The axis/skew model remains a problematic taphor, not least because taphors in this field of study have a troubleso way of becoming resilient even if (or perhaps especially if) they are inappropriate. To begin with, it implies that there is a zero point between extres. Any amount of empirical observation will prove this to be false, or whence the artifex? Neither extre of that axis may shape material freely, only preserve or destroy what already exists. To create, to change requires balance.
A zero is an absence, I submit that this is not; it contains a unique capacity. Yet I do not have a better solution for this dilemma, because to attempt to supplant the model would leave us with either another similarly-limited taphor, or with the need to comprehend in full what mysteries we try to approximate. Such mysteries may be unknowable in their complexity - or, perhaps more terrifying, they may be within our grasp. I have seen the fruit borne of our limited comprehension. I do not know if man could survive if it were made sweeter still.
- Leire Gabarain, Annals of the Sixteenth Star, 685.
A lurching movent of the boat jolted Michael awake, sending the hammock swinging into the bulkhead and nearly upending him onto Jeorg. He looked around the small cabin wide-eyed, forgetting for a sleep-fogged mont where he was and how he had co to be there.
Relax, Jeorg grunted. Its evening. Were just setting out.
Michael settled back into his hammock, trying to steady his breathing. Ah, he said. Odd to set out at night.
The waters of the Iron Bay are calm, Jeorg said. Well-mapped, lots of lighthouses. Better to sail at night - avoid the Ember traffic, use the light for ocean travel. If he tis it right, well arrive at the Rock of the Strait in daylight as well. He stretched his arms, and Michael caught the hint of a smile in his voice as he spoke. Itll be nice to see it again.
Michael said nothing, listening to the distant noise of the engine as it thrumd its heartbeat through the ship. They were leaving Ardalt, possibly forever. It seed as though the departure from his holand should be more montous in his mind than it was. It might strike him later, he supposed - or perhaps the concept of Ardalt itself had lood larger in his estimation than it truly deserved.
His father had sneered at patriotism, supporting the chanisms of governnt for the benefits it brought him. His tutors had approached it as a philosophical or moral duty, a cold realization of ones obligation to the society that raised him. The omnipresent posters and banners trumpeted the countrys supremacy with a near-religious zeal - not re support for the country, but love.
If there was any land Michael held love for, it was the one that he had left days ago; its sole other inhabitant was in the cabin with him. He stretched back out in the hammock, seeking to recapture the sleep that had deserted him when the ship moved. Jeorgs words echoed in his mind as he drifted off - they are all with , wherever I go. Perhaps his nation was now himself and a cryptic, terse old man. Perhaps that was enough.
The first day passed, as did the second. True to his word, Otto steered the Helga north well before they ran out of Ardan coastline to follow, taking them wide of the shipping lanes and, crucially, of Braun Island. Michael watched the dwindling remnants of Ardalt until they were lost in the haze, and wondered if he would ever see it again - but only for a mont. There was nothing much he could do to address that question, and staring after it would only see him burnt again.
He spent most of that second day below-deck in the hammock, going up occasionally to stretch his legs or when summoned by the atonal clamor of the cooks bell. It was calm enough despite Ottos innuendos to the contrary. Only a bit of chop disturbed him during the day, and at night it faded into a gentle rocking that had Michaels hammock drifting back and forth in a soothing sway. He had heard nothing but horror stories from those who had taken long ocean voyages, but whether by dint of his circumstances or his strange apprenticeship to Jeorg he was finding it rather enjoyable.
On the third morning, Jeorg woke him even earlier than usual. The old man was nearly-giddy as he awoke, and gave Michael a smile broad enough to brighten the dim cabin.
Well be coming up on the Rock of the Strait, he said. Havent seen it for longer than youve been alive, and then so.
Michael answered with a sleepily-incoherent grunt. Ive never seen it, even in pictures, he muttered. Is it big?
Jeorg laughed. Oh, no, he said. Boring. Little more than a lighthouse and bird droppings. But once were north-west of the Rock, were in the strait. That ans ndiko territory, and safe sailing all the way to Arenga. You think youve lived in civilization until now, but youve never set foot in it. Today well catch our first glimpse.
The old mans excitent was contagious enough to banish the lingering shadows of sleep from Michaels mind, and soon both of them were up on the deck to watch the first light of dawn break to starboard. There was no sign of the Rock, yet.
