Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“I promise,” Ethan told him, in defiance of any relevant regulations, “that as soon as the Union is accepted by my government, as representative of the Tran I’ll get you up in a skimmer or a shuttle somehow. I’ll have to have an aircar to carry out my new work here and I’ll bring it to Poyolavomaar just so you can have a ride.”

“Wonderful, wonderful!” The young Landgrave clapped his paws like a cub. “If only the world does not end before this happens. Some say it is going mad.”

“We heard the rumor,” September commented. “Maybe you could tell us a little more about exactly what—”

“Your pardon for interrupting.” Ta-hoding had been waiting patiently off to the side until he could stand it no longer. “We have a problem that is based on fact and not rumor, good Landgrave. As many of our crew were desirous of returning to their homes, we have sailed here with a minimal crew. My people are exhausted and in need of relief. The humans who are our passengers have been as helpful as they can be, but experienced ice sailors they are not.” He indicated Williams, Cheela Hwang, and the rest of the research group who were studying the wall hangings and stone carvings that decorated the Landgrave’s hall.

“They are willing, but sometimes they cause more trouble than their well-meaning efforts are worth.”

September nodded ready agreement. “I saw Jacalan trying to raise a sail in a seventy kph gale. We’re lucky we didn’t lose her.”

“Tell me what you require,” said T’hos unhesitatingly.

“We know that Poyolavomaar is home to many fine sailors of the ice. We would take some temporarily into our company to aid us in our journey. It would make much smoother our expedition to the southern continent.”

“The southern continent? Why would you wish to go there? Are you returning so soon to our friends in Moulokin?”

“No. We go another direction entirely; not south by southwest but by southeast.”

T’hos frowned. “You sail upon empty ice. Though that is far from the routes our traders ply it is said there is nothing in that direction for thousands of kijat. No cities, no towns, not even barren unclaimed islands. A few dealers in furs and metal have penetrated that far to tell us only that there is no reason to go farther.”

“Nevertheless, that’s where we’re going,” Ethan told him.

“You should not.” The Landgrave looked troubled. “That is the part of the world they say has gone mad.”

“Should’ve guessed,” September murmured. He jerked a thumb back toward the rubbernecking researchers. “Our thoughtful associates apparently aren’t the only ones who think something out of the ordinary’s going on down there.”

“The travelers who described this madness heard it from others who heard it from another who heard it from one they say was probably half-mad himself,” T’hos muttered uneasily. “One must be cautious in such matters. The credulous are all too ready to believe whatever they are told. As Landgrave I must be more careful. But it is one thing to deal with one who is mad, as Rakossa was, and another to think of what someone means when they talk of the whole world going mad.” He rose half out of his chair and gestured to his right.

The Tran who shuffled forward was older even than Balavere Longax. His chiv had seen so much use they had been worn down nearly flush with the thick pads of his feet. No more for this elder long hours of carefree chivaning across the ice. Like the poor humans his wizened eyes touched upon he was reduced to walking.

He listed slightly to the left, like a tree that has been permanently bent by the wind. The long staff he leaned on was pointed like a skier’s pole. His mane and facial fur had gone snow white. His eyelids opened halfway only, afflicting him with a perpetually sleepy air. His infirmities notwithstanding, he managed two-thirds of a respectful bow.

“I greet our friends from Sofold and from the sky. I remember you from your previous visit, though we were not then formally introduced.” He smiled, a patriarch who had outlived his tormentor. “I was not in favor in the court of Tonx Ghin Rakossa. I am afflicted with a disarming habit of saying what I think.”

“Get you run through every time,” September said knowingly.

“T’hos had resumed his seat. “This is Moak Stonetree, my most respected adviser. He it was who first learned of the rumor you would seek in person.”

“What’s all this nonsense about the world going mad?” September had never been much on protocol or subtleties.

Stonetree made certain the point of his staff was driven into a crack between two smooth flooring stones. His gaze narrowed as he fixed on the tall human. “A rumor proven is a lie confounded. Truth balances itself precariously betwixt the two. I have passed along only what I have learned from others.”

“Trappers and outreachers will say anything to draw attention to themselves.” Elfa snorted derisively. “The more their tall tales are believed the readier they are to embellish them. They enjoy frightening with imaginative stories of the world beyond the wind those who remain safe and secure in their cities.”

Stonetree nodded respectfully. “All that you say is true. Yet so wild and bizarre is this particular tale that one can only wonder at the inventiveness of whoever initially declaimed it. It has the singular virtue of remaining unchanged through several retellings.”

“Means little,” observed Ta-hoding. “Such travelers take care with what they swap far out on the ice, be it money, skins, or stories. Keeping such an odd and elaborate fantasy coherent would only add to its effectiveness, and to the amusement of telling and retelling it.”

“I hope that you are all right,” Stonetree said solemnly. “I hope that this is but a fanciful invention with which to afright children. However, it is sometime since my childhood and I find that I am frightened.”

“Is that all the stories say,” Ethan asked him, “that the world is going mad? Or are there details or descriptions? How does a world begin to go mad?”

The old adviser turned his patient gaze on the smaller human. “The tale says that in one part of the southern continent the ice has become a corpse.”

Ethan had to ask the oldster to repeat himself. September wasn’t sure he’d understood clearly either. The giant looked for explanation to their fellow Tran, but Ethan spoke up before Ta-hoding or Hunnar could do so.

“I don’t know that term. What’s an ‘ice corpse’?”

By way of reply Stonetree picked up a half-empty goblet and ceremoniously turned it upside down. Water ran out on the stones, escaping into the cracks in the floor.

“Do you now understand?”

September shook his head in frustration. “I never was one for oblique explanations.”

“It’s water,” Ethan told him. “When ice dies it becomes water. A corpse.”

“Okay, I buy the relationship. That still doesn’t tell us why someone would think the world’s going mad down there.”

“It is wrong,” Stonetree told him firmly. “We make ice corpses so we can drink. That is natural. To find it where we have made it not is unnatural. It is perverse. It is—madness.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ethan suddenly. “You’re talking about open water? A hole in the ice sheet?”

“Just so,” said Stonetree, relieved that the skypeople had finally grasped the notion.

“That’s impossible. Even at the equator it’s impossible.”

The old adviser sounded tired. “Just so.”

Ethan swallowed hard. At its thinnest point, the ice sheet that covered Tran-ky-ky from pole to pole was thirty meters thick. Because of the planet’s perturbed orbit the equatorial regions would not warm sufficiently for standing water to form on its surface for at least another several thousand years.