Today we embark on a grand undertaking. Throughout history, man has viewed souls as instrunts of fate - blessings, curses, miracles. It is my hope that future generations will mark today as the day when souls beca the instrunts of man.
Let us not shrink from this purpose. We all have souls, we all know the manner of their business. They trade in power and suffering, potential and consequence. So must we.
- Inaugural Address to the Institute Board, 651
Michael paused in his packing and looked up, wide-eyed. Im sorry, he said. ndian? Even if we could get across the ocean, they dont let foreigners in.
ndian! Jeorg confird. By way of Esrou. Friend of mine there. She wont be happy with us bringing trouble to her door - but I have a favor to call in.
I suppose that addresses my question of what you were going to do about their closed border, Michael said dryly. But what about our closed border? Surely the Institute will have n at all the likely ports, once they learn of their teams disappearance.
Jeorg waved a hand dismissively. Once they learn, he said. Will take so ti, days at least. Long enough for us to get to the bay, board a ship. Well be in the ndiko Strait by the ti they realize anything has happened.
They wouldnt follow us there? Michael asked, holding up a shirt - his original shirt that he had arrived in, looking worn and ragged. The physical demands of Jeorgs farm had long-ago rendered it sowhat tight in the chest and arms. He set it aside, putting the rest of his few possessions into the knapsack and cinching it shut. The Institute has shown itself willing to play loose with the law.
Within Ardalt, that is the case. Jeorg smiled, picking up the small figurine of a woman in ndiko clothing from the chest of drawers. ndian is a different matter. Protection of traffic in the strait is one of their Guarantees. There are factions in their council that chafe under their law of neutrality; they would pursue any breach of the Guarantees to put Ardalt in its place. Even Spark wont risk ndiko intervention in the War.
Jeorg straightened up, drawing his own knapsack closed. Co now. Plenty of ti to talk on the road. Well take the south-west road, find a ship at Maiburg. Usually one or two in a given day that takes a continental course.
You know this offhand? Michael asked, pushing down his irritation at Jeorgs evasive change of topic. That he was right only worsened the annoyance.
Jeorg managed a smile. I have been a fugitive for a very long ti, he said. I keep an eye on these things. He cast a glance around the room, eyes straying here and there - then sothing changed in his face, and he looked back at Michael. We should be off.
Michael looked at Jeorgs knapsack, which held even less than his own. You dont want anything else? he asked. I know you cant take it all with you, but even so
Theyre just things, Jeorg said, glancing once more at the ndiko figurine. Their value is in what they make you feel. The mories they bring. Just like the mind guides the soul, the object gives the mind a cue to see and feel - to rember. But - only a cue. He smiled again, a real smile, and clapped a hand on Michaels shoulder. They walked out of the house and looked around the clearing.
The trees swayed gently in the sumr breeze, rustling leaves paired with droning insects and birdsong. Crops grew in their plots and the beginnings of fruit hid in green camouflage amid the leaves of the orchard and the great tree that lood over Jeorgs house. Michael looked up at its branches for a long mont.
It seems sad, Michael said, to imagine all of this empty.
Jeorg snorted. The garden will be fine without , he said. The vines will grow as they please, and the trees never needed my ddling. This place will be beautiful in one year or ten, or one-hundred. It will change, but that is only life.
I envy your equanimity, Michael sighed. Ive only stayed here these few months and already-
He stopped, words seeming inadequate to render the form of what he felt. There was a tightness in his chest that for once had nothing to do with his soul. The wind gusted and brought the lingering sll of flowers to him, of moss and dirt and mulch. Jeorgs hand ca once again to his shoulder, more gently than before.
Just a cue, Jeorg said. Its absence does not rob you of mory, or of feeling. What it makes you feel is contained in your mind. He squeezed once, then stepped back. It isnt easy when youre young. Old n like have had many gardens, of one sort or another. Many things that now exist only in mory. They are all with , wherever I go - and, now, we go once more.
Jeorg turned and walked towards the path leading toward the road without a backwards glance. After a lingering mont, Michael followed.
Michael received no further answers to his questions that day; talk of the past had put Jeorg into a foul mood. It was likely that the loss of his ho and farm were having more of an impact than the old man pretended, in Michaels estimation, but he was not about to exacerbate the issue by bringing it up. He could scarcely cast bla. In calr tis Jeorg would have been the first to admit that it was easier to give good advice than follow it.
Instead, he succumbed to the silence and walked. Walked and thought. They made it more than halfway to the port before the light faded and Jeorg steered them off the road into a small copse. There were no gas with the foliage this ti, it parted for them like a wave and returned as if undisturbed after they had passed.
A short distance later they arrived in a clearing, obscured from view partially by nature and the rest of the way by a subtle thickening of the undergrowth that Jeorg arranged along one side.
As the sky deepened to black, they sat in the still-warm night air and ate so of the salted pork they had brought - bounty from their hunt weeks ago, though it seed like longer still. They had left plenty in the smokehouse, as there was too much to carry. Michael felt another pang as he thought about it - not rely the food, but the trees, the crops, the wine. The collection of unfinished threads that had been abandoned and scattered by their departure.
It struck him as wrong, at a fundantal level. It was too much like that empty void, the cessation of purpose. If the process, the purpose of those things were what defined mans mind, as Jeorg had claid, severing them was entirely too close to death for Michaels comfort.
Jeorg slept, or seed to. Michael lay looking at the stars and wondered what he might do if he found himself in the position to change everything that he perceived as wrong - and whether he, too, would co to regret it in the years that followed.
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