Fitting that we should co across it at dawn, Jeorg said. ndian is the land of the sun, the ho of the Star.
Michael frowned and glanced at the sunrise. You make it sound like they worship Stellar. I didnt think they were like the Safid, that way.
No, not worship, Jeorg said. Respect, is a better word, as they respect all souls. Light, though - energy. People are taught to think of Form as the fundantal axis in Ardalt, but in ndian they recognize that Light was first. There is a certain purity to it. He smiled and shook his head. I will keep talking, if I let myself. I should let you see it fresh.
I should think I know what light looks like, Michael muttered. As if in counterpoint to his complaint, the first rays of the sun peered over the horizon to limn the world in coppery fire, glaring off the haze that clung tight over the water - aside from one spot, in the distance, where a mote of darkness hung against the sea.
Michael spotted it first, squinting against the sudden reflected brightness. I think I see the Rock, he said, tapping Jeorg on the shoulder. Look, there, just beside the bow.
Odd, Jeorg said, turning to look. I had thought our angle- He broke off, staring into the distance. The mote of darkness sat stubbornly against the haze, seeming to swell unnaturally fast. Jeorg studied it for a mont more - then turned and walked toward the wheelhouse. His face was grim, and Michael followed him at a worried half-run.
Otto! Jeorg called, pulling open the door to reveal their bleary-eyed captain. Thats an Ember out there.
The captain sat bolt-upright, the fatigue vanishing from his face. Its not five minutes from sunrise, he protested. An Ember shouldnt be out this far, not so early.
Jeorg grabbed Ottos battered spyglass from the console, ignoring the captains abortive protest. He peered through it for a mont, then handed it back. See for yourself, he said. There are two of them.
Otto snatched it up and looked for only seconds before he flung it back to the table, cursing. I knew Id fucking regret it, he spat. Only way theyd be out here this early is if they were waiting. Only ship taking this route is us.
Wordlessly, Michael picked up the spyglass to see for himself. It took him a mont to locate the two boats against the still-dark sea, but when he did they were painfully obvious - slim hulls, built for speed, with a bent orb of pure black obscuring their stern. The ships Ember, gathering the suns rays for the boiler. Michael stared for a mont, then lowered the spyglass as a numb sort of paralysis began to spread through him.
cant outrun an Ember, Otto snarled, jabbing his finger angrily at the map. Were still too far from the Rock, and theyre between us and it. Their boilers will be up before we can do more than turn, and then theyll have us. He pushed back from the table with a frustrated growl, glaring at Michael. What in Ghars fucking disgrace did you two do, that theyve got Embers waiting at the Rock?
Jeorg gave a small, bitter laugh. Nothing of note, he said. He straightened up, and Michael saw a light in his eyes that bore none of the warm tones of dawn. Captain, it may be best if you and your n are below-deck when they approach. He gave Otto a level look, and for the first ti the captain looked uncertain.
Its my ship, he said stubbornly. Ill be damned before I hide in the hold.
There was a grease pencil lying on the map table, which Jeorg grabbed. He bent back a corner of the map and began to write on it. Izarrarentzat, he said, pronouncing the word with a practiced cadence. Bizitzaren zuhaitza. He tore the corner he had written on, thrusting it towards Otto. The passcode. In case things go poorly.
Otto took it, looking bewildered. Listen, he said. Im not going to just-
The noise of the wind and waves died around them as Jeorg straightened up. Michael felt the mirrors gathering around in their shining tempest. The air grew crystalline and heavy, all lines bending towards the man standing at their center.
Otto, Jeorg said gently. Please go below.
The captain did not argue further, stumbling back to leave Jeorg and Michael alone in the wheelhouse. Jeorg exhaled slowly, and the pressure around him dropped - but did not disappear, leaving the air tense and electric. We should go outside for this, Jeorg said, following Otto out into the morning air. Setting is important. Hard to get your mind to think outside of the room its in, or inside of a room it isnt.
Michael followed wordlessly, and the two walked toward the bow of the ship. The black dots of the Ember ships were noticeably closer now. Jeorg paused at the ships railing, staring at the approaching ships with the sun lighting his back. He closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply.
The world drifted into utter silence. The creaking of the ship faded, the noise of the water disappeared. They had stopped moving. The ocean beca an unbroken plane of glass around them, and Michael saw the world doubled, the sky stretching out to infinity both above and below.
