had begun. The S'ai would remember it was Dhin's Pattern.

When the next worktime began, Dhin was not there. Khiri knew he was not coming. He knew he was Master Former of the S'ai.

12.

When the Pattern was nearly complete, Vhid himself came to see Khiri.

Khiri was honored and showed his respect. Vhid was a Planner. There were less than half a hundred Planners among the S'ai, on all the worlds where the S'ai had built a Pattern. More than that, Vhid was a Grand Planner, one of the Eight.

Vhid glanced at the vast tracery of the Pattern, then studied Khiri with some amus.e.m.e.nt, an emotion rare among the S'ai.

"You are a good Former, Khiri. This is a fine Pattern. You do honor to the S'ai. However, in case it had crossed your mind- and I see that it likely has-you are not yet ready to take my place. You are a good Master Former, but you are not yet a Planner."

Khiri was horrified, and frightened as well. It was a thought he had kept very far back in his mind.

"Master Vhid, I hope you don't imagine-"

"Why not? You have clearly dreamed of becoming everything else a S'ai can be. You had best keep dreaming for a while. I will not remind you again.

You may well be a Planner. Though not as quickly as you'd like."

Khiri was much too busy to think about being more than what he was. The Pattern was nearing completion, and there was more to be done than there were hours in the day. There were a thousand questions to be answered, a thousand more to be asked. And, in the end, it was up to the Master Former to be sure they were all answered right.

He was in the midst of a dozen tasks when word came that Vhid wished to see him again. Now? Khiri wanted to say, but of course he said nothing at all.

Instead, he followed a guide past the long, deep valley directly beneath the Pattern, a path that took him past a high stone place where the two-legs lived-past another to a broad and empty plain.

Khiri was astonished, frightened at the sight, for there lay the starship of the Dri. He knew the ship was there, but only the oldest of the S'ai had ever seen itbefore.

Khiri did not like the Dri, and wanted nothing to do with anything that was theirs. Still, he could not keep Vhid waiting. He could not tell a member of the Eight he was frightened of a star-ship of the Dri.

13.

Vhid met him under the high, dull portal of the ship. Past Vhid, Khiri could see shadowy forms of both the Sacar and the Dri. This close, the Sacar looked enormous. Even the fragile Dri stood heads above the S'ai, but the Sacar were fearsome giants. How could they live that way, teetering above the ground like uprooted stones? How could they stand to be what they were? They could never imagine the not-place. They could never see the Pattern. They could do nothing the S'ai could do.

Yet, for all the things they were and were not, Khiri was frightened in their presence. And, because he feared them, he hated them all the more.

Khiri understood nothing that had been said at the meeting with the Sacar and the Dri. The Sacar croaked like mud-things. The Dri merely rattled like leaves. If Vhid wished to speak, he touched a shiny thing with his slenders.

When he did, a sound came out, but it was not the voice of Vhid.

"I see you are in no great haste to become a Planner now," Vhid said later.

"I see you understand it is not the same as working on the Pattern, or any of the things a S'ai was born to do."

"No," said Khiri, "it is not. It is truly like nothing I imagined. I do not see how I can ever become a Planner, for I can scarcely stand to deal with such strange, disgusting forms of life-if, indeed, those things are creatures at all."