Jeorg spoke - not with the thunderous command Michael had heard in the shop. His voice was slow and golden in the morning calm, whispers that echoed from every facet of the world. tal glides above the hungry water, he said, stretching out his hand. It will cease because I will it so.
The stillness fractured into a million shards. The motes of darkness winked out, and at the extremity of his vision Michael saw bodies hurled forward off the suddenly immobile craft. Still, no sound carried into Jeorgs domain. The mirrors flexed and rippled across the surface of the water, racing toward the attacking ships.
The pressure grew until Michael had trouble drawing breath, his lungs fighting against the sudden unreality of the air around him. Jeorg alone remained implacable, untouchable. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist. Now beco an instrunt of slaughter, he said, his voice a razored whisper. Drag the ships upon you down-
There was a small, wet noise, unnaturally loud in the stillness. The noise of the wind ca rushing back all at once, the water smacking against the hull of the ship. A thunderclap rang out above the sea. Jeorg staggered back and stumbled against the railing.
Deep red, nearly black in the dim light, was spreading across the front of Jeorgs shirt. Michael took a step forward, wide-eyed - and collapsed to the deck as blinding pain spasd through his chest. It tore through him like lightning, a twin to the pain of his fathers whip and blades grinding away at the core of his being.
There was an impact near him. Jeorg had fallen to the deck, his blood spreading slowly out over the tal, dripping from the folds of his shirt. His eyes t Michaels and flickered with recognition, then amusent, then acceptance.
Then nothing.
Michael saw it begin, just as he had with Leon. All that was Jeorg began to leach from his body, laying bare a light that seared blindingly through Michaels being. Panic colored the pain. Blood dripped into more blood, spreading over the tal. Fear. It surged and broke, screaming, shouting, heralding the inevitable void.
It had co for Jeorg. Michael railed against it, hurled epithets that echoed only within the confines of his mind. The void did not care; it could not, as it was only an absence. It opened above Jeorgs radiant soul and beckoned it upward into the yawning expanse.
He could do nothing but watch. The pain had immobilized him, left him reeling and mindless, barely cognizant of anything but the fact that he was losing Jeorg and that must not happen.
The soul froze. The void froze. And like a sluice of water rushing down over a fire, the pain in Michaels chest stopped. Sothing formless shifted within him, and every mote of the world vibrated with a single, wordless question - why?
Michael had no words to answer. His view shifted to Jeorg sitting across the table from him, humming appreciatively at the flavor of a pork chop he had cooked. Michaels own face, scowling at Jeorg as he laughed and prodded him to answer a question from a different angle. To plowing and sowing with him, hauling the first baskets of fruit from the orchard, hiking in hours of comfortable silence through Jeorgs woods. The old mans eyes, over firelight, looking at Michael and seeing beyond what Michael himself saw.
A shudder ran through the core of his being. Another thought coalesced, deeper than words could tell. It spoke of recognition.
It understood.
A tether snapped into being between Michael and the overwhelming radiance of Jeorgs soul. Pain surged once more, but no longer a hollow pain. It sliced through him, bursting, filling, overwhelming all that he was. The world went white. Michaels mind slipped away for a ti, and when he opened his eyes once more there was a man standing over Jeorgs body.
He tried to sit up and could not, tried to scream at the man to step away but managed only a faint croaking noise. The man looked at him. He was thin, with a severe face and thinning grey hair. His eyes were an unremarkable brown, but as Michael t them they ca alight with an inner fire, a subtle play of color and tone that rendered them fascinating.
The man turned away from Michael to look back at Jeorg, one hand softly coming down to slide the old mans eyes closed. When he returned his gaze to Michael there were tears on his cheek, though he smiled and moved to kneel beside him.
Hello, he said. You must be Michael. His voice was high, but clear and resonant. It seed to reverberate through every corner of Michaels mind. That we had to et on such a day - oh, such a sad day. The best of n has fallen here, and I fear the world shall never be the sa. He let his head drop down, and for a mont silence reclaid the sea.
I suppose we must salvage what happiness we can from this tragedy, the man said at last, looking up. Im glad to have finally t you, Michael Baumgart. My na is Josef. Well, thats what people call . Sotis its Jos, or Spark, or just the doctor - but ah, Im rambling. I apologize, today has been difficult in so many ways. He reached down to lay a hand on Michaels shoulder, and his touch was seething, electric, thrilling. But I have this - wonderful feeling about you. Yes, I think that you and I will be the very best of friends.
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